Chapter 26

For the next few days life on San Miguel Island settled down into a routine, albeit a very structured one. Katy spent her time between lessons hanging out with the team – especially Nasir, who told her about his home and family back in Afghanistan. She in turn regaled him with stories about her time in San Francisco and Chicago, and the pair became great friends. She was a comfort to the big Afghan, and often he wished he could bring his mother and son to San Miguel Island, to begin a new life. Although he loved his home, it held too many bad memories.

Katy also spent – much to Brodie’s chagrin – a lot of her spare moments with Zelle Smith. Katy was careful to time her visits for when Brodie was about, respecting his wish that he be present every time she sat down in the observation room to watch the old baboon – named Harry by Katy, who said it kinda sounded like ‘Hairy’, which of course, the aged beast certainly was. So ‘Hairy Harry’ he became, and he soon charmed everyone on the island to bits – except Brodie, who thought the whole idea was crazy and thoroughly dangerous.

Within two days of his capture Harry was allowed out into the roomy enclosure, and it was soon obvious that he had been both very lonely and extremely hungry. When he wasn’t eating or sleeping, he would sit by the wire of the enclosure and watch the activity around him with great interest, hooting quietly to himself as people went about their business. It soon became habit to yell ‘"Mornin’ Harry!" as people arrived for work. Harry would pull back his lips and grimace in reply, then await his breakfast of fruit and vegetables laced with vitamins and prophylactic antibiotics, especially prepared by Zelle Smith who patently adored the huge old primate.

The only two people on the island who were not happy were Tara Matthews and Frank Brodie, but for different reasons.

Brodie was retreating back into the brooding, silent man he had been when Tara first met him, although it was tempered by his affection for the two ladies in his life. Only when he was with Tara and Katy did his mood lift a little, and in the evening, after a long, fraught day making sure everything on the island was running smoothly, he would relax in their company. Katy had no idea why he was so distant, but somehow she instinctively realised he was fragile and vulnerable, and in her own way let him know how much she loved him. They watched movies together, ate pizza and talked, the little girl chatting about her day and teasing Brodie gently until she cajoled one of his rare, boyish laughs from him and his blue eyes became gentle with humour. Sometimes, Tara wondered with a smile, it was hard to tell who was supposed to be looking after whom.

Tara was deathly worried, not only for Katy and the threat of Sonny Esposito, but for Brodie. She knew that he had left her the night they had brought the old baboon back to the centre, and wandered down onto the beach where he had sat for hours, looking out over the moon-gilded ocean. But he had not explained why, or what he had thought about during those long hours – he had just returned to their bed as dawn broke, slipping in beside Tara and curling around her sleep-warm body and holding her tight. Tara had held him until sleep claimed him, but had then lain awake watching him as he slept, seeing the frown on his brow as he dreamt. It had been a long time before she too drifted into an uneasy slumber.

So, life went on.

Katy continued her schooling with Irwin Trubshaw, and soon forgot that the tall, sparely-built Englishman now carried a gun at his hip. Security was stepped up quietly but very efficiently, and members of staff were checked and double-checked before arriving or leaving the island. But still Brodie fretted. The change-over of staff on the Thursday transport still left the island under-manned, and it made the big man nervous, but van Guelder and the team reassured Brodie that the measures they had put in place were the very best available.

But soon Brodie had something else on his mind.

Early on a cool Sunday morning Nasir ibn al Abbas came to see him at home.

Brodie, newly dressed, ushered him into his office and sat the big Afghan down in a comfortable chair. Tara brought in coffee and juice and smiled warmly at Nasir before going out of the room and shutting the door behind her.

Brodie sat back in his chair, easing his leg.

"So … what’s the problem?" he said, eyebrow hitched in enquiry.

Nasir shifted nervously in his chair.

"Mr Brodie … Frank … I er … I wish to speak with you on a family matter."

Brodie’s other eyebrow hitched in surprise. Nasir was an intensely private man, something which Brodie understood well, being a close-mouthed man himself, and for Nasir to consult him about something to do with his family … well, it seemed pretty serious. He took a deep breath before he answered.

"Okay … a family matter … " Seeing Nasir’s magnificent eyes shine with eagerness he shook his head. "Nasir, I don’t see how I can help - "

"It’s my son, Iskander."

Now Brodie was confused.

"Your son?"

Nasir nodded.

"Mr Cunningham suggested I bring him here to San Miguel Island. Along with my mother, of course," he added hastily.

Brodie blinked and straightened in his chair.

"Bring him here?? Now?? Is Cunningham out of his teeny-tiny mind?"

Nasir held up a large hand to stop Brodie’s pending tirade of anger and broke in.

"No, no, not now. In a couple of months or so … whenever you feel it is safe enough to do so. It will take that long anyway to get papers and visas organised for them both, I believe. No, Mr Cunningham wished me to talk to you about it, and you would have the final say. He said he would abide by your decision."

Brodie shut his mouth, his anger stopped in its tracks. Just what the hell was going on here? He frowned at Nasir as the man poured himself a glass of orange juice.

"Why? I thought you wanted to go back to Afghanistan?"

Nasir swallowed his mouthful of juice and delicately put the glass down on the coffee table. He thought for a few moments before answering, then spoke, his deep voice soft but passionate.

"I love my country, Mr Brodie. Afghanistan is a beautiful country – maybe not to you, you think it a barren wilderness. But to me … I love the mountains and the high places … I love the freedom of it … the joy of walking through great valleys and over high passes in the hills. It draws me …" He sighed and looked down at his hands. "But my country is in turmoil. Life is hard there, and will be for a long time. My son needs an education, and he needs to be safe. Here he will gain both. Then when he is a man grown, he can return to his country and give that freedom and education to others … to those who need it most. He tells me this in his letters, Frank. He is a quiet boy … eager to serve his family and his people. He is thoughtful and kind, but full of fire and passion about things he cares for … in that he reminds me so much of his mother …"

Brodie straightened in his chair and wiped a hand over his face. What could he say? He couldn’t deny Nasir’s request – he would do the same in the big Afghan’s position. But once more his chest tightened with fear. More responsibility for people’s lives … and a child’s, at that.

"Okay," he said finally, after taking a deep breath. "Okay, they can come. But only after we find out what the hell is happening about Sonny Esposito. I can’t bring your family here until that’s been cleared up. If nothing happens over the next couple of months, then … then I suppose you can bring ‘em here. Let Irwin know, and he’ll start organising someplace for you to live, and I’ll tell Cunningham what’s happening."

Nasir’s handsome face softened in relief, his hawk-like features glowing with pleasure. He leaned forward and held out a hand. Brodie shook it silently.

"Frank Brodie, you are a good man. My family and I thank you with all our hearts." Nasir’s voice was a low, warm rumble.

"Yeah, well … we’ll see, huh?" Brodie ran fingers through his curly hair and rubbed his scalp in frustration. "Right, so, I suppose I’d better go ‘phone Cunningham." He gave Nasir what he hoped was a confident smile, and showed the big man to the door. As he watched Nasir walk jauntily down the tarmac’d road to the compound, Brodie slumped against the door jamb.

"God damn you, Cunningham!" he muttered under his breath. "You sly sonofabitch – you knew, didn’t you? You knew I couldn’t say no! God damn you all to hell!"

Levering himself upright, he returned to his office and picked up the telephone. It was Sunday, but he didn’t care – in fact, he hoped with all his heart that he woke Cunningham up and got him out of his bed, and he hoped that he pissed the man off in the process. It would serve the smug bastard right.

Letting his mobile mouth quirk into a grin, he speed-dialed Charles Cunningham’s number.

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

Twenty minutes later Brodie left his office, face dark as thunder and cursing fit to bust under his breath. Tara looked up from her coffee as he slumped down at the table, watching him slam butter and marmalade on a crisp, hot slice of toast. Mentally she sighed.

"Okay, Brodie. What gives?" she asked finally.

Brodie raised an eyebrow at her and waited for a moment as he heard Katy’s bedroom door open and shut. Then he heard her pad down the corridor to the bathroom. Satisfied, he continued, knowing Katy would be in the bathroom for at least half an hour as she did all the stuff little girls did to make themselves pretty in the morning.

"That sonofabitch is having a party, that’s what’s wrong!" he hissed.

Tara frowned, confused.

"What sonofabitch? And what party?"

Brodie scowled and munched another piece of toast, chewing savagely. He swallowed and let his scowl deepen.

"That bastard Cunningham! He’s coming here in twelve days and holding a fuckin’ party to celebrate finishing the building work! He’s inviting all of those other devious shitheads he has business dealings with, and their families, and we’re supposed to smile, and bow, and say how goddamn’ fuckin’ wonderful everything is, and make sure the hors d’oeuvres are hot! Jesus! What does he fuckin’ think we are??? Goddamn servants?"

Tara’s mouth quirked in a tiny, unobtrusive smile that would – if given the chance – meld into a grin.

"I see. This must be serious – you’ve sworn more in one minute than you have done in the past month, Frank. But it’s only a party, big guy – nothing to get in a tizz about, y’know."

Brodie began to visibly fizz.

"Christ, Tara – only a party? Can you even begin to figure out the security problems for a start? And then there’s the goddamn’ catering, and gettin’ all the guest villas ready, and makin’ sure every single piece of litter is picked up! What the hell does he think he’s doing?? And on top of that, he’s expecting my team to turn up and kow-tow to these bastards and their dumb-ass wives – jeez! I … " His ears were now turning a fetching shade of pink. "I have to wear a goddamn’ fuckin’ tuxedo!!"

Tara choked on her mouthful of coffee. When the coughing subsided, she took one look at Brodie’s furious visage and burst out laughing. When she had got her hysterics under control, she took a few deep breaths before answering.

"A tux??? Oh, now that I gotta see!" She shook her head in delight. "Yes indeed – big, rough, tough Frank Brodie, all dressed up to kill in a tuxedo and a bow tie! And actually having to be nice to people!" She broke into warm chuckles which instantly deepened into irrepressible laughter. She waved a hand as though trying to cool herself down as she took whooping breaths, swallowing her snorts of amusement. "Oh man, that is just priceless!" Unable to control herself, she descended into gales of laughter.

At this point in the proceedings, Katy winkled herself out of the bathroom, curious about the noise, and skipped through for breakfast. She stopped dead in her tracks and studied the two people she loved most in the world.

Her aunt was doubled up in her chair, laughing so hard tears were streaming down her face. Brodie, on the other hand, was rigid with fury, blue eyes sparking, jaw set. He looked angry and highly embarrassed. For a split second she felt a tiny surge of panic – what was going on?? Her Aunt Tara was laughing like a loon, but Brodie … well, he looked fit to bust.

Tara saw the confusion on Katy’s face and fought to get her hysterics under control.

"Don’t worry, baby … come and eat – we’ll tell you all about it." She said, through a fit of hiccups.

Brodie didn’t say anything, but he growled under his breath. He reminded Tara of Asad the rhino. If steam could have come out of his ears, it would have completed the picture of a Frank Brodie on the edge of explosion, like an old steam engine.

Katy scrambled into her chair, reassured, and reached for the cereal box. Tara poured her some juice, and smoothed back a stray lock of sun-streaked honey curls from Katy’s scrubbed face.

"We, Katy, are going to a party. How does that sound?"

Katy’s brown eyes widened and she nearly spilt the milk as she poured it over her cereal.

"Ohhh! A party????" She heard a snort from Brodie, but she didn’t take any notice. The idea of a party was instantly too thrilling, her mind suddenly full of balloons and music and lots of food. "When??? Where??? Can I go??? Is Frank going?? Are there going to be games??? Can I wear a party dress??? Can I - "

"Whoa there, Tex!!" Tara held up a hand, chuckling. "I don’t know what’s involved, but Mr Cunningham is holding a party on the island in a couple of weeks’ time, and I have no doubt both you and I can go, okay? But I don’t think there will be games, hon – this is a grown-up party. But there will be other kids there, I bet, and Mr Cunningham wants to show some people he knows what a wonderful place the island is to visit. We can show them the animals, and the centre – Joe will do food, and I have no doubt there will be music and lots of fun, all right?"

Katy was jiggling in her seat with excitement.

"Cool!!!!!" She thought for a moment. "Can Mister Trubshaw come too?" Her voice dropped a little, conspiratorially. "He and Dervla are smoochy, y’know."

For the second time that morning Tara choked on her coffee. Brodie did another of his rhino-snorts.

"Smoochy?" Tara said faintly.

Katy nodded.

"Uh-huh. She sometimes comes over when I finish lessons and she brings him some supper." She ate a mouthful of cereal, and then continued. "Sometimes … they kiss." Her voice was a mixture of horror and fascination. "Blech!!"

Tara’s eyebrows hitched.

"Well! Silent waters run deep, I guess."

"Huh?" Katy couldn’t understand what water had to do with it.

"Never mind, sweetheart, You’ll figure it out when you’re older. So, we have to think about what we’re going to wear. I have a little black dress that will do just fine, I think, but we’re going to have to find something for you – and Frank too."

Katy’s jaw dropped.

"Frank has to wear a dress???"

That comment brought a low rumble of anger from Brodie, and he savaged another piece of toast.

"Er, no, Katy – he’ll wear a tuxedo."

"A … a seedo?" Katy stumbled over the unfamiliar word.

"Tux – eeeedo. It’s a suit men wear specially for parties. Usually black, with a nice white shirt and a bow tie. I think he’ll look very handsome indeed, don’t you?"

Katy thought about it for a moment, and then nodded.

"Yep. But can we help him choose? Same as my party dress?"

"Uh-huh. We’ll get right on it this week, all right? Oh, and Frank?"

Brodie was at that moment contemplating throwing himself in the sea for the sharks to munch on – it would be a lot less painful than wearing a tux.

"What?" he replied grouchily.

"Make yourself available for a shopping trip some time this week, okay? We have to go and get a tux for you from somewhere – no doubt there’ll be someplace in Santa Teresa. And," she added, smiling, "Katy needs a brand new party dress."

Katy almost jumped up and down with excitement. Brodie just scowled, but kept his comments to himself.

After breakfast, Katy disappeared into the garden with Moron to play, and Tara loaded dishes into the washer. Brodie stood and watched Katy out of the window, a cup of coffee in one hand. He looked pensive.

Tara wandered up behind him and slid her arms around his sides, leaning her head against the broad shoulders. She could feel the rock hard tension in Brodie’s tall, brawny frame.

"Worried about Esposito, huh?" she said softly, her breath whispering against Brodie’s teeshirted back.

He shifted a little to ease his leg, but continued watching Katy running around the garden screaming with laughter, Moron lolloping behind, ears flapping and a doggy grin wrinkling his jowls.

"Cunningham’s bringing in extra security next week. Davis has checked ‘em out, and they’re sound, he says."

"That’s good, then, isn’t it? We should be safe enough, shouldn’t we?"

Brodie snorted again.

"No such thing, gal." Feeling Tara tense against his back, he realised he had said the wrong thing, and covered her hands where they clasped against his chest with his fingers. He squeezed gently. "Sorry. Yeah, you’re right. We’ll be safer than ever, I guess, and Davis is comin’ over to supervise the extra men. I could use the help. It’ll be okay, Tara. I said I’d keep you and Katy safe … and I will. I promise."

He turned around and putting his coffee cup down on the windowsill, he gathered Tara against his chest, holding her to him as though he would never let go.

"No one will ever harm you or Katy, Tara, you know that. They’ll have to go through me first – the only way they’ll ever get near you is if they step over my dead body – and I’ll tell you now, gal, I’ll take as many of ‘em with me as I can." He lifted his hand and tilted her head up to his lips, and kissed her. "If they go near either of you, they’re dead."

Tara smiled at him with tears in her eyes, and held him tight. But even as she relaxed into his arms, she could not ignore the sudden chill of dread that lay in the pit of her stomach.

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

Sonny Esposito was relaxing quietly on one of his Italian leather sofas in his penthouse, listening to Bach’s Prelude to the 4^th Lute Suite, when a quiet, discreet knock sounded on the door. He sighed in irritation. Everything was going well with his plans, and soon … very soon … he would be fetching his daughter home.

"What is it?" he asked testily. He hated being disturbed.

Cristobal opened the door hesitantly – it was always a little dangerous when his boss was listening to music. Esposito could be a little unpredictable – Cristobal’s predecessor was now nothing but fish fodder somewhere in the Gulf of Mexico after fetching Esposito out of a Verdi recital to report a small contretempts with one of Esposito’s rivals in the drugs trade.

"Mister Stubbs is here. He just got in an hour ago."

Esposito sat up and muted the music with the remote until it was nothing more than a melodic whisper. He felt a momentary pang at the lost of the peace and quiet he needed to settle his mind, but business always came first.

"Show him in, Cristobal – and bring Mister Stubbs his usual, will you?"

Cristobal nodded, and stepped aside to allow a small, sparely-built man into the dimly-lit room. Then he left, and closed the door behind him.

Gesturing at the visitor to sit down, Esposito poured himself a whisky.

"How are your parents, Mister Stubbs? Well, I hope?"

Reginald Bartholomew Stubbs grinned, showing uneven, prominent teeth in a thin, pock-marked face.

"Not bad, Mister E, not bad at all – although me old Da has a touch of the rheumatics and Mum said he’s not sleepin’ nights, but other than that I suppose they’re all right."

Stubbs was a cockney. A true cockney, born within the sound of Bow Bells in one of the seedier streets near the Elephant and Castle in London. He was raised among people who knew the East London gangsters, people like the Krays, who had ruled the London gangland with a vicious, deadly hand. Reggie Stubbs Senior had been in the Kray brothers’ employ, and when he had been banged up in Dartmoor for knifing a man in a nightclub, Reggie Kray and his brother had looked after Ma Stubbs with gifts of money. Reggie Stubbs Junior was named for one of his mother’s benefactors, a fact of which he was inordinately proud.

Reggie had grown up tough, vicious and inventive, and soon made his way out of the East End and into the wider world of crime, ending up with Sonny Esposito, who thoroughly appreciated Stubbs’ peculiar talents.

Reggie loved making people scream. It was just as musical to his ears as Bach, as far as he was concerned, and he spent long, tireless days devising new ways of producing the screams and whimpers he so loved to hear from people who got on the wrong side of Sonny Esposito. As far as Reginald Bartholomew Stubbs was concerned, he just loved his job – he could make people beg to die, and he got paid for doing it. And Sonny Esposito made sure Reggie was very well paid indeed, as the little cockney’s Armani suit and Italian leather shoes testified. But, Esposito had to admit, no amount of designer clothing could knock the East End out of Reggie Stubbs.

Reggie sat down in a comfortable chair and looked at his boss with small, colourless eyes.

"So, wot’s goin’ on then, Mister E? ‘oo’s pissed you off this time?"

Esposito smiled.

"Of all of my employees, Mister Stubbs, you alone fully appreciate the meaning of family."

Reggie grinned.

"Yeah, well, s’ppose I do at that. Don’t know wot I’d d wivout me Da and Mum. Family’s important, there’s no doubt about it, Mister E."

"True," Esposito said. "So, seeing as you understand, I have a project I wish you to undertake for me. I will be going with you, of course, but I want you to head the team I have hand-picked for the job." He took a deep breath. "I have a daughter, Mister Stubbs. Her mother is dead, and I want to bring her home to live with me."

Reggie’s thin eyebrows raised.

"Well! Now there’s a turn-up for the books! ‘Ow old’s the little ‘un, Mister E?"

"Nearly eight. Her mother kept her from me, you understand – but now her mother is dead, she should be with me, don’t you think?"

"Too bloody right!" Reggie nodded vigorously. "So, wot’s the plan?"

Esposito explained about Tara Matthews and Frank Brodie, about Katy’s residence on San Miguel Island, and about Charles Cunningham and the security measures.

Reggie turned over the information in his mind, formulating plans and thinking about the opposition they would meet.

"This Brodie – ‘e’s an ex-marine, you say? Tough bastards, they are. You sure we’ve got access to all the security codes? We can get in wivout any bovver?"

Esposito nodded.

"My source is very close to Charles Cunningham. We have access to whatever information we need. There will be a social gathering on the island in twelve days time, Mister Stubbs – Cunningham has arranged to receive business associates and their families on the island, where they will be shown around and then attend a party in the evening. He has arranged extra security measures - "

He was disturbed by Cristobal, who entered the room carrying a tray. On it was a pitcher of milk, a glass, and three eggs. He set them down before Reggie, who rubbed his hands together in eagerness. As Cristobal exited the room, Reggie poured himself a glass of milk and broke an egg into it. He swallowed the glassful and smacked his lips. Pouring himself another glass, he was on the point of cracking the second egg into the rich liquid when he paused.

"Extra security – you mean - "

"Our source has made sure our credentials are impeccable." Esposito gave Reggie a small, feral smile.

"Cor!" Reggie said, "I’ve never been a security guard before – I’ve always been the one bashin’ them, like. This source … bloody silly question, but why is ‘e doin’ this? Just money?"

Esposito’s smile widened as he watched Reggie crack another egg into his milk and drink the mixture slowly. The little man wiped a milk moustache off his lip with the back of his hand. He looked, Esposito thought, like a particularly boyish psychopath – which indeed, Reggie certainly was.

"Money … and something else. You’ll find out later, when we get on the island. So, Mister Stubbs – is the job attractive to you? Do you think you would find it … satisfying?"

Reggie dumped his third and last egg in the rest of the milk and drank it down, licking his lips in pleasure. He cocked an eyebrow at his boss and nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah, Mister E, I think I’ll enjoy this little job, ta very much. And there’s a pretty lady too, you said. Knockin’ around with this Brodie fella. I like pretty ladies. Can I ‘ave her?" he asked casually, as though requesting an extra helping of potatoes in a restaurant.

"As long as the job gets done, you may do with her what you will, Mister Stubbs, with my blessing." Esposito nodded, satisfied.

Reggie looked at his empty glass for a moment with a mild expression of regret, but he chortled suddenly at the thought of Tara Matthews.

"I like pretty ladies, Mister E. I like ‘em a lot. All tarts, mind you – me mum told me that, and bugger me if she wasn’t right. Still, I’ll enjoy ‘avin’ a bit of fun wiv ‘er all right. Yeah …" he said, his eyes becoming dreamy, "I fink I’ll ‘ave a lot of fun wiv Miss Matthews …"

Sonny Esposito sat back in his seat, turned up the volume on his CD player and linked his fingers over his stomach. Reggie curled up in his seat like a satisfied cat as the soaring melodies of Johann Sebastian Bach filled the shadowed room, and the two men relaxed happily.

In twelve days, they both knew, San Miguel Island – and everyone on it – would be theirs.