Scorpion (35 page)

She dry fired the rifle, pulling the bolt back and shoving it home again, and squeezing the trigger. It was a heavy weapon, heavier than she preferred, but she’d make it dance in her hands in a very short time. Ram would die, George would have his country, and the Salizars would have no more problems laundering their money.

She moved her gaze back to the throng beneath her. The sun peeking through a moist, partially cloud covered sky painted the crowd below with a friendly brush. From her perch the people looked freshly scrubbed in the tropical afternoon. The lively and bright Caribbean colors—vibrant reds, bright greens, crystal yellows and razor sharp blues—worn by the average man and woman mingled with the dull grays of the light weight suits worn by the office workers, lawyers and politicians, to give the crowd both a sober and a festive look.

She was shaken from her reverie by a light knock on the door, three rapid taps, two slow, Earl’s signal. She lay the rifle down and shut the blinds, shutting off the outside. The blinds were efficient. A little light squinted in from the sides, but none squeezed through. She’d always liked the dark, felt at home in it. She’d always been an observer and the dark of night helped her to merge into the background while she watched.

She raised herself from the chair and went to the door. She tapped lightly, one time, Earl tapped back twice and she opened it.

“
Rampersad’s on the roof. Alone,” Earl said.

“
Arrogant. He should have some officers with him.”

“
Dumber than dog shit.”

“
He thinks he’s a prince and he doesn’t want to share his princely perch,” she said.

“
Lucky for us.”

“
Unlucky for him.”

“
The name on the door, ‘Martel’s Magic,’ what’s that?” Earl asked.

“
Michael Martel the Magic Man. He manufactures magic tricks here in Trinidad. He exports all over the world. He also smuggles cocaine and launders money for the Salizar drug cartel,” she said.

“
How do you know that?” he asked.

“
Trinidad’s a small place, not many secrets.”

“
What about the cops?”

“
George owns the cops.”

“
Yeah, I forgot,” Earl said. She watched him as he digested what she’d said. She liked it when he put his mind to work. She could almost smell the electrical impulses snapping in his brain as he worked it over. Then he smiled and she knew he got it. “You’re sending a message to George Chandee. You’re saying, ‘Don’t fuck with me.’ I like it, but what about Martel?”

“
About now he’s listening to my father tell him why he can’t ship his tricks to the States duty free. Dad will keep him tied up for about another hour, then he’ll give in sometime after Martel agrees to contribute substantially to the president’s next campaign.”

“
How do you know they won’t finish early?”

“
If they do, they’ll celebrate over drinks till dinner. I’m supposed to be the hostess, we’re having Peking duck. The Magic Man likes Chinese.”

“
So the prime minister gets killed by the police chief, shooting from Martel’s window. Your friend George is gonna be one pissed off motherfucker.”

“
The money laundering operation will come to a standstill. It’ll only be a temporary setback but it’ll remind them that the Scorpion has a lethal stinger.”

“
An hour-and-a-half to go,” Earl said, looking at his watch. “I’m gonna go and grab myself a quick snack. You want me to bring you back something?”

“
No, I’m fine,” she said.

“
Okay, I’m outta here,” Earl said, and she went back to the Magic Man’s desk and sat in his plush swivel chair, resuming her vigil at the window, as Earl went out the door.

* * *

“
Are you okay?” Broxton asked.

“
I think so,” Maria said, gasping for breath. “Just got the wind knock out of me. Can you see the glass?” They were lying on their sides, his back against the bed.

“
Arm hurts, can you ease off it?” he said. Both their arms, his right and her left, were under her side. She arched her body and moved so that their arms were lying between them. He bit into his lower lip, against the pain. “I don’t think it’s broken,” he said.

“
Sorry,” she said. “I just wanted to get to the glass. I wasn’t thinking.”

“
It’s okay, I see it. I’m going to have to roll on top of you.”

“
Go,” she said, and when she was on her back he reached out and picked up the glass. He raised their hands and cracked the glass against the edge of the nightstand just like he’d crack an egg against a frying pan

“
Damn, cut myself,” he said, biting back more pain.

“
Where?” she said, turning, straining to see.

“
My hand.”

“
I see it,” she said, and now it was her turn to reach out their arms. She picked up a sharp piece of the glass. “If it sliced into you that easily it ought to slice through the tape.” They were slick with sweat as she brought her left hand through their bodies and sliced at the tape that bound their wrists together, and in seconds they each had an arm free. Then she handed him the glass and he cut through the tape binding their other arms. In a few more seconds they had the tape off their legs and were sitting on the floor, backs against the bed, panting heavily.

“
Want me to turn away?” Broxton said. Although they’d made love, they hadn’t really seen each other naked, and despite the situation, he was embarrassed.

“
Shit, that’s the last thing I care about,” she said, and she pushed herself to her feet using the bed for support.”

“
Can you help me up?” he asked.

“
Your arm’s swollen,” she said, taking his offered left hand and helping him up.

“
Thanks.” He looked at the clock, two-and-a-half hours till five, plenty of time.

“
I need a quick shower,” she said, but first I think I ought to splint and tape that arm, just in case it’s broken. She went to the closet, took down a wooden coat hanger, broke the tops off it and tossed them aside. “This might hurt,” she said. He nodded, sitting on the end of the bed as she used the bottom of the hanger as a splint, taping it to his arm with duct tape. He shivered when she pushed the wood hard against his forearm, but he didn’t cry out.

“
Doesn’t hurt as much.”

“
You’re lying,” she said.

“
You’re right, it hurts like hell, but you did a professional job. Were you a nurse in a past life?”

“
First aid training goes with the job. I’m going to take that shower now.”

“
Wait, I gotta use the head first.” He hustled into the bathroom and relieved himself, sighing as the pain in his bladder eased. Finished he headed toward the phone as Maria passed him on her way to the bathroom. But when he reached it he saw that it wasn’t unplugged, the line was cut. He heard the water go on and he looked around for a weapon in case Earl came back. He settled on a vase. He picked it up in his left hand, hefted it, then turned it over, spilling the flowers and water onto the rug. If Earl came back now, he’d get a face full of vase the second he entered the room.

The water in the bathroom stopped running and in seconds she was coming out the door, toweling off. “The sooner I’m out of here, the better,” she said.

“
Right,” he said. “The phone’s been cut. We’ll have to get to another one, but we’ve got plenty of time.”

She looked at the clock. “It’s stopped,” she said. He must have unplugged it when he cut the phone.

He whipped around and looked at the time. Two-thirty, about the time they’d come up to the room yesterday. “You’re right. I don’t know why I didn’t see it,” he said, as she was pulling on a clean pair of panties. She picked a watch up off the bureau. “Four-fifteen, you don’t have much time.”

“
Shit we have to hustle.”

“
Not me. I’ll be on the eight o’clock flight to Miami. Tomorrow I’ll be in Madrid. It’s been nice knowing you, Broxton, but I’m going.”

“
Don’t go,” he pleaded.

“
I’m sorry. I need my own life for awhile.”

“
I love you,” he said.

“
I believe you think you do, but it was your girl’s name you were moaning through that tape last night.”

“
Please,” he said.

“
Don’t beg, Broxton.” She crossed the room and kissed him on the cheek. “You’re bleeding from that cut,” she said, then she added. “Give it a couple of months. If you still think you’re in love with me, give me a call. You’ll be able to reach me through Iberia in Madrid.”

* * *

There was a crowd around the reception desk. Broxton recognized the uniforms of an American Airlines flight crew mingled with a group of tourists, all smiling, talking and waiting to check in.

“
Excuse me,” he said, going to the front of the line and speaking to a young woman behind the counter. “I have an emergency situation and I need to use a phone.” The words emergency and phone, coupled with Broxton’s taped and swollen right arm, and the blood crusting on his left hand immediately quieted the crowd.

“
This way, please.” The girl was quick to recognize that he needed medical attention. She raised the counter and held it till he passed behind. “We have an emergency here,” she said as she opened a door to an office behind the reception area. She didn’t enter, but she left the door open. She was curious.

“
How can I help?” a young man in a white shirt and tie asked. His wide smile and close cropped hair reminded Broxton of himself when he was in high school.

“
I need a phone, it’s a life and death situation.”

“
Right there,” the man said, his smile gone.

Broxton saw the phone sitting on a wide desk next to a stack of computer print outs. He pulled out a chair and fell into it. There were two other young people in the office besides the man with the tie, both girls who couldn’t be much over twenty. The three youths and the girl at the door all regarded him with a mixture of excitement and fear. His shaved head, glazed eyes, bandaged arm and bloody hand, all added up to daring and danger, and they, along with the tourists and flight crew waiting to check in, were intrigued.

He scooped up the phone, and then he had to think. Who was he going to call? Ramsingh had given him his direct line, but the chances that he’d be there with less than an hour before his speech were slim. Still, anybody who answered would take him seriously. He picked up the phone and punched the buttons. He spent twenty rings drumming his fingers before he hung up.

“
How do you call the police?” he asked.

“
999,” the young man said.

Broxton punched the numbers, more finger drumming and fifteen rings before someone answered. “Police Emergency, Officer Gopaul speaking.” The voice was male and he sounded bored.

“
My name is William Broxton. I have information about an assassination attempt against the prime minister.”

“
Yes, and when is this going to happen?” The boredom was stiff in the officer’s voice.

“
Tonight at five o’clock, during the dedication speech.”

“
I’ll make a note of it. Where are you calling from?”

“
The Hilton Hotel.”

“
That is unusual, usually you people don’t leave your address, but I suppose you could be making it up.”

“
What’s the matter with you?” Broxton said, his voice rising. “I’ve just told you that somebody is going to kill the prime minister and you’re accusing me of making it up. Don’t you think you ought to call Ram and warn him?”

“
So you’re on a first name basis with the prime minister?”

“
Yes,” Broxton said, and then he heard a loud click as Officer Gopaul hung up. “Shit,” he said. He punched the numbers again. This time he didn’t count the rings, but it took longer than the first call for Gopaul to answer.

“
Police Emergency.”

“
Just listen to me, Gopaul,” Broxton said. “I’m a American DEA officer working for the prime minister. In thirty minutes someone is going to put a bullet into Ramsingh’s head. Just get a hold of him and tell him Broxton says not to speak tonight.”

“
No, you listen. For the last couple of months we’ve been getting these kind of calls every day. We no longer take them seriously. The prime minister is unpopular right now, that is a fact, but he is safe tonight. He is dedicating the Police Services Statue and almost every policeman in Trinidad is on hand. Only an idiot would try anything against him there.

“
Just call him,” Broxton said.

“
I don’t know if you’re just another hateful citizen or if you’re for real, but if you are for real your information is wrong. Prime Minister Ramsingh is safe tonight, believe me.”

“
Call him, please.”

“
No. Now, if you have nothing further, I’m going to hang up again. Please don’t call back, this number is for real emergencies only.”

Stunned, Broxton replaced the phone in its cradle. “He doesn’t believe me,” he said to nobody in particular.

“
The police have been getting a lot of calls like that. It’s been on the news and in the papers,” the girl at the doorway said.

“
Would you like me to call you a doctor?” the young man with the tie said.