Chapter Thirteen
Fuck, Venezuela was hot. I flapped the neck of my shirt, keen to disturb the air and cool the sweat that beaded over my chest. I had been here for a week now, and I still hadn’t yet acclimatised. I was beginning to think perhaps I wasn’t ever going to. I never had been a big fan of the heat.
I couldn’t even say my suffering had been worthwhile thus far. Colombia had been a complete dead end, quite literally. True to the intel Agent Evans had passed along, it appeared anyone who had any kind of connection to Alroy Garcia had vanished, including the man himself.
Clutching at straws, I had decided to visit the remains of Garcia’s home and the scene of the fire.
Though the house had been burnt to the ground, a separate garage had remained untouched.
The police reports hadn’t uncovered anything of any interest inside, just several expensive cars that had been transferred to the compound, preparing to go to auction.
Using my rudimentary Spanish, I had managed to persuade the local officers to let me give the vehicles one last look over.
Just as I had begun to believe I had reached yet another dead end, I uncovered a business card, crumpled down the side of one of the seats.
It was for a small beach bar called The Coconut Club in Venezuela.
It had taken almost a week of investigation and hot-desking at the local smalltown precinct, but I had eventually untangled the list of names associated with the property.
At the end of that chain was a Mr Ian Keller.
I’d been on the next flight out of Colombia, touching down in Venezuela only a few hours later.
Unfortunately, that appeared to be where my good fortune had dried up.
The first day I arrived, I made a beeline for the bar, gently probing the staff for any information they had on Keller.
No one seemed to know his name, and I believed they were being genuine.
In fear of raising suspicions, I backed off and decided to change tack.
For the better part of a week now I had been staking out The Coconut Club from an adjacent bar, watching the comings and goings, just waiting for something suspicious to catch my eye.
I stirred my straw in my drink, making the ice clatter against the sides of the glass.
This was the best lead I had. If this turned out to be another red herring, I really wasn’t sure where to go next.
I tipped the glass back, sucking in an ice cube and crunching it up between my teeth, an all too familiar frustrated scowl marring my face.
It was shaping up to be yet another day with no leads.
Just how long could I drag this out before I was going to be forced to return to work?
My two weeks of holiday were almost up. I could perhaps extend it another week if I phoned in sick – my absence record was pristine, and I was sure I wouldn’t be questioned – but to what end?
Had I just wasted two weeks of my time? I crunched another mouthful of ice, motioning to the bartender to get me a top-up.
I was just raising my glass to my lips when commotion caught my attention.
There. A group of men, clearly not locals.
I watched with bated breath as they made their way out from between two buildings and along the promenade before turning off into The Coconut Club.
I practically leapt up off my bar stool with excitement.
At last, this was what I had been waiting for.
It was too far away to make out any faces, but if I could just get closer—
“Ugh, them again,” the bartender grumbled, his dark eyes fixed on the same men that had caught my attention. I glanced back at him.
“You know them? They look like trouble.”
“That’s because they are,” he muttered, drying a glass with a cloth. “Before they bought that place, we never had any issues around these parts. Since those foreigners moved in, it’s all you hear about.”
“Foreigners?” I asked, praying I didn’t sound too excited.
The bartender’s expression faltered. “Ah, no, sorry, I didn’t mean to cause offence.”
“None taken,” I replied. “Are those men like me? English?”
“The ringleader is. When he first bought the place and they were renovating it, he was in here with his men every day, being loud, drinking too much, causing trouble… He’s around a lot less now the work is finished, which is a blessing.”
“I don’t suppose you have a name?”
“Why? Are you a cop?” His eyes narrowed.
My hands flew up. “No, no. Nothing like that. I was just curious. I wanted to know who I needed to avoid, that’s all. I’m not looking for any trouble.”
“I don’t know who he is. He introduced himself once, but it was a while ago. I’m not good with foreign names,” he muttered.
I didn’t reply, just sipped my drink. My eyes fixed on the bar as the men disappeared inside.
Nothing looked out of the ordinary from the outside.
Just as always, regular customers came and went without issue.
I sagged forward. It was going to be a long day, but this was the break I had been waiting for. I’d be damned if I was giving up now.
“Hey, do you do food? I think I’m going to be here for a little while today.”
Night had fallen, the beach growing quiet and vacant.
The promenade was lit up beneath strings of lights, faded and cracked with age.
It was pretty, but I couldn’t enjoy it. I had my mind fixed on the group of men that hadn’t come out from The Coconut Club for longer than five minutes to grab a cigarette before retreating back inside.
When my bartender friend had decided to close up for the night, I had been kicked out into the darkness, but I hadn’t wasted any time.
Heading straight for the alleyway that I had seen the group emerge from, I quickly found the vehicle they must have arrived in.
Unlike everything else in this sleepy, rundown seaside town, it was sleek and sophisticated.
My hotel was a ten-minute car ride from the beach and as such I had rented a moped to use after discovering how expensive taxis back and forth were going to be. I hurried to where I had parked it up this morning and after checking Keller hadn’t yet left the bar, sat in wait.
Just as I wondered how long I could hold out, my arse long since having fallen asleep, the bright headlights of Keller’s car speared the darkness. Waiting until they had driven a fair distance ahead, I kicked the moped into gear and tailed him. Where was he going? Home? I could but hope.
We left the seaside town behind, cruising out into the pitch dark of the countryside.
The dim light of my moped headlamp made the journey precarious, to say the least, but I kept my eyes fixed on Keller’s car up ahead.
I couldn’t risk losing him now, not after waiting all this time for him to show his face.
Eventually, perhaps an agonising hour later, the car turned off, and not wanting to look suspicious, I sped past them. They had come to a halt outside a huge set of metal gates, the kind you saw surrounding stately homes. This had to be it!
I pulled the moped up, uncaring when the wheels skidded through the dusty gravel at the side of the road, and hastily hopped off. Abandoning my vehicle, I jogged back towards the house, creeping through the wilderness.
It was so still, so peaceful. All around me, crickets chirped and a gentle breeze rolled through the long grass making it hiss.
I lifted my t-shirt, snatching my gun from its holster, strapped around my chest and hidden beneath a loose, gaudy floral shirt as it was.
I flicked off the safety and crept closer, the gates looming ahead through the dim light.
The car had long since disappeared inside.
The red glow of brake lights cut through the gloom, mere pinpricks in the distance now.
I didn’t dare get too close to the gates.
No doubt he’d have CCTV cameras there. I slipped through the darkness, following the gates around and trying not to think too hard about the insect life I may be inadvertently brushing against in long grass like this.
I had a real cocktail of inoculations against most of the nasty diseases you might pick up overseas, but ticks didn’t discriminate.
I shuddered, putting it to the back of my mind.
As I made my way through the darkness, I spotted lights up ahead.
There, just as I had expected, was a large manor house.
The car I had tailed here was parked up outside, lights off and engine silent.
Keller had gone inside. This was his house, or at least somewhere he was staying.
Excitement and adrenaline flurried in my gut.
I craned my neck back to look up at the gate towering above me.
That was going to be my next problem – how the fuck was I going to get in?
On some level, I knew I should phone this in.
I shouldn’t be progressing without back up.
It was a death wish and went against everything they taught us in MI6, and yet I pushed onwards.
Agent Roberts’s words bounced around my head.
I wouldn’t be heading home until I had something solid.
I didn’t yet know for sure this was Ian Keller and I wasn’t about to risk more ridicule by jumping the gun.
I tried to convince myself that once I had the proof I needed, I would call it in, but a familiar thrill rushed through me.
What if I was the one to bring in Ian Keller?
A lone rookie agent achieving what the whole of MI6 had failed to do.
I’d be a shoo-in for promotion, and Agent Roberts? Well, that would show her.
I followed the fence around, periodically pushing against the bars, hunting for a weakness, a loose weld, anything that I could use to my advantage and gain entry.
As I came around to the back of the property, I finally found what I was looking for.
When my hand pushed against one of the iron bars, it clunked and rattled. A weak link at last.