The Trafficked

61

The phone rang. It was Fat Harry.

‘We checked you out-very impressive-we have quite a few similar interests, it seems.’

‘You mean we tick each other’s boxes?’

Fat Harry laughed down the phone. He had a laugh that carried on too long after the joke was told. ‘Eleven o’clock, then.’

‘Where?’

‘The Flamingo bar-and Black…no wifey This business is strictly for boys.’

Mann closed his phone. He strapped his armoury on. His spikes were now moved to the harness around his ankle, next to Delilah, and his throwing-star belt was under his armpit, concealed beneath a baggy shirt. He had a knife belt around his waist-with four short-handled shuriken knives tucked inside

He handed Becky a piece of paper.

‘We have to be sure that one of us gets to Angeles. Remy will be waiting for us on a small airstrip, a kilometre away from here. Here is the address…Take the bags and go there now. Remy will wait for two hours. Any sign of trouble, he will lift off and take you straight to Clark and to Father Finn’s refuge. You will have to coordinate things from there. We have just two days left. We have to find the Blanco and force his hand. We have to find his weakness and exploit it, everyone has one. I’m not even sure that CK wants us to win. I think he wants an excuse to start a war. I don’t want to give him one now. This might all be a game to these people but we’re going to do our damndest to spoil it for them. Don’t worry Mann. You will be on that plane, but if not, rest assured that I will do whatever it takes.’

‘Save me a seat on the plane-no running off with Remy.’

She laughed but he could see how scared she was. He didn’t want to but he left her standing in the centre of the room, his heart melting a little.

He walked out through the hotel lobby, which was open on all sides and ended on the beach, and headed for the Flamingo bar. It was a ten-minute walk. He took his time. He was early-always early-but they did not know that about him. In the distance he could make out the pinks and peach of the Flamingo bar, its canvas flapping gently in the breeze. He was thirty metres away. Beyond that he saw a hint of police action-they must have found Reese. He could see Fat Harry, sitting with his back to him, along with English Bob and a third man with a bald head. That must be the contact they had talked about. They still had not seen him. He slowed down. His feet dug into the sand. Something didn’t feel right.