Chapter 13

Cunningham's office in the more up-market business district of Santa Teresa maybe wasn't up to New York standards, but Brodie thought it was pretty cosy, considering it had been set up in a hurry. Plush carpets and period Art Deco furniture set the theme, and a Klimt painting graced the wall behind Cunningham's desk. Brodie wondered if it was an original.

Tara and Brodie had been shown into the office by Cunningham's silent aide, Tony Cologna, and Brodie noticed a man sitting on one of the capacious leather sofas beside Cunningham's huge desk. Cunningham himself was walking slowly with the aid of two sticks over to a clean-lined, plain, angular chair.

Tara's eyebrows raised in appreciation.

"Frank Lloyd Wright. Is it an original, Mr Cunningham?"

Cunningham wasn't a tall man, Brodie realised, but even though his body was wasted from whatever ailed him, his wiry frame carried plenty of authority. He grinned at the young woman.

"You know your designers, Ms Matthews. Yeah - the chair's an original. It's the only one I find comfortable other than my wheelchair. It goes everywhere with me. I like things that suit me, Ms Matthews, and I'm lucky enough to say that the cost is irrelevant."

"Please, call me Tara." She smiled at him.

"Tara, please sit down … you too, Brodie. We have things to discuss. Tony? You have lunch ready for us?"

Tony Cologna nodded and exited the room, only to return moments later with a large trolley laden with food. Tara and Brodie settled themselves into comfortable chairs around a heavy oak coffee table, and the food was spread out before them, along with plates, cutlery and napkins. This was obviously going to be a working lunch.

Brodie helped himself to salad and a generous helping of cold chicken and sea food and studied the man sitting opposite him. Tall and bespectacled, the man was dressed in a conservative tweedy suit and tie, the shirt crisply white despite the heat outside. Blond-brown hair set off intelligent green eyes, but his demeanor, although handsome, was rather pompous.

Looks like a goddamn accountant …

Brodie watched as the man leaned forward and poured himself a glass of orange juice then return to looking at the sheaf of papers on his lap.

"Irwin, why don't you stop pretending you're better than the rest of us and introduce yourself?" Cunningham's voice was sharp.

The man sighed. Dropping the papers on his lap in a show of irritation he leaned forward and offered his hand to Brodie.

"Irwin Trubshaw. You must be Brodie … and this must be Miss Tara Matthews." Trubshaw nodded at Tara.

Brodie shook the proffered hand, noticing Trubshaw had a reluctant but firm grip.

"You're English."

Trubshaw's mobile mouth set in a prim line at Brodie's comment.

"You noticed. How observant of you. Yes indeed, I'm English, I drink tea and I'm not very fond of muffins for breakfast, if that's all right with you." Trubshaw's tone was acerbic.

Brodie gave him a mirthless grin.

"I like a good slug of tequila myself. Starts the day off real fine."

To Trubshaw's credit, he didn't flinch.

"Whatever makes your day, Mr Brodie, I'm sure." He lifted the papers on his lap. "Now, I suggest we get down to business. I'm going to be the administrator of San Miguel Island and its environs. I'm the man you come to for money, and I'm the man who has to watch every penny of Mr Cunningham's investment, so don't think you can spend your budget willy-nilly, either of you. There is only a finite amount of money to spend, and I will not - I repeat, will not - allow overspending under any circumstances." His sharp gaze swept Tara and Brodie, hoping his tone would be enough to quell any dissent. Brodie began to feel like a ten-year-old child being told his allowance limit for the week.

Brodie smirked.

Yep - just as I thought. An accountant …

"Well, Mister Trubshaw, I only got one question before we start." Brodie settled blue eyes on Trubshaw, a smile creasing his face.

"Yes, Mister Brodie?" The British tone was impatient.

"What the hell crawled up your ass and died?"

There was a snort of amusement from Cunningham and Brodie could feel a tremor of silent laughter from Tara as she sat beside him.

Trubshaw's eyes became wintry.

"Insults will get you nowhere, Mister Brodie, I can assure you. I've been insulted by the best, and I still end up winning the day. Now then …" He rustled the papers impatiently. "Where were we?"

Brodie grinned. Trubshaw was going to be fun …

For the rest of the afternoon Brodie and Tara listened as Cunningham and Trubshaw showed them plans, discussed various layouts and argued costing. Brodie insisted on keeping the team he'd chosen and Tara gave Trubshaw details of her requirements for the small medical office that would attend to minor injuries on the island. At the end of the session, Brodie was impressed.

The island was being completely overhauled. Once the final few baboons had been sought out and destroyed, work teams and building material were being shipped out to the island in huge quantities. Luxury villas were being built amongst the secluded semi-tropical forest and the magnificent beaches would be available for leisure pursuits for anyone who had the money to pay the exorbitant prices. Shark-barriers would be erected to make the coast safe for water sports, and every whim of the island's rich clients would be catered for - as long as it was legal.

The rest of the island was to be given over to the captive breeding of endangered species. Cunningham's enthusiasm began to show. For all of his mercenary nature, Brodie could see that the program captured the man's imagination.

"We're gonna have some of the rarer animals, such as mountain gorillas, Malaysian tigers, Java rhino, that sort of thing. Have you ever heard of King Cheetahs, Mister Brodie?" Cunningham saw Brodie shake his head. He continued. "The most beautiful goddamn thing you ever saw! They look like a cheetah whose spots have melted, sort of … well … blurred together. Magnificent. Absolutely magnificent! We have a few coming from the De Wildt reserve in Africa who specialize in breeding 'em, and they'd better be taken good care of, man, or there'll be hell to pay!"

Brodie let the man wax lyrical for the next two hours as Cunningham explained about the huge enclosures, the research centre and the various experienced staff he would be employing to run the place. Some of the animals were coming from zoos in the Middle East or eastern Europe, innocent victims of wars and conflict. Many were scarred or traumatized, and would need specialist care that many cash-strapped zoos couldn't even begin to fund. So Cunningham had offered assistance, and had worked for five years to bring what Brodie and Tara realised was a dream alive. For all of Cunningham's hard business-like mien and excuses that the whole operation was a tax write-off, they understood that he desperately wanted to do this.

" … and I'll be employing one of the world's foremost experts in the veterinary care and treatment of exotic species, Doctor Zelle Smith. She'll be flying in from New York tomorrow. I want you to take her out to the island, Brodie, and show her around." Cunningham's enthusiasm was catching.

The only person who seemed unmoved was Trubshaw. His face twisted in distaste at the mention of the animals, and Brodie couldn't resist.

"Don't like cute, cuddly tigers, huh?"

Trubshaw flicked invisible dirt from his pants leg.

"Allergies, Mister Brodie. Cat-hair makes me sneeze."

Brodie turned to let the light streaming in through the window catch in the garnet eyes of the leopard handle of his stick.

"Well, Trubshaw, I think if you get close enough to a Malaysian tiger to get hairs on you, you'll have a helluva lot more to worry about than allergies …"

Irwin Trubshaw grimaced.

"Believe me, Mister Brodie, I will be more than happy to let you deal with the … er … livestock. Animals are not my forte. I am more at home with making the books balance, and I hope that you will do your best to make that task as easy as possible."

It was obvious that Trubshaw regarded the meeting at an end as he began packing his paperwork into an old, well-used leather briefcase.

Brodie leaned back into the leather sofa and gave Trubshaw his best lop-sided grin.

"Well, Irwin ol' pal, I'll try not to go mad and spend those hard-earned dollars on something trivial like state-of-the-art security system. I'll just arm my men with big sticks and a couple of zip guns."

Trubshaw winced as Brodie used his first name and Brodie instantly picked up on the impression that Trubshaw hated to be called Irwin. He filed that little piece of information away for future use for when the man became too obstreperous.

Wincing, his leg beginning to ache as it always did if he sat still for too long, Brodie got to his feet and turned to Cunningham, the man's face alive with seeing his plans finally come to fruition. Cunningham looked up at this big man to whom he had entrusted his dream.

"This matters to me, Brodie - don't let me down. I would take it personal." Dark eyes glittered in the thin face, but the voice softened. "Make it work, Frank. I'm trusting you to make this happen and for you to take care of it like the whole thing was your own. I won't take anything less that a hundred and ten percent from my people, but I'll make it worth your while - and I'm not talking about money."

For the first time Brodie saw what it was about Cunningham that had earned loyalty from tough men like Scott Davis and Joe Petrowski - he looked after the people who worked for him, and what was more, backed them to the hilt.

Frank Brodie suddenly understood that Cunningham had trusted him with something worth more than money. Charles Cunningham was trusting Brodie with his life's dream. Something in Brodie's chest tightened at the thought of the responsibility, but he also felt … hell, he felt good! For the first time in God only knew how many years, he didn't feel like some screw-up.

Turning to Tara, he saw the delight in her beautiful face, and thanked God that she had come back to save him that cool morning all those months ago, when he had decided that death was preferable to life and he would let those goddamn baboons win.

"It'll work, Cunningham. I promise you that." Brodie put out his hand to seal the deal.

Cunningham smiled.

"That'll do for me." He shook Brodie's hand.

The deal done, Cunningham sighed. He turned to Trubshaw, the man straight and stiff in his tweed suit.

"Trubshaw, you make sure Frank gets everything he needs, and don't be so goddamn anal retentive. You Brits are all the same - you always look like you got a dose of constipation. Loosen up a little, man."

Brodie saw the muscles jump along Trubshaw's jaw, but the man said nothing. Stubborn, Brodie thought. Stubborn as a damn' mule.

They said their goodbyes, and as Tara accompanied Brodie to the elevator she studied his face. His deep-set blue eyes were thoughtful, and when she had pressed the button sending them to the ground floor he still hadn't spoken.

"Penny for 'em."

Brodie blinked.

"Oh, just thinkin' about what's happened the past few months. It's funny how life works out sometimes. Six months ago I was washed up, drinkin' myself to death and hoping it would happen sooner rather than later. Now ..." He sighed. "Now … I got a job. A job I want to do real well, Tara … a job I know I can do real well." He touched her cheek. "And I got you. I'm not alone any more … it's kinda … well … nice."

Tara caught his hand in hers and kissed the palm.

"I'm glad, Frank. But you forgot something."

He frowned.

"What?"

Tara grinned.

"You have a dog, too."

Brodie snorted.

*******************

The island was a swarm of activity.

In the two days since the final attack of the huge primates, the compound had changed out of all recognition. The old Hercules transport plane had been ferrying equipment as fast as the law and refuelling stops would allow, and heavy machinery was beginning to clear away the ruins of the tower and buildings. Accommodation units had been unloaded and lined up in the cleared ground ready to house workers and other members of the team until proper housing could be built. They had been linked to generators and plumbed into the huge water reservoir that Matthews had created all those years ago for his research lab, and the water filtration unit was still in good working order.

Tara and Brodie found themselves the occupiers of one of the units that sat where the old tower had lain and which had now been cleared away by bulldozers. The whole place was one huge building site.

A quarter of a mile away preparations were being made for the research centre that would house the staff concerned with the wildlife Cunningham would be bringing to the island, and then enormous perimeter fences would be erected to mark out the roomy animal enclosures.

Brodie had not realised until he set foot out of the jeep and saw the activity, just how massive Cunningham's plans were.

"Jeez …"

For a moment panic set in. He, Frank Brodie, ex-marine, ex-big game hunter and recovering drunk, was in charge of the safety of the whole shebang. He felt Tara's hand on his arm in sudden reassurance.

"You'll do fine, Frank." The warmth and love in her voice helped more than the words ever could.

"Yeah. I guess." He gave her one of his lop-sided grins. "Just trying to get my head around it, is all. Where the hell I start I have no idea, but I suppose I'll figure it out."

Brodie felt a cold nose nudge at his free hand, and looked down at the dog, the animal's big body wagging from side to side as the tail gyrated in delight. The beast had had to be left with Joe Petrowski whilst Tara and Brodie flew to Santa Teresa for the meeting with Cunningham, and he was delighted that Brodie had not deserted him.

"Hey, moron." Brodie rubbed the dog's ears. "Hope you behaved yourself."

The dog just narrowed his eyes in a smile.

For the next hour they unpacked their belongings and stored them away in the spartan accommodation unit, Brodie wondering what it would be like to have their own place when the house was built. He smiled inwardly. Their place. Not his place, or Tara's place - their place.

But before he could ponder more on the fact, there was a rap on the door-frame and Joe popped his head around the open door.

"Hey Chief! Someone to see you!"

Tara's eyebrows arched.

"Chief??"

Joe grinned.

"Frank's the Chief now, right?"

Brodie and Tara looked at one another. Brodie shrugged.

"I guess. Okay Joe, gimmee a minute to change out of these glad rags. Who is it?"

Joe shook his head.

"Some bossy lady vet. Says she'll be runnin' the animal side of it."

Zelle Smith. Brodie frowned. She wasn't supposed to be here until tomorrow. Shit. Well, he would deal with it.

"Go give her coffee and something to eat and I'll meet you by the chow wagon."

After Joe left Brodie changed from his 'glad rags' - a pair of clean jeans, his old tweed jacket and loafers - into his usual black combat pants, teeshirt and boots. More comfortable, he kissed Tara and lifted his stick.

"Gotta go to work, gal - see you later."

Tara sprawled on the sofa and eased off her shoes - she had work to do herself later on in the day when she met with the builders and Dervla Monaghan to oversee the foundations of the medical unit.

"Go get 'em, Frank!" She grinned cheekily.

Brodie shook his head as he limped from the unit into bright sunshine, the dog at his heels.

"Sassy women - I got me a pain in the ass for a woman …"

He heard the cushion from the sofa miss him by inches and bounce off the wall.

***************

Doctor Zelle Smith was not happy.

She sat by the chow wagon where some big oaf of a cook had offered her coffee and doughnuts. She had declined, looking at the tin mugs and plates, and Joe had grinned at her cheerily. She looked at her watch. Ten minutes, this Brodie fellow had said. Twelve minutes had passed and still no sign -

"Here's the Chief now Ma'am. If you'll excuse me I'll go get him a coffee and somethin' to eat."

Zelle turned in the plastic garden chair they used as furniture and looked at Chief of Security Frank Brodie. Her eyebrows raised. She had expected to see a man in a jacket and tie at least, not some tall, brawny, rough-looking man in what appeared to be combat gear, carrying a walking stick to compensate for a severe limp. She hitched her left eyebrow even higher when she saw the huge, golden dog with the dark mask ambling happily beside him, tail wagging lazily. He had a dog - well, he couldn't be too bad if he had a dog. She forgave him his two-minute lateness and stood, offering her hand.

"Chief Brodie … Doctor Gazelle Smith."

Brodie shook Zelle Smith's hand and studied the woman before him.

She was tall, for a start, easily five-ten, and her voice was cultured and well-educated. Her grip was firm and confident, which Brodie liked.

Zelle watched him for a moment as Brodie released her hand and sat down, Joe putting a mug of coffee and a sandwich in front of him. She eased herself back down into her chair and they looked at one another for a moment. Zelle decided to break the ice.

"Surprised, Chief Brodie?"

Brodie swallowed the mouthful of ham and cheese and took a measured look at the woman before him.

"The name's Frank or Brodie. Take your pick. And surprised about what?"

"Surprised about seeing a black woman in a position of authority. Don't worry - I've seen the look on your face a thousand times before."

Brodie cocked an eyebrow at Zelle. She certainly was a beautiful woman with her dark chocolate skin and almond-shaped eyes. Stunning, in fact. He gave her a small smile.

"Nope. Nowhere near as surprised as seein' a veterinary surgeon who wears Gucci, or Armani, or whatever the hell fancy do-dads those are. Won't last long out here, I can tell you."

Zelle was surprised when she felt herself blush in embarrassment. It wasn't often a man could make her uncomfortable, especially a ruffian like Frank Brodie. She gathered her wits about her and smiled tightly.

"Don't worry, Chief Brodie - I've just flown in from NYC and I haven't had time to change." She winced. Brodie had managed to put her on the defensive, and she didn't like that. " If you'll show me where I'm staying I'll unpack and then you can show me the island, if that's all right. I want to see how much they've screwed up in the design of the reserve - architects are notoriously inept when it comes to caring for the needs of wild animals, and I aim to get it right. Less hassle that way."

Brodie nodded.

"Fine with me. We're both starting from scratch here, Ms Smith, so join the club. By the way - Gazelle. Unusual name."

Zelle straightened in her chair, the defensive posture of her trim body obvious.

"My mother's choice, Chief. She seemed to think it reflected my African heritage. The fact that my family have lived in New York since the late eighteen-hundreds seemed to have passed her by. But it's my name, and I have to live with it, if that's all right by you."

Brodie saw the defiance in her intelligent face and nodded.

"That's okay. Right, I'll let you get settled in and then we'll do the tour. But we'll have to take armed guards with us - there are still a few of those baboons about, and believe me, they're not critters you want to meet up with in a hurry."

Zelle's eyes lit up. Secretly she hoped she would see one of the creatures Cunningham had told her about, even though she knew they were lethal. But her thoughts were interrupted by the dog, now sitting beside her and showing intense interest in the small animal carrier beside her chair.

"Hey, Moron! Leave it alone, will ya?"

Brodie's voice was brusque.

Zelle stroked the dog's soft fur and smiled, and Brodie could see gentleness shining through the attitude Zelle Smith carried about with her. The dog wagged his tail but couldn't take his eyes off the carrier.

"Moron? Strange name for a dog. He's beautiful …"

Brodie snorted. Moron. Yeah. That was the dog's name all right …

"Beautiful … but a moron. Hey mutt, get your butt over here. You'll frighten the crap outta whatever the hell's in there - "

Moron looked up at Brodie and shuffled over to sit beside him. Zelle grinned.

"This is our first acquisition for the breeding programme. His name's Boots."

She lifted the carrier and Brodie peered into the darkness within. A soft chitter was heard and he could just make out a pair of huge eyes.

"What the hell ..?"

Zelle crooned to the strange creature within.

"He's mine. He came into the rescue centre I run in San Francisco when his owner was hit by a tram. The man was some sort of refugee from the sixties, a hippie, I suppose. Stoned out of his mind and walked in front of a tram. Crushed to death. The police found Boots in his apartment and brought him to us. He's a Philippine Tube-Nosed Fruit Bat. Very, very rare. Where the man got him I have no idea, but Cunningham is on the look-out for a mate for him. But he's very tame and sweet-natured and just hangs about my office, usually."

Brodie scratched his head. A fruit bat. Well, he supposed he would just have to get used to life being weird.

"Yeah, well. Whatever. Just try and keep him out of Moron's way - he might turn him into a doggy snack."

Zelle was highly amused.

"Oh, I doubt it. Moron looks to me to be a dog of great dignity and taste. He would no more eat Boots than I would."

Brodie gazed at her in astonishment.  Yep. Life is definitely gettin' very weird … Sighing, he drank down his coffee and hauled himself to his feet.

"Okay. Whatever you say. But don't blame me if Moron stops being dignified and tasteful and makes bat munchies. Right, if you're ready we'll go find you somewhere to crash and then I'll give you the grand tour."

Zelle studied the big man in front of her. Yes, he might be all right to work with. Not much to look at, she decided, but decent enough.

"Very well. Lead the way, Chief, lead the way …"

Lifting Boots' carrier she was ready.

Yes, she thought. Life was about to get very interesting indeed …

****************