Читать книгу Choices - Jeff Edwards - Страница 16

As a former member of a renegade motorcycle gang, Arny Holland missed the long road trips in Australia’s outback with his fellow gang members, but could not help but think that his current life in Bali had many compensations.

An arranged marriage to an Indonesian bar girl meant that he did not have to return to his land of birth anytime soon, and the longer he stayed away the less chance there was that he would be arrested for ignoring the various warrants arrests issued against him since he had left his homeland.

Arny now operated an import/export business that not only turned a tidy profit in the field of cane furniture but also used those import items to smuggle drugs past the alert customs officials.

Carefully disguised amongst his export goods were clear plastic bags of white powder that turned instantly to gold when they reached their destination, and many of his former gang members, especially his brother Ray, were the recipients of those goods.

When customs in Australia had managed to intercept a number of his shipments Arny had reverted to the age-old practice of using fellow Australians as ‘mules’ to carry the drugs back home strapped to their bodies or hidden within their personal luggage.

These mules had been selected carefully from among the variety of people who owed money to their drug suppliers, and had fallen on hard times with little chance of making good on the money owed. Arny preferred to use both men and women who had previously travelled between Australia and Bali, hoping that the customs officials would see that they had cleared customs without adverse findings in the past and would therefore avoid the intense scrutiny of a less seasoned traveller.

Eventually this plan had also failed, and a number of his mules now sat on death row in Indonesian jails, awaiting execution by firing squad.

Arny had been able to hide behind a number of corporate entities, and the detailed investigation in both Indonesia and Australia had failed to uncover his overall command of the drug ring, but the problem remained of getting his goods to the market and he now had to find yet another scheme.

This morning he had received an e-mail from a source he did not recognise, but the message went into so much detail about events that he thought he alone had been privy, Arny was inclined to accept it as a genuine attempt to offer him a solution to his dilemma. However, Arny was not a stupid man, and he was careful to ensure that the proposed meeting would be at a time and at a place over which he had complete control. To that end, he now sat in a cheap Balinese motel watching cartoons on a dilapidated TV. Across the room a pair of his toughest and most loyal bodyguards sat beside the only door while a third scanned the outside from beside the room’s front window.

Suddenly there was a loud crash in the street outside, followed by shouts of anger and the whoosh of an explosion and the smell of a fire.

The bodyguard beside the window quickly scanned the street and reported a traffic accident on the road outside the motel and that both cars were on fire.

Sensing trouble, Arny ordered two of his guards outside with orders to stop and search anyone who attempted to come near their room. He then told the guard beside the window to keep an eye on the accident scene and to warn him if he saw anyone showing more interest in their room than the accident. Arny then turned up the volume on the TV to block out the noise from outside and settled back to wait for his visitor.

* * *

Having heard the commotion outside, the man waited a few more minutes, biding his time.

Then, unseen to the occupants of the motel room, the internal door leading to the bathroom opened slightly and a miniature scope was used to scan the four corners of the room beyond. Satisfied that all was in readiness, the scope was withdrawn and the door pulled closed.

Seconds later the door opened again, slightly wider this time, and a hand holding a cocked spear pistol emerged.

The slight movement caught Arny’s attention. Alarmed, he turned his head in its direction at the same instant that the compressed air weapon discharged. The stainless steel barb caught the shocked drug dealer in his right eye and continued out the back of his skull, pinning the dead man’s head to the wall behind.

Noisy cartoon characters on TV as well as all the shouts and movement outside meant Arny’s bodyguard saw and heard nothing, remaining ever alert to a possible attack from outside.

Inside the bathroom, Arny’s assassin climbed onto the hand-basin and hoisted himself through the false ceiling and replaced the panel he had previously removed to enter the unit. From there he crawled a few feet to the space above the bathroom of the room next door and dropped inside.

Dusting himself off, the assassin took the time to replace the panel through which he had just climbed. Satisfying himself that he had left nothing behind, he left the room and wandered casually past the office of the motel, dropping the room key into the return slot before leaving the building and mingling for a short time with the crowd watching the burning cars.

The motel room he had left had been rented by a woman dressed like one of the many local prostitutes, ostensibly for a meeting with an afternoon client, and police officials would have an impossible task of locating that particular woman amongst the many who plied their trade in the area. She had never physically entered the room in question and therefore had left behind no evidence which police could have used to begin their investigations.

I didn’t get a chance to let him know why he was about to die, the assassin thought wryly as he casually made his way up the street. Still, I don’t suppose it matters all that much. It’s the results that count, and the surf is waiting.