“ Not this one, no. I had larger considerations.”
“ My ears are burning, but I’m listening,” he said.
“ I was worried about the future. Thinking someday someone might connect my travel itinerary for Save the Children with the close proximity to the Scorpion’s attacks, just like you did. I decided to buy myself a little insurance.”
“ You thought that if you were with Broxton when Ramsingh was hit that you’d be in the clear. If Scorpion killed Ramsingh and you had an alibi, then you couldn’t be him.
“ Something like that.”
“ But the idiot set off a bomb.”
“ At my instruction. When they reconstructed it they’d have found out that I was in an airplane sitting next to the man sent by the United States to protect Ramsingh when the bomb was set.”
“ And what about your wayward sheriff?”
“ He’s still useful,” she said.
“ You’re sure?”
“ I need him,” she said.
“ I just hope you know what you’re doing,” he said through pursed lips. He reminded her of a snake.
“ So do I, George.”
“ And I hope I don’t ever have to regret recruiting you.”
“ And I hope you don’t mean that as a threat. This whole thing was your idea.”
“ I want him dead before he can make the police dedication speech next week,” he said. “He plans on announcing a new drug treaty with the United States. Once he tells the world, I’d have to sign it, even if he dies.”
“ What’s the treaty entail?”
“ It allows America’s drug agents free run of Trinidad. We can’t have the DEA over here arresting anyone they want. We might as well be in Washington.
“ He’ll never announce the treaty, George.”
“ I have your word?”
“ You have it,” she said.
Earl had just poured himself a stiff Scotch when he heard the rapping. He was waiting on room service. He’d only ordered for one, because he was convinced she wouldn’t come. He lumbered across the room with an eye on the tube. Rocky was playing on one of the hotel channels, and although he’d seen the movie dozens of times it still hit him in the heart. He was addicted to courage and he loved happy endings.
“ You wanna take a shower?” she said when he opened the door.
“ Sure,” he said. She swept past him heading for the bathroom. He heard her start the water as he picked up the phone and canceled his order of steak and fries.
“ Come on, big guy,” she said from under the spray.
“ Coming,” he said, cradling the phone. He stepped into the bathroom and stepped out of his Levi’s, noticing her jeans neatly laid across the back of the toilet. She wore Levi’s too. He liked that. Then he pulled his tee shirt off and stepped into the shower and the time of his life.
Forty minutes later he was flat on his back, looking up at her firm breasts as she slid back and forth, attempting to make him come for a third time. He hadn’t had sex like this since he was in high school. She’d attacked him the second he slipped into the shower, draining him in less time than it took a jackrabbit to jack. Then she led him, still wet, to the bed, where they did it long and slow and she opened the heavens for him. And now she was rocking above him, looking like an angel, and then he spasmed and shot into her for that third time.
“ More?” she said, giggling.
“ I’m lucky I survived that.”
“ I wanted it to be good for you,” she said. “I wanted it to be the best.”
“ Baby, it was,” he said.
“ Good, let’s take another shower. And then we have to talk.”
Twenty minutes later she told him about the plans to take over a country, and how he could help.
Chapter Fifteen
Broxton struck out, swimming toward the deep water. Ramsingh must be heading for one of the anchored yachts. It was the only thing that made sense. He stopped, treading water. But which ship? The closest? He was shivering cold and at a complete loss. From the beach the yachts were barely visible, but out here, closer, he could see that they were as thick as trees in a forest. His chances of picking the right boat weren’t good, but he couldn’t stay where he was, so he started for the nearest yacht.
The black sea chilled him to the bone, his wet clothes became his enemy now, making it harder for him to move through the water, pulling at him, slowing him down. He stopped again, treading water. He was farther out, the wind had kicked up, and it was harder for him to stay afloat. He had to get rid of his pants or he wouldn’t make it.
Treading against the sea with only his left arm he loosened the top button of his Levi’s with his right. He popped open the four buttons, but the pants, wet and tight, fit him like a second skin. Try as he might, he couldn’t slide them down. Maybe if he was in a quiet bedroom with his rump on a soft mattress, but not out in the cold sea, while he was treading water with only one hand.
A chill, colder than the sea, gripped his spine and squeezed it. The Levi’s had to come off. If not he was going to die. He was out of breath, out of strength and his waterlogged jeans were pulling him down sure as cement shoes on a snitch’s feet. He wanted them off, had to get them off. But no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t force them down with only one hand.
He grabbed a deep breath, slipped his thumbs between flesh and denim and curled himself into a sinking ball. He was alone in the dark as he grabbed the jeans tighter at the hips and wiggled them off. Then he started toward the surface, fighting to hold his breath against the pressure pounding in his chest.
He broke through, taking in air, before he sank back down. He windmilled his arms in an effort to stay afloat. Then he felt something hit him, something grabbing at him. Shark was his first thought, and he lashed out at it, but it moved away. He tried to turn, to face it as it came at him again, and it did, grabbing at his back, tugging at his shirt. He threw a hand over his head, trying to get at it, but he couldn’t reach.
“ Slow down! Don’t panic!” Ramsingh shouted. “I’ve got you.” The prime minister’s steady arm wrapped around him. “It’s all right,” he soothed, and Broxton stopped flapping, stopped fighting, and allowed the prime minister to support him while he sucked in badly needed air, heaving it in and out, like a long distance runner at the end of a marathon.
“ Lay back, take it easy,” Ramsingh said, and Broxton obeyed, floating on his back, putting complete trust in him, allowing the older man to keep him afloat as he stared at the round moon and the slow moving clouds that threatened to take away its light. He’d always thought of himself as a good swimmer, but tonight proved him wrong. And he’d thought himself in fair shape. This night proved him wrong about that, too.
“ Better?” Ramsingh asked.
“ Yeah, thanks,” Broxton said.
“ We never give up, we never quit,” Ramsingh said, and Broxton felt himself nodding. “That was my campaign slogan,” Ramsingh said, his voice soft, slow and rhythmic. “The polls had me so far behind sometimes I wondered why I kept on, but I did, and when things looked the blackest I said that to myself, over and over, like a mantra, ‘We never give up. We never quit. We never give up. We never quit’.”
“ We never give up. We never quit,” Broxton said along with him.
“ That’s the spirit,” Ramsingh said, still holding him afloat. “The only thing you have to be afraid of out here is yourself.”
“ Thanks,” Broxton said, breathing easier now.
“ You’re in control?”
