Massive Attack (A Guy Niava Thriller Book 1) by Dana Arama (diy ebook reader TXT) 📕

“Let’s go back to the village and kill three people and say it’s them. Who would know?”

“El Desconocido would know and we will have the pleasure of smelling the flowers from their roots.” The man named Joaquin took off his hat and fanned himself impatiently. He could have also used the movement to take another look around. “If the Nose said they’re in the area, estan aquí.”

On the tree above Zorro pressed my hand and translated their conversation more precisely. She’d mastered the language better than Laura and me. I thought it wouldn’t be a wise idea to kill them, in the event that they were El Desonocido’s messengers. At least not all three of them. But if we left Manuel the addict alive, he might, for the promise of drugs, lead us to the right place.

The problem was technical. I had been lying in one position for over two hours without moving. The hand I used as a pillow for my head I needed, in order to draw my gun silently, cock it, and pick off one shot -- most probably the man they called the Nose. Then afterwards, we would have to untie ourselves, quickly climb down from the tree and neutralize Manuel and Joaquin before they managed to shoot back.

The odds weren’t in our favor, but I was willing to take the risk. Zorro could shoot from the tree and eliminate the threat. But our chance was ruined, as more men from the cartel arrived at the scene.

I whispered into the earpiece, “We’ll wait for them to leave and then follow them.” And after a moment I added, “I am untying the knots. Hold me.”

Laura did so and whispered, “They are going to hang around here and we need to go south.”

“We have no choice. We need to wait.” But waiting was about to become just as hazardous as remaining in the trees.

In the beginning I didn’t comprehend what was about to happen. First, we heard the sound of a monotonous, exhausted engine and then the van appeared. It parked, and its door opened. Two men with red bandannas on their faces rolled out of the van, two blue barrels in tow. Two others took out more equipment, and the reason for all this became apparent very soon, when one of them announced, “The cripple said that if we don’t find them, we should prepare the stuff for shipment where the Nose smelled them, so that El Desconocido does not feel as if we have been wasting time for nothing…” He also lifted his head towards the treetops, where we were hiding, and scanned them.

All three of us held our breath.

“If the nose is right, then they are somewhere hiding in the treetops, and the steam from the cooker will finish them. And if not, then at least we will have the stuff cooked and ready.”

Someone in the van said, “Nose, you have to get out of here.”

The guys down below had calculated that we must be somewhere in the area, and that it would be a good idea to start a kitchen right here to cook crystal meth. It was a brilliant plan. The poisonous fumes would reach us directly, smoking us out of the trees.

Murat Lenika,

Washington, D.C., November 14, 2015,

6:00 a.m. local time

We first met when I was sent to a boarding school at fifteen. That was the only thing my mother had managed to do before she died. It was a chance for me to grow up differently. The requirements to be accepted to this boarding school were meant to filter out anyone but the uber-wealthy, or those with ties to English Royalty. We didn’t have either, but we had another kind of strength. The physical, intimidating kind. I have many memories of him from the distant past, none of them included sleep. That’s why I wasn’t surprised to hear from him at five in the morning.

We organized ourselves quickly, and woke the boy, who looked stunned, and an hour later, I was sitting across from him. I was quite certain he hadn’t slept much over the years. I once thought it was some sort of sickness, but lately I realized that he was a phenomenon. An energy bomb that only gained momentum as it hurtled along. That was part of the secret of his charisma. The second secret was that he was shrouded in mystery, which hid his dark plans.

Somehow, we always seemed to meet at different points in my life. And somehow, he had always taken a liking to me. Maybe because he thought we had something in common. Much more than I thought to be true. It was true that we had both lost our mothers at a young age. In my case, my mother had died quite young, whereas his mother was too busy, as is often the case in high society, to pay much attention to him. I had been somewhat lucky; my grandmother filled the void. His void was filled by au pairs. Besides that, we both had strong father figures, who overshadowed any other authoritative influences surrounding us. Both of us tended to break the boundaries our father’s set for us. Amidst a sea of Anglican Christians, we were also both the only Muslims who didn’t leave to go and study in Switzerland, each for our own reasons. We shared a room for a long period of time.

When I had learned that he was behind it all, I understood that it wasn’t by chance that they found me. I asked myself if I had known it was him, would I have done things differently? I could have just taken the money directly from him and given him the guns and then used the money to buy the drugs. It would definitely have simplified things a lot for me, but it would have simplified things for the authorities as well, and