He settled in and had just fastened his seatbelt when his senses went on alert.
“ Well, Mr. Broxton, how nice to see you again.”
“ Good evening, Mr. Prime Minister.” Prime Minister Ramsingh was the last to board the plane and he was standing over Broxton’s seat with his hand on the headrest.
“ Call me Ram, all my friends do.”
“ I don’t know if I can, sir,” Broxton said.
The prime minister was smiling, amused at Broxton’s discomfort. “Sure you can. And please don’t call me sir. I’m just plain Ram. I insist. I really don’t like this sir business, especially from my friends. And we better be friends, because I’m not the one paying you to keep me alive.”
“ I thought-” Broxton stammered, but the prime minister cut him off.
“ The attorney general was a little impetuous when he told your secretary of state that we didn’t want American help. He embarrassed me into agreeing to go along with his ridiculous notion that we should handle the situation by ourselves, but only a fool would shun the help of someone who was trying to keep him alive. I’ve been called a lot of things, but nobody’s ever called me that, at least not to my face.”
“ Yes, sir.”
“ Ram, no more sir,” the prime minister said. “I’ll have an office set up for you next to mine when we get back to Trinidad and I’ll clear my itinerary with you every morning. You can call your people and tell them I’ll cooperate fully. They can send over any help they think you might need. Our goals are the same, to stop the flow of Colombian cocaine through Trinidad, and of course to keep me alive.” He chuckled.
“ Yes, sir, I mean, Ram.”
“ I’m staying at the Sans Souci. You can stay with me. The presidential suite has two bedrooms. It’s very up scale, with an ocean view. I think you’ll like it.”
“ I’m sure I will,” Broxton said. Then he asked, “Where’s your security?”
“ I don’t have any. Mr. Chandee booked this flight under an assumed name and he has me flying second class. He said I shouldn’t worry, anybody wanting to assassinate me wouldn’t expect me to be in Venezuela.”
“ When someone tells me not to worry, that’s when I start worrying.”
“ Exactly,” the prime minister said.
“ Sir, would you please take your seat,” a young stewardess said.
“ You can ride to the hotel with me,” the prime minister said.
“ It would be my pleasure,” Broxton said, and the prime minister turned and let the stewardess guide him to an aisle seat four rows forward.
“ He’s going to Venezuela to sign a treaty concerning fishing rights. There’s been problems between the Venezuelan Coast Guard and Trini fishermen,” Dani said. Her lips were tight and bloodless and Broxton wondered what she was upset about.
“ They shot up a fishing boat,” Broxton said. “I read about it in the paper.”
“ I knew it was something like that,” she said, tight lips relaxing, forehead scowl easing. The little crow’s feet around her eyes were hardly noticeable, unless she smiled wide or was angry.
“ You okay?” he asked.
“ Yes, I was thinking about Dad’s birthday. I haven’t bought anything yet.”
“ Damn, I forgot all about it,” Broxton said.
“ It’s not the kind of thing a man would remember,” she said, again relaxed. “You want me to exchange places with Ramsingh?”
“ Yeah,” he said, and he stepped into the aisle to allow her to slide out from her place by the window. He remained standing as the plane taxied, while Dani moved up to the prime minister’s seat. He watched her bend down and whisper in his ear. Then she took his seat and the prime minister moved back toward Broxton.
“ I usually sit in the aisle seat,” Ramsingh said.
“ Not today,” Broxton said.
“ Of course. You want to be between me and everybody else.” Ramsingh took the window seat.
“ Something like that,” Broxton said. Then asking as Ramsingh fastened his seatbelt, “You really have no security on this trip?”
“ None. Both George and Kevin Underfield said it wasn’t necessary. Nobody knows I’m here.”
“ Give me a few minutes to digest this.” Broxton leaned back and fastened his own seatbelt. It clicked closed with a snap that sent visions of his last flight flashing through him and he grabbed onto the armrests with a tight knuckled grip. He’d never been afraid of flying, but that last flight was too close in memory for him to be at ease during takeoff.
“ You have about forty minutes before we land in Margarita, unless someone kills me on the plane first,” Ramsingh said, as the plane started its takeoff roll. His voice had an amused ring to it and Broxton was impressed. Ramsingh was obviously taking the threat on his life seriously, but he wasn’t letting it dull his sense of humor.
Once they were airborne Broxton was able to breathe easier. He relaxed his grip on the armrests and started to think. When he’d been given the assignment it was an outside chance at best that he’d be able to do anything more than observe the events in Trinidad as they unfolded. It was an easy job, given to him both because of Warren and as a reward for work well done. A short assignment so that he’d be able to say he’d been in the field. Now it was a real job and Ramsingh was his responsibility, at least until he was able to get help.
“ I’m not a field agent,” Broxton said, voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t want anyone else to hear.
“ What do you do?” Ramsingh asked, speaking as quietly as Broxton.
“ I read books, reports, newspapers, anything that has to do with cocaine or Colombia. I analyze what I read, I summarize it for people who don’t have the time to read, then I go back and read some more and do it all over again.”
“ And who reads your stuff?” Ramsingh asked.
“ Probably nobody.”
“ And they made you a bodyguard?”
“ You have your attorney general to thank for that. He made it clear your government wanted no interference. So the only thing they could do was send me.”
“ Because you’re engaged to Warren Street’s daughter.”
“ That’s a sore point with me. We’re not exactly engaged. Yet,” he said.
“ But that’s why they picked you, because of Warren?” Ramsingh asked.
“ Exactly. They figured I couldn’t do much, but I was better than nothing.”
“ Not a comforting thought.”
“ But now it’s my job to keep you alive.”
“ Think you’re any good?” Ramsingh said.
“ I don’t like to fail,” Broxton said.
“ Let’s hope that’s good enough.”
An hour and a half later the three of them were sharing a taxi to the Sans Souci. Broxton was sitting in front with the cab driver, Dani and Ramsingh were sitting in back.
“ I hope you don’t mind my stealing Mr. Broxton from you,” Ramsingh said.
“ Not at all. I’ve got a lot of shopping to do and he’d only be in the way.”
“ It’s a shame you think you have to leave Trinidad to do your shopping,” Ramsingh said.
“ It’s a shame you have a fifteen percent value added tax added on to such a high duty. It keeps your people poor and your goods inferior,” she said.
“ Government has to run.”
“ Not on the backs of the poor. Government should encourage full employment so that it can survive on a graduated income tax. The rich need to pay their fair share.”
“ I can’t change the system overnight. Some things are just going to have to wait until after the election.”
“ You promised you’d get rid of the vat before the last election. I didn’t hear you saying, ‘Elect me and I’ll coast through my first term and if you reelect me I’ll do something about these unfair taxes’.”
“ The government was in much worse shape than I thought before I took office.”
“ That’s an old story. Every third world government uses it.”
