Читать книгу The Rebel: The new crime thriller that will have you gripped in 2018 - Jaime Raven, Jaime Raven - Страница 15

Acapulco used to be one of Mexico’s most popular tourist destinations, with its spectacular beaches and bustling nightlife.

Its heyday was in the 50s and 60s when it epitomised tropical glamour and became a playground for the rich and famous.

But over the last decade or so the glitter had turned to blood and it had become one of the most violent towns on the planet.

Rosa Lopez reflected on this as she prepared to leave her hotel room overlooking the bay.

She’d first come here twenty-two years ago when she was just six. It was the last vacation she ever had with her parents before they were slaughtered in their sleep.

The memories hadn’t faded, and she still remembered how busy the beaches were then and how rare it was to see police officers on the streets. These days the beaches were often empty and the tourist areas were patrolled by heavily armed cops and soldiers.

But heightened levels of security had failed to stop the drug cartels from fighting each other for control of the smuggling routes along the Guerrero coast.

And it was this conflict that had brought Rosa back to the Pacific town.

She had arrived earlier by plane from Mexico City, and after checking in she’d had time for a short nap and a hot eucalyptus bubble bath.

Now she was ready to go to work. But before leaving the room she checked herself in the full-length mirror and nodded approvingly.

She was dressed to kill and that was deliberate because after the job was done she planned to visit one of the town’s famous nightclubs.

She was wearing her tightest designer jeans, faded and low-slung on the hips, and a V-neck T-shirt that revealed most of her ample cleavage.

Her lipstick was garishly red and her hair hung loose about her shoulders.

Her aim, as always, was to stand out from the crowd, which required a degree of effort in venues that were loud and dark and filled with pussy.

Killing always made her juices flow and she had no intention of spending the night alone. She’d discovered long ago that the best way to wind down and relax was to have sex with a beautiful stranger.

‘Time to hit the town,’ she said to herself, as she draped a little red purse over her shoulder.

A few minutes later she was walking through the hotel’s luxurious reception area to the sound of Going Loco Down in Acapulco by the Four Tops. It made her smile because it had been her father’s favourite song and he’d played it constantly at their home in Culiacan. It was one of the reasons he’d been so keen to visit the place.

As previously arranged there was a car waiting for her in front of the hotel, the driver standing next to it, waiting to open the door for her. He was tall and dark-skinned, and wearing a black shirt over jeans. He introduced himself as Miguel.

The only thing she knew about him was that, like her, he worked for the Sinaloa cartel. Carlos Cruz, their boss, had given her his number and she’d called him from the hotel.

His face broke into a wide grin as she approached.

‘I have heard many things about you, Miss Lopez,’ he said in Spanish as his eyes gave her the once-over. ‘And I can see that the tales of your beauty were not exaggerated.’

She got this a lot from the men she encountered and it used to drive her crazy. Now she just ignored it.

‘There’s no time for small talk,’ she said sharply. ‘Just get me to where we’re going.’

His smile vanished and he quickly opened the rear door for her to climb inside.

As soon as they were on the move, she said, ‘So tell me what I need to know.’

She already knew that there were two targets and they were top lieutenants in the Los Zetas cartel, which had been at war with the Sinaloa cartel for some time.

Carlos wanted them taken out because a month ago they had given the order for a local politician and his entire family to be murdered. The man, his wife and their two teenage daughters had had their throats cut and were then beheaded. Video footage of it happening had been then posted on the Internet.

‘The pair have been under surveillance throughout the day,’ Miguel said. ‘They are now at a restaurant on Avenue Escencia. The place is busy and the two are sitting next to a window with a view of the ocean.’

Rosa had seen photographs of the two men and had committed their faces to memory. They were both in their early thirties and were known as a pair of brutal enforcers whose speciality was torture.

‘Is there anyone looking out for them?’ she asked.

He nodded. ‘There’s one minder. A few minutes ago he was sitting on a wall to the left of the entrance. He’s wearing a dark suit and if he moves I’ll be informed.’

Rosa was impressed. It was always good to know well in advance what to expect.

‘I’m taking you to a side road a few hundred yards from the restaurant,’ Miguel said. ‘We’ll be there in about ten minutes. It’s where the motorcycle you requested has been parked. Everything else you asked for is in the trunk.’

‘Sounds good,’ Rosa said, looking at her watch. ‘With luck it’ll all be over within half an hour.’

Rosa was driven to a narrow, unlit road that looked as though it was rarely used. There were no properties nearby, and the darkness was oppressive, as though it carried weight.

A motorcycle was resting up against a hedge. It was an old Honda Cargo 150 and the engine was still warm. Rosa had been riding motorbikes for years and she was familiar with the controls.

Miguel handed her the key and said, ‘It was picked up earlier today and is in a very good condition.’

From the trunk of his car he took out a helmet, a one-piece leather motorcycle suit, gloves, and a small rucksack containing a Glock 19 machine pistol and a commando knife.

Rosa slipped into the suit and heaved the rucksack onto her back.

Miguel then told her how to get to the restaurant and she mounted the bike.

‘I wish you luck, Miss Lopez,’ he said. ‘But I am sure that you won’t need it.’

The restaurant was set back from the main road and was clearly a popular establishment. The lighting inside was subdued and there was a parking area in front with about a dozen cars.

Rosa spotted the bodyguard straight away. He was sitting on a low wall smoking a cigarette and he was the only person in sight.

She brought the bike to a halt against the kerb just a couple of yards away from him.

He stood up stiffly to attention as she dismounted. She’d already removed the commando knife from the rucksack and with her back to the guy she unzipped her suit top and reached for it with her gloved hand.

She then used the element of surprise to her advantage by whirling around and rushing at him.

Before he could react she plunged the knife deep into his stomach with a fierce upward thrust.

His eyes ballooned in their sockets and he staggered backwards, allowing Rosa to withdraw the knife and stab him in the chest. It sent him sprawling over the wall and onto a patch of grass where his body convulsed in a death shudder.

She then threw the knife onto the ground next to him and took the pistol from the rucksack, which she simply discarded.

Without a moment’s hesitation she burst into the restaurant. It was about half full and there was soft music playing in the background.

Heads turned towards her as she strode across the room with her pistol arm raised. But she stayed focused on the two men at the far table next to the window.

As soon as they realised what was happening, they both jumped to their feet, which made it less likely that Rosa would miss them.

She took aim and let loose with the machine pistol. Amid screams all around her she watched as the bullets tore into her victims, spraying blood over the window and the white tablecloth between them.

Both men hit the floor like bags of cement and she shot them several more times for good measure.

Then she turned around and fired a few more rounds into the ceiling so that none of the customers or staff would be tempted to approach her.

But she needn’t have worried because those who hadn’t already dashed out of the restaurant were cowering under the tables.

Outside, she dropped the gun, mounted the bike, and with a screech of rubber she made her escape.

It was another job well done and she was pleased with herself.

Five minutes later she was back in the car, having removed the helmet and leather suit.

She told Miguel that it had gone without a hitch and that the two Los Zetas enforcers were dead.

‘Carlos will be pleased,’ he said. ‘You did well. Now I will take you back to your hotel.’

‘I’m not going back yet,’ she said. ‘I want you to drop me off at a nightclub that you know will be lively tonight. I need to wind down.’

His response to this was to laugh.

‘You are a strange one, Miss Lopez. I’ve never known anyone to want to party straight after committing murder.’

Rosa ignored him and looked out the window. She didn’t need someone to tell her that she was strange. After all, anyone who made a living killing people could not, by any stretch of the imagination, be right in the head.

But it was OK because she was happy with herself and life was good. She was never troubled by the constraints of a conscience or the burden of a moral compass. It made everything so much easier.

When she was detained in a juvenile detention centre after her first murder she saw three counsellors and they all agreed that her traumatic childhood was to blame for her damaged soul – as if that hadn’t always been strikingly obvious.

‘There’s a nightclub I can recommend,’ Miguel said. ‘It’s always busy, especially in the run-up to Christmas.’

‘Then take me there,’ she said.

On the way she phoned Carlos as arranged.

‘It’s done,’ she said. ‘You’ll have no more trouble from those two.’

‘You are a star, Rosa,’ he said. ‘I knew I could trust you not to let me down.’

‘I’ll stay over tonight and head back in the morning.’

‘Well, actually there’s been a change of plan,’ he said. ‘You’ve got a new assignment. It’s in London of all places and there’s a big bonus in it for you.’

‘How big?’

‘Half a million dollars.’

‘That’s a lot of money, Carlos.’

‘This job is special, Rosa. And you could be there for a while.’

After he’d filled her in, she said, ‘I’ve always wanted to go to London. When do they want me there?’

‘Tomorrow. So you’ll need to get moving. We have a private jet on standby at Acapulco airport. Flight time to Mexico City is just over an hour. There’s a British Airways flight to London at eleven ten. A first class ticket’s been reserved. Think you can make it?’

‘Of course.’

‘Good. Then buy whatever you need at the airport or when you get there.’

Rosa’s job for the cartel involved a lot of travel, usually within Mexico and the States. But in recent years she’d also had assignments in Canada, Columbia and Brazil. This would be her first trip to Europe and there was no way she was going to turn it down.

‘Call me when you’re in Mexico City and I’ll give you more details,’ Cruz said.

After hanging up she told Miguel that she’d be going back to the hotel after all, but only to pack. She then wanted him to take her to the airport. A late night was now out of the question. She was disappointed, for sure, but that was the nature of the game she was in. Business always had to come before pleasure.