The Sand Trap (53 page)

“Stay down and watch for the boat.”

He moved up the trail and hid behind a large
rock where he would be hidden from the assailant but could get a
clear look at a sharp corner as the trail twisted down to the
beach. As soon as the man was in partial view Burt shot and the man
went down without a sound. Burt thought for a moment about going
and picking up the machine pistol that bounced a few metres down
the path, but rejected that as too dangerous.

“The boat!” Maria yelled at him. “It’s
coming!”

Burt turned to see a large tourist type
fishing boat slowly come around the headland. It was too large to
beach but even from a distance he could see the Zodiac hanging from
some davits at the back of the boat and see that someone was
already starting to lower it. At the same time he heard shouting
from the top of the cliff so he realized there were at least two
more men to deal with. It was something of a stalemate. The men
could not get at them or get down the cliff without being exposed.
But he and Maria could not run across the beach without exposing
themselves to the machine pistols. Meanwhile the fishing boat was
idling a hundred yards off shore and the small Zodiac was in the
water and coming to shore with one driver and someone slumped over
the gunwale. He heard some shots from above as someone tried to get
the Zodiac but all that did was tell Burt the range of the pistols
as the bullets hit the sand with a puff twenty yards from the
water.

“We have to find a way to get to the Zodiac.
I’m going to have to distract these guys up there while you get to
the shore. It looks like you’ll be fine if you make the water. So
when I say so run for the water.”

She wanted to argue but she knew he was
right. This was his business not hers, so she waved, smiled and
waited. He moved to get in position and nodded his head. As she
sprinted for the beach he ran up the path and as he went around the
sharp bend in the trail he saw the shooter stand up and level the
pistol at Maria. Burt let out two shots before the man could shoot
and Maria was safe, but he was now exposed on the trail as the
second man looked down and aimed his pistol at Burt. His senses
told him he didn’t have the time to get his own pistol up in time
and he knew he was going to die. He could see that the man was the
one called Francisco and he could see the pleasure in the man’s
face as he knew he had the upper hand. This particular shootout was
his to win. Then at the same time that Burt heard the shots from
the top of the trail near the road, two bloody holes appeared in
the middle of the man's chest. Francisco collapsed to the ground
and the machine pistol rattled down the trail and landed at Burt’s
feet. He looked up the trail to see Doug standing there holding a
.45 in a double-handed grip. Doug gave him a smile, a brief eyebrow
salute, pointed two fingers in in his eyes and pointed them at
Burt. Burt smiled, mouthed a 'thank you’ as he returned the salute
and ran down the beach to the water. Within moments all three were
in the Zodiac.

Without a word, Richard took the body that
was slumped over the gunwale and dumped it over the side and to
their shock Maria and Burt could see it was a headless body. “Hello
Melanie,” Richard offered his hand to Maria and nodded to the body.
“It’s too bad about Maria Jimenez; she was a wonderful person,” he
offered wistfully as he offered her his hand. “Get in and let’s get
out of here.”

Within moments the Zodiac was stored on the
davits and they were on the fishing boat, cruising out into the Sea
of Cortez. Burt was delighted to find that Mary was on board and
gave her a quick hug. Two other men were on board as well and were
just introduced by their first names so Burt assumed they were
agents as well. One drove the boat while the other stood in the
stern looking around the sea and the beach for other threats. Maria
and Burt were led down to a small living-dining area under the deck
and the four of them sat while Richard poured them each a tumbler
of scotch.

“Here Melanie. This will help the adrenalin
subside,” he suggested as he offered her the drink. So far there
had been no explanations or conversation and while Burt was used to
quietly accepting that things were under control, Melanie was
clearly confused.

Richard started the conversation. “OK,
first. If you are concerned, we did not kill that body we dumped
off. She was a generous donation to the UCLA medical school for
research purposes. Now she will serve our purposes of establishing
Maria’s death. Without a head and with your Mexican passport in her
pocket it will just be assumed she was another drug kill.”

Melanie looked relieved and started to ask a
question, but Richard put up his hand and stopped her.

“Second. Here is your new passport." He
handed her a Canadian passport with her photo and name, Melanie
McDougal, Bumstead, Manitoba. It was two years old and leafing
through it she saw that it had entry stamps for the U.S. and
Mexico. “Here is yours Burt.” And he handed Burt a similar passport
but in the name of Oscar Schneider.

“Hey, this guy worked at the university!”
Burt exclaimed. “He is long haired old hippy professor!”

“So are you,” and he reached into a bag and
grabbed a blond wig and tossed it to Burt. “You can’t get out of
the country as Burt Van Royan quite yet. Oscar here happened to
send in his passport for renewal so we’ve just borrowed it for a
couple of weeks. When you are done with it we’ll send it back to
him with a new one and no one will be the wiser; unless, of course,
his wife takes a close look at his passport and wonders why he was
down in Mexico for a couple of weeks. We figured that getting a
passport from someone at the university would save you having to
learn another background story,”

“A wig! I have to wear a wig! “Burt whined
as he tried it on.

“Nice, you’re prettier than me now,” Melanie
offered.

“Not likely,” Richard countered. “But go
into the head and use this to get rid of that black hair dye and
you’ll be even more beautiful.” He tossed her a small bottle.

Mary interjected. “You need to look like
your passport photo Melinda. We took a recent photo that Burt sent
us and photo shopped it as much as possible to be the old
Melanie.

Melanie looked accusingly over at Burt. “How
long have you guys been working on this?”

“Ever since I first heard you speak
Spanish.”

“It wasn’t that hard to find you from the
missing person reports from the late seventies and not hard to find
out why you left,” Mary sympathetically offered.

“It was a long time ago and is long behind
me. It will be good to be Canadian again.” She looked at all three.
“Thank you.”

“You’re not home yet,” Mary interjected. “We
still have to get you out of Mexico and established in California
so Burt here can follow his golf fantasy.”

Richard continued. “We are heading across
the Sea of Cortez to a place called San Carlos. It is a former
fishing village turned into a small resort community of Canadians
escaping winter and Phoenix folks escaping summer heat. There is
one hotel and yesterday a very nice looking couple who look
remarkably like the two of you checked into the hotel after driving
down from Phoenix. If you look at your passports you’ll see that
you came into Mexico yesterday. The couple went to the marina and
went on a fishing boat for an over night excursion. The fishing
boat will now drop them off in the morning and they will go back to
the hotel and visibly walk through the reception area like the mid
fifty-year-old lovers you are. You will spend two weeks at the
hotel and enjoy the pleasures of San Carlos. They even have a golf
course. If Burt here has done his work correctly, no one will be
looking for you. You will drive back across the same border point
you came in and drive to La Quinta, California.” He looked over at
Burt. “You will be Burt again and you are entered into the
California Champions Tournament qualifier starting May – three
weeks from now.” Mary and Richard looked at each other and smiled
smugly. “Any questions?”

Melanie only raised her eyebrows.

Burt took her hand. “Welcome to the Hotel
California Melanie.”

(Back to Table of Contents)

“Take a look at this Melanie,” Burt called
from the deck as he looked up from his morning tea and the Globe
and Mail on his iPad. The deck was on the fourth floor of a condo
overlooking the seventh hole of the Cactus Springs Golf and Country
Club near La Quinta, California and Melanie was in the kitchen
chopping some fruit for breakfast. She came out onto the sunny,
south facing deck as she wiped her hands on her apron and took the
iPad from Burt.

‘
Mexican financier dies of a heart attack
on golf course in Spain’
the headline read. The story went on
to provide a Gandhi like obituary for Jose Gorges, ‘
one of
Mexico’s richest and most philanthropic citizens; chief financial
advisor to the Mexican President and cabinet; the man who had
brought manufacturing and jobs to most parts of Mexico; a breath of
entrepreneurial fresh air in a drug tainted country; an inspiration
to any young person in a barrio who dreams of pulling themselves
out of a life surrounded by crime
.’

Maria snorted. “Seems to me he is going to
be a better role model dead than alive.”

It was three weeks since their encounter
with Gorges in San Jose del Cabo and a week since they had arrived
in California after a wonderful two-week holiday, they called it
their honeymoon, in San Carlos. “He was a tougher bugger than I
thought. Or I didn’t get the mixture quite right,” he pondered.
“But it seems to have worked at any rate.”

He took a sip from his tea. “Do you think
that I’m ready? Do I have a chance?”

“That’s two questions. The first? You are as
ready as you could ever be. You are a good golfer Burt and I admire
you for sticking to your dream. The second? You do realize only
five golfers will get their Champions Tour card and there are a
dozen ex-PGA tour card holders in the field this weekend?”

The qualifying tournament is a grueling
four-day event that starts with 230 golfers vying for the Champions
Tour card and only five getting full privileges and another five
getting limited privileges. All two hundred thirty would have made
it here on the basis of past victories or consistently good play
through a myriad of regional qualifying events. Burt qualified for
one shot at this because he was Burt Van Royan, a one time winner
of the California junior championship, and not because he was Gord
the winner of his club’s senior championship.

“I mean you have never played at this level.
I think you are very capable of staring down a man with a gun
leveled at your head, but you have no idea how you will respond to
the pressures of such competitive golf.”

“And you do?”

“Yes, I was there once Burt. Some of it
brings back some painful memories I still have difficulty leaving
behind. But just being here and playing again like we have this
week gets other juices flowing that are more pleasurable. The focus
for this kind of competition is immense and I’m not sure you have
been tested enough to make it happen.”

“Well, thanks for your honesty at least.
We’ve three days before the start so let’s see what Mexico did to
my game. Eat up, let’s go to the course.”

They had spent the days since they arrived
playing the tournament course and their evenings discussing their
future. The playing was clean and precise for both of them. There
was no confusion or dissent that surrounded his or her special
talents, although it was clear to anyone who watched that she was
by far the better golfer. The Champions Tour qualifiers brought out
a crowd of golf followers and a small group followed the two of
them as they played. The crowd sometimes distracted Burt, while
Melanie seemed oblivious to their presence, even the obvious fact
that some of the crowd was far more interested in her golf than
his.

By the third day of golf there was a growing
crowd following their rounds, each checking their programs for the
tournament and to Melanie’s surprise and pleasure, one young girl
even came up to Melanie after and asked for her autograph. There
had also been some press contact and Burt had told them all he
wasn’t interested in any interviews or media coverage. He didn’t
want too many people to read about Burt Van Royan in the local
paper, especially those who had presumed he was buried somewhere in
the desert. The golf was good and Melanie was constantly helping
Burt with his game and the only time she was impatient was when he
seemed to lose his focus and scan the following crowd nervously.
She guessed he was getting nervous that he might be discovered.