Crash Course by Derek Fee (pdf to ebook reader .txt) 📕

They appeared to be heading directly for a large gate in the middle of a wire mesh fence. As they approached, a man stepped out of the bushes and opened the gate.

They were travelling through the edges of the great swamps which dominate the Coto Doñana. The edges of the marshes had already begun to dry and the summer heat had left the earth cracked and broken. Kane could see the outline of the great primeval swamps sending out streaks of water into tiny creeks like streams of tears. In the distance, strands of reeds swayed in the light breeze while clumps of pine trees stood out in relief against the light brown sand dunes.

They bounced along a barely discernible track past glades of trees sporting thick green foliage. Two kilometres of rough track terminated in a large lake of still blue water bordered by a dense pine grove. By the edge of the grove, someone had constructed a small, rough, rectangular hut of grass and rushes. There was a door in the hut and peepholes had been cut at intervals along its length.

“Our destination.” Safardi swept his hand around the scene of absolute serenity. A heat haze rose from the still waters.

Safardi and Kane stepped down as the second vehicle pulled in directly behind them.

The leaden heat and humidity of summer brought trickles of sweat running down Kane’s face and neck.

Four men, also Latinos, perhaps even Colombians, stepped out of the second car. Kane hadn’t seen them before but he assumed that they were guards at the villa. As soon as all the occupants had alighted, Safardi began to march in the direction of the pines. Kane followed.

The eight men formed a line weaving down a narrow trail towards the oasis of green among the trees. At last they reached an open area bordering a pool of water. Thick branches of grotesquely shaped cork oak trees surrounded the edges of the glade some sending out horizontal branches like gangplanks several feet above the water.

A sense of unease had now come over Kane. He was walking towards a heavily wooded glade with seven armed men. You didn’t have to be a member of Mensa to know that there was danger in the air. This wouldn’t be a picnic and Kane’s brief acquaintance with Safardi told him that there was an ulterior motive for their little excursion. He had not been brought to the Doñana to view the wildlife.

They walked on into the clump of pine trees which stretched for several hundred yards in a dense mass. The branches of individual trees and bushes twisted towards each other creating an interweaving of green leaves and cones which cut out much of the bright sunshine. The air inside was thick and heavy.

They reached a glade and Safardi stopped bringing their little parade to a halt.

“This will do nicely,” Safardi said in his clipped military-style English.

The seven other men piled into the narrow clearing after their leader.

“You are about to witness an exceptional spectacle,” Safardi said. “Have you ever seen true professional killers at work?”

Kane didn’t answer. He’d seen all kinds of killing. Professional and amateur.

“As I already told you, Pedro and Jaime are Bogota street children,” Safardi said expanding on his theme. “They were stealing, murdering and raping at an age when most children are learning how to read. Do you know the average life expectancy of the Bogota street children? Ten years of age. If they don’t kill each other, then the nightly death squads are there to do the job. It’s the ideal breeding ground for men who kill without conscience. The mark of Cain is indelibly cut into their foreheads. The Medellín Cartel occasionally rummage about in the sewers for their most promising recruits. And once selected, the cartel provides their troops with plenty of on-the-job training both in Colombia and the United States.” Safardi looked around his men in the clearing. “Do you know, Mark, that from a business point of view one of the most important lessons which military history teaches us is that the foremost quality any superior can look for in his subordinates is loyalty? Without the absolute loyalty of their troops no great general from Attila the Hun to General Schwarzkopf could ever have accomplished their goals. In the case of an operation which is carried out clandestinely, absolute loyalty is vital.”

Kane shuffled nervously. He had received and given the same lecture many times himself. This was Safardi as the good officer lecturing the troops. All that was missing was the uniform and the swagger stick.

“Loyalty can, of course, be bought with money. But loyalty can also be bought by fear. All good soldiers are motivated by fear. You pose me a different kind of problem. I need your absolute loyalty because of the task with which I am entrusting to you. Yet how can I guarantee that you will carry out this task with the requisite loyalty?”

“You’re paying me a whole lot of money,” Kane said. There were beads of sweat forming on the olive skin of Safardi’s forehead.

“Yes, there is the money. But you may not be clear as to how far I will go in ensuring that you will not in any way jeopardise the operation you are about to undertake for me. Our acquaintance has been too short for me to have instilled in you how ruthless I am.” Safardi clicked his fingers and two of the guards quickly grabbed the man who stood between them.

“This is Jesus,” Safardi said walking to the man who was now being held firmly by the men on either side of him. Jesus struggled in vain against his captors and there was a look of stark terror in his eyes. “Jesus is one of my Spanish employees who should owe me absolute loyalty. I pay him well for this loyalty.” Safardi stopped in front of the man and punched him savagely in the stomach. Jesus doubled over but was firmly held in