Seizure (21 page)

As the road rose, he glanced back at Puerto Rico. It was a place he'd come to love, almost to call home. He knew that feeling was part of the decision-making process he was working through as regards his way forward. Should he simply get his head down, forget what had happened and get on with his life, forget any thoughts of revenge?

He wasn't sure he would be allowed to do that, though. He had been sought out and it didn't take a genius to see that someone, somewhere, had unfinished business with him.

Flynn rejected such thoughts for today. He was determined it was going to be a fun ride all the way.

If only he'd had a shower and shave.

He knew the route intimately and did not plan on any detours for these ladies. It would take about four hours, including the pre-paid lunch stop and a couple of other breaks. One of the girls leaned into the cab of the Nissan through the open rear window and shouted in his ear.

‘I need a piss,' she announced, a phrase which jarred somewhat with Flynn. Not terribly ladylike. ‘There's some bogs at the car park in Mogan.'

‘Yeah,' he nodded, knowing she meant the car park behind Amadores beach.

She sat back, touching his shoulder suggestively. He cast a quick glance over his shoulder and she gave him a cockeyed grin, an eyebrow raise and a blown kiss. Not the subtlest of women, he thought, but he wasn't on the hunt for sophistication today. Something more akin to prehistoric pleasure was his agenda – and theirs, from the looks of it. He concentrated on the road ahead, already feeling a movement in the groin and a smirk on his face.

He drove on to the car park and drew up by the toilet block.

‘We both need to piss, thanks,' one of the girls said.

‘No problem,' Flynn said and flashed them a debonair smile.

They clambered out in unladylike fashion, making him wonder just how much they'd had to drink already. By the time they'd downed their free wine at lunch and been for a dip in the irrigation channel – the time when they'd be really dusty, tired and feel the need to strip – he was pretty sure they would be eating out of the palm of his hand.

He still couldn't place them from last year, though. Not that it worried him. Most safaris consisted of eight people at a time and he couldn't remember everybody. Taking two was unusual.

He watched them walk out of sight and enter the
señoras
, then sat back tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, head tilted on the headrest, eyes closed for a few moments. He sighed at the warmth of the day and tried to concentrate solely on a double-headboard conquest. He wanted nothing to spoil the day.

‘Have a good day, have a good day,' he intoned to himself, a mantra that did not last long.

He knew the day was completely fucking ruined when his door was yanked open and a handgun was jammed into the side of his neck and screwed tight. At the same time the back of the Nissan dipped from the weight of someone clambering on board. A moment later another gun barrel was shoved into the back of his neck.

‘We meet again.'

Flynn's head remained immovable with fear, but his eyes managed to look left, into the face of the man who had assaulted him in Gill Hartland's hotel bathroom. In his hand was a large calibre pistol. ‘I think it's only fair that you know my name is Tony Cromer.'

‘And your mate is Teddy Bear Jackman,' Flynn said.

‘You've done a bit of homework.' Cromer was impressed.

Flynn made to take his hands from the wheel. Cromer repositioned the muzzle of the pistol and ground it into his cheek. ‘Do not fucking move.'

Flynn allowed himself the slightest of nods. ‘Gotcha.'

‘Now then,' Cromer said. ‘I'm going to walk round this vehicle and get in the other side. My friend, Mr Jackman, who you know, will remain right behind you and if you do anything silly, he'll blow your throat out. Won't you, Mr Jackman?'

‘With pleasure.'

Cromer eased the gun out of Flynn's cheek, then walked slowly around the front of the Nissan. Flynn stayed deadly still, Jackman's weapon at the top of his spinal column. His breathing had shallowed to almost zero. Adrenaline flooded through his system. His heart pounded, whammed up against his rib cage, and he sweated again.

Cromer climbed in, a pleasant smile on his face, and sat alongside Flynn, his gun resting on his lap, pointing at Flynn's pelvis.

‘Now, as they say in all good movies – drive!'

‘Where to?'

‘We're on safari, aren't we? Let's go safari-ing . . . safari, so-goody,' Cromer chuckled. ‘Waited years to use that one. We'll go on the usual journey.'

As Flynn accelerated away, the two girls emerged from the toilets and waved excitedly.

‘How much did they cost?' Flynn asked.

‘A hundred euros well spent.' Cromer laughed quietly. ‘Holiday chicks . . . Enough chit-chat for the moment . . . take us on the ride of our lives, Stevie, babe, then all will be revealed. But I warn you, if you do anything silly, I'll start by putting a bullet in your hip and then things'll get real nasty.'

Flynn nodded.

He drove north out of Puerto Mogan towards the inland village of Mogan, beyond which the road filtered into a track and rose into the mountains. The two men didn't speak until that point and Flynn wasn't too inclined to attempt conversation. He had in his vehicle the two guys who had, deliberately or otherwise, killed Gill, tortured him and probably destroyed
Lady Faye
. He was adding up all the possibilities, weighing up the pros and cons, wondering if he could kill them both, or at least one of them. That was what he put his mind to and try as he might, he could not keep a smirk of superiority off his face.

They passed through several small, boiling hot villages such as El Palmito and Los Navarres. The safari usually passed a few lakes while negotiating the trails towards San Bartolome, picking through dusty tracks and throwing up a cloud behind.

‘Find a nice quiet spot, then let's stop for a chinwag,' Cromer said, raising his voice above the level of the diesel engine and the scrunch of gravel under the tyres. Flynn glanced often in the rear view mirror and watched Jackman clinging to the rails on the side of the Nissan, being bounced around uncomfortably, but still holding the gun steadily aimed at his back.

‘Whatever, Tony,' Flynn said.

Cromer looked sharply at him and his face cracked into a smile. ‘You think you're a tough nut, don't you?'

‘Hardly.'

‘Anyone who joined the Marines at sixteen, then the cops at twenty-three must be pretty hard.'

‘You've done your homework too.'

‘I was briefed. I never liked homework.'

‘By Felix Deakin?'

‘Too much talk. Find somewhere picturesque – and quiet.'

‘Everywhere's quiet out here,' Flynn said. He steeled himself to continue driving, thinking that the best way out of this might be to drive them all, himself included, off a ravine. There were plenty of those in the mountains.

He cut across the hills and mountain tracks until he reached a lake known as Los Cercados.

‘Somewhere pleasant around here will do,' Cromer said.

He drove on for another couple of minutes, then cut on to a flat circle of pine trees by the lakeside, knowing it was a place where they were unlikely to be disturbed. The other safari groups out for the day would still be hours behind and there was a window of about two hours before anyone else would show up.

‘This do?' he asked, drawing the Nissan to a halt under the trees at the lakeside. A cloud of dust engulfed them, making Jackman choke.

‘This'll do fine,' Cromer said. ‘Keys.' He flipped the fingers of his left hand and Flynn dropped the ignition key into his palm, which he noticed was soft looking and a little podgy.

Jackman swung down from the vehicle and Cromer said, ‘Out.'

Flynn obeyed the instruction slowly, his eyes taking in every possibility, every angle – including the back of the Nissan.

Cromer cackled. ‘You've no friggin' chance,' he sneered. ‘Not even if you were James Bond. Just do as we say and try to make this as painless as possible all round.'

‘Yeah, right,' Flynn said sarcastically, dropping to the ground.

Jackman was behind him and Flynn was given the first indication that ‘painless' was going to be a relative concept. Jackman swung hard with the butt of his pistol and smashed it into the area above Flynn's kidneys. It was a beautifully delivered blow, borne of great practice, Flynn guessed. His back arched and his head snapped back as agony seared through him. Jackman followed this by side-footing the back of Flynn's right knee, causing it to crumple. Flynn went straight down as the knee gave way and Jackman pounded the gun into the back of his neck, sending him on to all fours. He reached out for the front wing of the Nissan, a conditioned reflex to pull himself back up. By that time Cromer was in front of him and smashed the butt of his gun on to the back of his open hand, very, very hard. Something cracked in Flynn's hand, maybe a knuckle, and he pivoted headlong into the dust.

He expected to be kicked. Instead Cromer bounced down on to his haunches and looked at him as though he was inspecting a flower.

Flynn twisted his head out of the gritty ground and pushed himself up an inch. Terrible pain coursed through the back of his chest and his hand burned.

‘Now then, cocker, me old lad. Neither me nor my mate fucks around. Not with anyone – get my drift? We do our jobs and then get gone, so as long as you cooperate with us, this encounter can be short and sweet. Understand?'

Flynn gasped and nodded.

‘Right – get to your feet and don't do anything to make me cross.'

Flynn slowly eased himself up but as he reached his full height, Jackman again assaulted him, crashing his pistol into the side of his face, catching him on the mouth and nose. Another good shot. Flynn reeled backwards against the side of the Nissan, then bowed double, clutching his face. His top lip had split having banged on his teeth, one of which was now loose. Jackman smacked the gun into the back of Flynn's head again, and again he hit the ground. He cursed through the pain.

Jackman heaved him back upright and hit him in the stomach. Flynn had managed to tense himself, but it still hurt. His six-pack wasn't what it was. His breath whooshed out of him with the groan of a tennis player and he didn't know which part of his anatomy to cradle.

But he didn't have time for self-nursing as Jackman brought him back up by the scruff of his neck, tearing the beloved Keith Richards T-shirt.

‘You know you killed her, don't you?' Flynn spat a mouthful of blood which tasted bitter and strong.

‘Killed who?' Cromer asked. He had been watching the beating with dispassion.

‘The woman at the hotel. She died of a brain haemorrhage because of your assault.' Flynn's eyes caught Jackman's. The big man shrugged his shoulders, the statement obviously meaning nothing to him.

‘Collateral damage,' Cromer said. ‘Like the fancy boat.'

A spark of rage ignited in Flynn's chest, surpassing any of the pain he was feeling.

‘OK, bud . . . this is what this is about – money.'

‘What money?' Flynn wiped spit and blood off his face with the back of his hand, then shook it like a rag, splattering the dry ground with red spots that instantly turned brown.

‘I need to be honest with you, Steve,' Cromer said, stepping up to him. ‘I – we've – been given a job to do . . . don't necessarily like it' – he grinned at this point – ‘but I'll do it to the best of my ability. I simply want to know the whereabouts of what remains of the million pounds in cash you stole from Mr Deakin. You've had it for four years, so we know some of it will be spent – fair do's – but you don't exactly lead a rock-star life out here, so we'd be content with nine hundred grand back.'

‘I don't know what money you're talking about.'

‘The money you stole when you raided Mr Deakin's counting house.' Cromer spoke as though he was addressing a special needs kid. ‘He wants it back.'

‘There never was any money.'

‘Not how he sees it, apparently.' Cromer paused. ‘Look, you might as well tell us now – where it is, how we can get it, all that kind of shit, then take us to it. I don't suppose for one moment you banked it.'

‘There's no money,' Flynn insisted. ‘He claimed there was to muddy the case against him. It's all bollocks – you've got to believe me.' Flynn looked at the two men, then he winced with pain. ‘I swear it.'

Cromer gave Jackman a conspiratorial glance. ‘Looks like we're in for a rough ride. Waterboarding's a piece of cake compared with what you're about to experience, Steve.'

‘You guys know all about torture, don't you?'

‘It's our specialist subject – all self-taught, of course.'

‘Amateurs, then,' Flynn said. But he knew they were good at what they did, that only after a sustained period in their company would they realize he was telling the truth. He had no idea where the alleged missing money was. The money that was supposed to have disappeared in the fuck-up of a raid he had been responsible for organizing.

Flynn measured the distances and angles but the two men worked in sync. As one got closer to him, the other pulled back out of range. If he attacked one, the other would be in a position to defend.

Cromer grinned as though he knew what was ticking over in Flynn's mind. ‘Naughty – tut-tut. Look, Steve,' he went on reasonably, ‘tell us, show us – and maybe you live. Screw about, you get hurt, then maybe die. It's a no-brainer.'

‘Move away from the car,' Jackman said.

Flynn had to make his move now, while still near the Nissan. Once he got too far away from it, he would be beaten. ‘Look – I'll tell you, OK? But first I need a drink. That's fair, isn't it?' He gobbed out another mouthful of blood. ‘Need to clear my mouth.'