Unfortunately, he’d been craving his old life ever since.
Jones, too, was an adrenaline junkie, but he looked more like an office clerk than an officer. Known for his brain rather than his brawn, he possessed the wiry build of a track star, someone who could run a marathon without breaking a sweat but wouldn’t stand out in a crowd. Although his mocha skin and soft facial features made him look delicate, Jones was lethal on the battlefield, having completed the same military training as Payne.
The two of them used to lead the MANIACs, an elite Special Forces unit composed of top soldiers from the
M
arines,
A
rmy,
N
avy,
I
ntelligence,
A
ir Force and
C
oast Guard. They were specialists in every aspect of surveillance, reconnaissance and combat. Classified above top secret, the MANIACs were essentially ghosts. And when it came to military operations that were strictly ‘off the record’, the MANIACs were the best of the best.
Even though Payne and Jones had retired in their mid-thirties, they were still deadly. At the Pentagon’s request, the duo was still actively involved with the Special Forces programme. Officially, they were nothing more than
advisors
– trusted experts who gave their opinions on training, weapons and tactics – but over the past few years they’d been placed in the field on more than one occasion.
And they had loved every minute.
To stay sharp, the duo conducted field exercises on a regular basis. Sometimes to knock off their rust, and other times to test young trainees in advanced warfare. On this particular night, they were trying out a new piece of technology that had been developed by Payne Industries. Known as the ‘puke light’, the
LED
incapacitator is a nonlethal weapon that resembles a flashlight. The original device, which was designed by Intelligent Optical Systems (
IOS
), emits a bright, rapid, well-focused series of different-coloured, random pulses. Before the human eyes can focus on one frequency, another frequency comes on, causing intracranial pressure. This results in cluster headaches, nausea, vomiting, disorientation and visual impairment of the target. At least, that was the intended effect. Unfortunately, some test subjects were completely unaffected by the light, which meant the design needed to be tweaked before it could be trusted.
Based on years of combat experience, Payne and Jones recommended the addition of an auditory element to the device, something loud enough to disturb the fluid in the inner ear of their target without compromising their own equilibrium. They felt the combination of light and sound would produce the desired effect, leaving their opponent as defenceless as the victim of a stun grenade.
Of course, the only way to know for sure was to test it out. To that end, Payne contacted the Army
ROTC
commander at the University of Pittsburgh, an old friend named Gregg Peterson, and requested the five best cadets from the Three Rivers Battalion. Young, athletic men with lots of potential. Then he armed them with paintball guns and flashlights and dumped them at the other end of the tunnel system. Their lone goal was to shoot the unarmed Payne and Jones before the duo could disarm them. If the cadets succeeded, Payne Industries would pay their tuition for the entire semester. If they failed, they would still be helping their country by testing a military prototype that would soon be used in close combat.
Not that they thought they’d fail.
The cadets were so confident they’d wipe out Payne and Jones that they were already planning a victory celebration back on campus. After all, how could two old guys take them out?
They would find out soon enough.
Thanks to his hi-tech goggles, Payne saw the cadets long before he was in range of their flashlights or guns. Hustling to his left, he ducked behind a drainage pipe that smelled like old diapers. Meanwhile, Jones darted to his right, positioning himself next to a support beam that was ravaged with rust. In a narrow tunnel, both men knew they would be easy targets if the
LED
incapacitator didn’t work, yet they weren’t the least bit worried about failure. As Jones waited in the darkness, he had to stifle a yawn.
‘So,’ he whispered to Payne, ‘where do you want to eat? How about that new place at Station Square?’
‘Be quiet! They’re coming.’
‘I know they’re coming. That means this will be over soon and we can get something to eat. Don’t ask me why, but I’m craving Chinese.’
‘Don’t mess with me,
Jonesy
. This is important.’
Jones winced at the nickname. It was one he couldn’t stand. ‘Why did you call me that?’
‘You know how I feel about talking.’
‘You hate it during a mission.’
‘That’s right,
Jonesy
.’
Jones growled in the darkness. ‘Fine! I’ll shut up. But once we’re done here, we’re getting Chinese – and you’re paying for it!’
Payne grinned in victory. He had already promised to buy dinner in exchange for Jones’s time and expertise, so the agreement didn’t cost him anything extra. Furthermore, the deal assured his friend’s full cooperation for the next few minutes. Not that he was actually concerned. Jones had a history of goofing around until the last possible second, but Payne knew that when it was time for business, Jones would flip a mental switch and kick some serious ass.
And that time was now.
Shaped like a flashlight with an oversized head, the
LED
incapacitator had a maximum range of thirty feet. Positioned on both sides of the tunnel, Payne and Jones waited in the darkness until all of the cadets were within striking distance, then the duo turned on their devices. What happened next was like something out of a science fiction movie. A rapid burst of bright, flashing lights blinded the cadets with a series of coloured pulses, while a high-pitched squeal filled the tunnel with a torturous sound that didn’t bother Payne or Jones because they were behind it. The five targets instantly dropped their rifles and fell to their knees as they tried to cover their eyes and ears at the same time. When that didn’t work, things got progressively worse.
The second cadet was the first one to get sick. It started with nausea, then quickly turned to projectile vomiting that coated the back of the lead cadet. After that, it looked like a frat party gone wrong. One college student after another, puking up whatever they’d eaten in the past six hours: spaghetti, Doritos and little bits of burger. Payne felt so bad for them that he turned off his device after only ten seconds of use and told Jones to do the same.
But Jones, who’d heard some of the cadets’ comments about his age, ignored the order until he’d kicked away their weapons, officially ending the drill. He punctuated his victory by blowing on the tip of the device like a gunslinger, then tucking it into an imaginary holster. ‘Call me crazy, but I think this sucker works.’
Payne nodded. ‘I think you’re right.’
‘Let’s find out for sure.’ With his foot, Jones nudged one of the cadets, who was sprawled on the tunnel floor. ‘Hey, kid, what do you think? Does the device work?’
The cadet groaned, then vomited again.
Payne scrunched up his face in disgust. ‘I think that’s a yes.’
‘Definitely a yes,’ said Jones, who was already thinking about his next meal.
Blessed with an iron stomach, he studied the half-digested buffet that coated the tunnel walls, as if reading a menu. One entrée in particular caught his eye. ‘You know what? I think I changed my mind about dinner. Forget the beef and broccoli. Let’s get pasta instead.’
Maria showered and changed into a sundress before heading downstairs to meet her new employer, an American scholar named Terrence Hamilton. Knowing little about him except his work in the field of anthropology, she was a bit nervous and more than a little curious. They were scheduled to meet for drinks at Isla Contoy, a casual poolside restaurant at the Fiesta Americana, where he had promised to explain why she’d been summoned to Cancún on such short notice. The details he’d given over the phone had been vague at best, but she’d been willing to play along because of his sterling reputation and the first-class accommodation he’d arranged. Not to mention the tropical location of their meeting. For Maria, that had been the clincher.
When she walked out of the rear entrance of the lobby and saw the view, she knew she had chosen wisely. Running parallel to the beach was a lagoon-style pool that stretched as far as the eye could see. Bisected by an arched bridge that led towards the turquoise waters of the Gulf, the pool was surrounded by swaying palms, white lounge chairs and multiple tiki bars. Guests in various states of undress relaxed in the water and around the stone deck, soaking up the last rays of the day as the sun inched across the sky, casting a golden hue over the entire resort.
The temperature was in the low 70s, but felt cooler thanks to a gentle breeze that smelled like the sea. For Maria, the scent stirred up childhood memories of a family vacation on the Mediterranean. Though it had happened a lifetime ago, she could remember it clearly. She was playing with her brothers near the water’s edge while her parents looked on from a picnic blanket, where they were eating cheese and drinking wine. There was no screaming. Or crying. Or drama of any kind. Nothing but fun, love and laughter. It was a stark contrast to the way things became in the years prior to her father’s murder.
‘Excuse me,’ said a voice from behind.
Maria blinked a few times, then turned around, fully expecting to see her new boss. Instead, it was a member of the hotel staff, who was dressed in a tropical shirt and khaki pants. He had a broad, flat nose and hair the colour of coal. A beach towel was draped over his left shoulder.
He smiled warmly. ‘You are Maria, no?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, I’m Maria.’
‘I thought it was you, but I wasn’t sure. You were wearing different clothes earlier,’ he said with a thick accent. ‘My name is Carlos. I am a friend of Ernesto.’
‘Nice to meet you, Carlos.’
‘Nice to meet you, too. I like meeting pretty women, and you are
muy bonita
.’
Suddenly uncomfortable, Maria thanked him for the compliment while brushing the hair out of her eyes. It was a nervous tic she had developed as a schoolgirl. ‘Did you need something, Carlos? Or did you just want to say hello?’
‘Do you have a mobile?’ he asked.
She took a deep breath, worried that Carlos was about to ask for her number. How in the world was she supposed to relax if the staff kept asking her out? ‘Of course I do. Why?’
Carlos pointed at the scenery. ‘This is perfect time for photo. If you like, I can take picture with phone. Beautiful woman with beautiful view. Make all your friends jealous.’
Maria flushed with guilt. She had been
this
close to brushing off Carlos, yet all he’d wanted to do was help. Obviously her people-reading skills had suffered from her recent lack of social interaction. ‘Actually, that would be great. Thanks for offering.’
‘
No problemo
.’
Using her cell phone, Carlos took pictures of her from three different angles, making sure her smile was perfect before he snapped each one. When he was done, she thanked him with a quick hug, which he considered far more rewarding than a handful of pesos. The love-struck grin on his face was proof of that. Afterwards, she asked for directions to the restaurant. He pointed to the open-air structure between the beach and pool and explained how to get there.
Maria thanked him again, then hustled to her meeting.
Shaded by a massive thatched roof known as a
palapa
, Isla Contoy offered fabulous views of the ocean and the hotel’s sandy beach. In the distance, to the east, she could see the red-and-white-striped lighthouse at Punta Cancún, which is built on the tip of a rocky shoal that juts far into the channel. Waves crashed against the rocks, sending spray into the air like an angry whale. Yet somehow the water at the nearby beach was as calm and clear as a bath. Unsure how that was possible, she decided to spend the next few days doing research – while wearing a bikini and working on her tan.
Maria scanned the restaurant and spotted her employer at a small table near the back, as far from everyone else as possible. Wearing a panama hat and an open-collared shirt, he could have passed for a tourist if it weren’t for the briefcase at his feet. In a restaurant filled with beachwear, it stood out like a surfboard on Wall Street.
‘Dr Hamilton,’ she said as she approached.
Deep in thought, the American took a few seconds to react to the sound of his name, but once he did, he hopped to his feet with so much energy he nearly knocked the table over. ‘I am indeed. Which means you must be Dr Pelati.’
She smiled and shook his hand. ‘Please, call me Maria.’
‘Only if you call me Terry. All my friends do.’
‘OK, Terry.’
A few inches taller than Maria, he was in good shape for someone twice her age, even though he hadn’t been inside a gym in decades. Blessed with good genes and a high metabolism, his years in the field had kept him toned and tanned. A week’s worth of whiskers covered his cheeks, but couldn’t hide the smile lines near the corners of his mouth. They peeked through the grey every time he grinned, which was quite often during their conversation.
Always the gentleman, he pulled out her chair and urged her to sit down. ‘So, what are you drinking? I’m halfway through a strawberry daiquiri, and let me tell you, it’s heaven in a glass! They make it with fresh strawberries, Cuban rum and clean ice – which is very important in Mexico. Coming from Italy, are you familiar with the term Montezuma’s revenge?’
She shook her head.
‘Trust me, you
don’t
want to become familiar with it. It’s a miserable condition that affects nearly forty per cent of all foreigners who visit this country. Down here, bottled water is a must. Never – and I mean,
never
– drink from the tap, even if the locals say it’s clean. And unless you’re in a nice resort like this one, stay away from the ice. It will get you every time.’