Authors: Robert Ludlum
“We are brought here and given maps of the island, which we must know completely in two days or we are sent home.”
“Why? For multiple executions?”
“I told you no, señor. These are drug waters—
narcóticos
—and very dangerous. Mexican and American patrols can be summoned quickly, but still the island must be guarded.”
“Summoned quickly?”
“The owner is a powerful man.”
“Is his name Grinell?”
“I do not know, señor. All I know is the island itself.”
“You speak fluent English. Why didn’t you speak English before?” Even gestured toward the dead mafioso. “To
him
!”
“I say it again, I wanted no part. I was told where to take you, and as we grew closer I began to understand.… No part, señor. But I have my family back in El Descanso, and the men who come here are powerful men.”
Evan stared at the man in indecision. It would be easy,
so
easy, to end his life and eliminate a risk, yet there was a glimmer of opportunity as well if the frightened Mexican was not a liar. Kendrick knew he was negotiating for his life, but there was another life involved, too, and it made the negotiation easier. “You understand,” he said, drawing closer to the man, raising his voice to be heard clearly, “that if you go back down to the house without
him
and he doesn’t appear or they find his dead body up here or washed up on the rocks, you’ll be killed. You
do
understand that, don’t you?”
The Mexican nodded twice. “
Sí
.”
“But if
I
don’t kill you, you’ve got a chance, don’t you?” asked Evan, raising the mafioso’s gun. The member of the staff closed his eyes and nodded once. “So, it’s in the best interests of you and your family back in El Descanso to join me, isn’t it?”
“
Sí
.” The Mexican opened his eyes. “Join you in
what
?”
“Getting out of here—
away
from here. There’s a boat down at that dock next to a gas tank. It’s large enough to handle the trip.”
“They have other boats,” interrupted the executioner’s guide. “They go faster than the government drug boats and there is a helicopter with powerful searchlights.”
“
What?
Where?”
“Down near the beach on the other side of the island. There is a cement landing ground.… Are you a pilot, señor?”
“I wish I were. What’s your name?”
“Emilio.”
“Are you coming with me?”
“I have no choice. I want to leave here and go home to my family and move to a town in the mountains. Otherwise I die and they will go hungry.”
“I warn you, if you give me any reason to think you’re lying, you’ll never see El Descanso
or
your family.”
“It is understood.”
“Stay at my side.… First I want to check out my hangman.”
“Your what, señor?”
“My friendly executioner. Let’s
go
! We’ve got a lot to do and not much time to do it.”
“To the boat?”
“Not yet,” said Kendrick, a vague, fragmented plan coming into abstract focus. “We’re going to disrupt this goddamned island. Not just for you and me but for everybody.
Everybody
.… Is there a toolshed—a place where they keep things like shovels, picks, hedge clippers, those kinds of things?”
“The
mantenimiento
,” answered Emilio. “For the gardeners, although we are often required to assist them.”
“We’ll make a stop first, then take me there,” continued Evan, awkwardly and in pain rushing back to the dead mafioso. “Come on!”
“We must be careful, señor!”
“I know, the guards. How many are there?”
“Two on each of the four passable beach areas and the pier. Ten for each shift. All carry radio alarms that set off
sirenas
—very loud sirens.”
“How long are the shifts?” asked Kendrick, bending over the corpse of the Secret Service man.
“Twelve hours. Twenty
guardas
and four
jardineros
—gardeners. Those not on duty are in what they call the ‘barracks.’ It is a long building north of the main house.”
“Where are the tools?”
“In a metal garage fifty meters south of the
generador
.”
“The generator?”
“
Sí
.”
“Good.” Evan removed the mafioso’s wallet and black plastic identification case, then went through the mud-soaked pockets, finding upward of a thousand dollars, undoubtedly not from a
federal payroll. Finally, he took out the small electronic “key” that released the bolts and opened the door of the cabin-cell in the woods. “Let’s go,” he repeated, rising with difficulty from the soft, wet earth and the underbrush.
They started down the path of amber ground lamps. “
Uno momento!
” whispered Emilio. “The lights. Kick them out, señor. The more darkness, the better we are.”
“Good thinking,” agreed Kendrick, heading back with the Mexican to the white barrier, where they proceeded to crush each domed bulb on both sides. They reached the main island path that on the left led down to the boats and the dock, on the right up to the manor house on the top of the hill, with an offshoot leading to the escape-proof rustic cabin. Evan and the Mexican raced from one lamp to another, demolishing each until they came to the cabin path. “That way!” ordered Kendrick, rushing ahead to the right. “Forget the lights. We’ll take them out on our way back.”
“
La cabaña?
”
“Hurry up!” Once again the startling magnified wash of light from the thick beveled windows illuminated the clearing in front of the small, solid house. Evan approached the door and pressed a green button on the electronic key. He heard the bolts slap back into the frame; he turned the knob and went inside. “Get in here,” he called to Emilio. The Mexican did as he was told and Kendrick closed the door, pressing the red button, locking it.
He ran to the kitchen area, opened drawers and cabinets one after another, selecting items that struck him as useful: a flashlight, a large carving knife and several smaller knives, a meat cleaver, three small cans of Sterno, a box of hunters’ matches—coated with paraffin, strikable on any hard surface—and a stack of folded dish towels. With everything on the oval oak table, he glanced over at Emilio, who was watching him. He picked up one of the knives, the handle extended, and held it out for the Mexican. “I hope you don’t have to use this, but if you do, don’t miss.”
“There are men I could not kill without reasoning with them first, for they are as desperate as myself for employment. But there are others, the ones who have been here longest, I would have no such problems.”
“
Goddamn
you, you can’t have
any
problems! If one alarm is raised—”
“
No
alarms will be raised by my friends, señor, not if they
know it is I, Emilio. Besides, most of them are in the barracks asleep. They use the
veteranos
for the night patrols; they fear the boats at night.”
“You’d better be right.”
“I wish to go home, believe that.”
“Take some towels, a can of Sterno and a handful of matches. Hurry!” Picking up the remaining items and putting them in his pockets, Kendrick left the meat cleaver until last. He gripped it, went to the intercom console on the wall and, standing sideways, sliced the heavy blade into the back of the equipment, prying it off the wall and out of its recess. “Get the two lamps over there,” he said to the Mexican. “Smash them. I’ll get the stove lights and the lamp on the other side of the room.”
Less than a minute later the two desperate men were out on the path, the previously brightly lighted clearing in front of the cabin now eerily dark. “The
tools
—the gardeners’ tools. Take me to them.”
“
Con mucho cuidado!
We must be careful going around the big house. We will put out the path lights only up to where I say. From the second level those in the house can see they are not on, and there will be alarms. If there are patrols, let me study them first.”
“Let’s go. They’ve got problems up there, but pretty soon someone’s going to wonder where my executioner is. Hurry
up
!”
They smashed the amber lamps up to a ridge that preceded the level ground of the huge manor house—great house, thought Evan, thinking of the tropic zone and the great houses of the Caribbean. The Mexican suddenly grabbed Kendrick’s arm and pulled him through the bordering foliage of the path, then pushed his shoulder down, gripping the flesh; the message was clear: Crouch and be still. A guard, his rifle strapped over his shoulder, passed them on the path going in the opposite direction. “Now quickly, señor! There is no one until the back
galeria
where they drink wine and smoke fish!”
A large patio with a barbecue pit, thought Evan, following Emilio through the thick greenery, wishing he had a machete to cut through the vines but grateful for the strangely ever-present sound of the wind and the crashing waves. They circled down and around the house, when another sound intruded. It was the massive generator, its hum constant, bass-toned, awesome. The engineer in Kendrick tried to calculate the power it produced and the fuel it consumed and the auxiliary input of the necessary field of photovoltaic cells—it was mind-blowing. He had installed
generators from Bahrain to the west deserts of Saudi Arabia, but they were temporary, to be used only until electricity could be cabled in; nothing like this.
Again the Mexican gripped Evan’s shoulder, now more fiercely, his hand trembling, and again they crouched in the underbrush behind the long clipped wall of shrubbery. Kendrick looked up and with sudden fear understood. Ahead, to the left, above the hedgelike border of the path, a guard had heard something or seen something. His upper body was clearly visible in the glow of the amber lights; he moved forward rapidly, snapping the rifle off his shoulder and leveling it in front of him. He walked directly toward them, then only feet away he poked the barrel of the weapon into the brush.
“
¿Quién es?
” shouted the patrol.
Suddenly, lashing out and pouncing like an angry cat, Emilio shot up, grabbing the rifle and pulling the guard through the foliage. There was an abrupt expunging of air that cut off the start of a scream; the man fell into the greenery, the base of his throat a mass of blood. The knife was in Emilio’s right hand.
“Good
God
!” whispered Evan as he and the Mexican dragged the body farther into the brush.
“I had no problem with this
perro
!” said Emilio. “This dog smashed the head of a boy, a young gardener who would not accommodate him, if you understand, señor.”
“I understand, and I also understand that you just saved our lives.… Wait a minute! The rifle, his cap. We can save time! There are no uniforms here, just work clothes—the weapon
is
the uniform. Put on the cap and strap the rifle over your shoulder. Then walk out there and I’ll stay as close to you as I can over here. If it’s quicker for me to go on the path myself, you can make sure it’s clear!”
“
Bueno
,” said the Mexican, reaching for the cap and the weapon. “If I am stopped I will say that this
perro
forced me to replace him for an hour or so. They will laugh but no one will doubt it.… I go. Stay close, and when I tell you, come through the bushes and walk at my side. Not in front and not in back, but at my side. Do you speak Spanish?”
“Not well enough to talk to anyone.”
“Then say nothing. Stay close!” Emilio broke through the bordering hedge, the rifle over his shoulder, and started down the path. Thrashing against the dark tangled greenery, Kendrick did his best to keep pace, every now and then whispering to the
Mexican to slow down. Once at a particularly thick area, Evan removed the meat cleaver from his belt and hacked at a webbed mass of tropical vines, only to hear Emilio cry out under his breath. “
Silencio!
” … Then he heard another command: “Now, señor! Come out and walk with me.
Quickly!
”
Kendrick did so, forcing his way through the bushes to join the Mexican, who suddenly, emphatically, began accelerating his strides down the sloping path. “Is going this fast such a good idea?” asked Evan breathlessly. “If we’re seen, someone might think we were running while on duty.”
“We have come to the back of the main house,” answered Emilio, rushing forward. “There is no one here at this hour but two guards on different paths who meet at the stone
galeria
, then go back over the hill and down to the beaches. It takes them many minutes and they have just left. We can run across the
galeria
and up the far path, then through the woods to the
mantenimiento
—the tools, señor.”
They reached a sunken brick patio, the same patio Kendrick had studied from the small balcony of the guest room above. He remembered the two guards signaling each other from the bases of the opposing paths. The Mexican, who was now very much in charge, grabbed Evan’s arm and nodded to his left, breaking into a run. They raced down into the sunken patio, which was far larger than Kendrick had realized; it extended the length of the house itself, and white wrought-iron furniture had been placed around the central area in front of a large brick barbecue pit. They ran by the side of the house under the balconies, then sprinted across and up the south path of amber lights to a flat area bordered by tall grass, a knoll overlooking the ocean and two beaches separated by a rock-filled coastline perhaps six hundred feet below. The amber lights were now behind them, nothing in front but a narrow descending dirt road.
From this vantage point, a great deal of the back island could be seen in the sporadic moonlight. Directly on the right, no more than three hundred yards away and washed in floodlights, was the enormous generator. Beyond the fenced enclosure were the blurred outlines of a long, low building, Emilio’s “barracks,” assumed Evan. Then far below, just above the beach on the right, its white concrete standing out like a huge flat beacon was the helipad, with a large military helicopter resting in place—painted in civilian colors and with Mexican identification but unmistakably United States military.