THE RAZOR
“I sure hope I get to see some Mayan temples,” Eddie said while looking out the window at the lush jungle as the Tan-Sasha 737 approached Belize International Airport. “Sure beats the hell out of hitting bars and whorehouses with Tony.”
Roger grinned at his companion, whom he liked more with each passing hour. They had gotten to know each other better as they’d hung out in their hotel room, discussing the plan and the places where it would happen. Eddie’s sharp questioning and quick grasp not just of the tactics but the strategies involved earned Roger’s respect and added to his strengthening assessment that he could trust Eddie as much as he distrusted Tony. He also liked Eddie’s interest in the country and its history, not just the money he could make smuggling weed.
“Yeah,” Roger said, “a lot of them are in the wetlands and only become accessible by car in December. Our little tour will loop us through these regions, so we’ll probably get to visit some places very few non-Belizeans get to see.”
Eddie’s eyes widened as the jet touched down and rolled out past anti-aircraft gun emplacements and a heavy military presence, including a gaggle of British-marked Harrier combat jets.
“Jeez,” he said to Roger, “is there a war going on or something?”
“Or something,” Roger said casually. “Guatemala thinks Belize is theirs, so the Brits are sticking around for a while to keep them from doing something stupid.”
“Sort of a mind war to prevent a shooting war,” Eddie concluded. Roger nodded.
“Exactly.”
They split up before they got off the plane and, after passing through customs, Roger stepped outside and scanned the small circle drive for Rudy’s car. It wasn’t there. Discouraged, he went back into the terminal, and sighed in relief as he saw Rudy inside by the stairs leading to the administrative offices, speaking to a large black man neatly dressed in starched khaki slacks and a partly unbuttoned floral-print shirt that revealed a thick gold chain weighted by a huge pendant. Roger recognized the man’s face and paused to remember his identity. The two made accidental eye contact, then Rudy saw Roger and nodded a quick good-bye. The man went up the stairs as Rudy joined Roger. They met Eddie outside and within minutes were headed out of the airport in Rudy’s station wagon.
“You have rewarded my faith,” Rudy said happily as he turned from the airport road onto the Northern Highway toward Orange Walk, driving even more slowly than the general traffic. “Everyone who knew what happened said you’d never return, but I had no doubt. I had your word and knew you would keep it.”
“What’s the word on the street about the bust?” Roger asked.
“That what they seized in the hills was the largest capture ever,” he replied. “It’s also created much talk about its owner, Señor Huevos Grandes.’”
Roger and Eddie exchanged concerned glances, then Roger nodded down the road.
“Could you speed it up a little?” he asked. “We have a lot to do and not much time to do it.”
“Sure, Mr. Roger,” said Rudy, and increased his speed by five miles per hour. Eddie chuckled in the back seat as Roger shook his head but didn’t urge Rudy on even more. “I set up an appointment with Carlos Weatherton, the man I was speaking to in the terminal,” Rudy continued, oblivious to the discomfort he was causing the Americans with his slow driving. “I wanted him to meet you, but he’s the airport manager, so we can’t talk there. We’ll pick him up tonight and he’ll introduce you to Martin Gillette, the man in charge of the strike force who captured your load.”
Roger nodded, poker-faced, but inside he smiled. Clearly, Rudy did know the people he claimed to know, and there might be a chance to join the club and work directly with Belize’s officials. The old adage of “it’s not what you know, but who you know” was certainly true in every country, including the U.S., and Roger looked forward to the opportunity.
“Man, Tony never had anything like this organized,” Eddie said quietly, admiration coloring his voice.
“We do a lot of things differently,” Roger said. “Now listen, I’m not sold yet on this cop thing, but after the beating I took a couple of weeks ago, it might not be a bad idea. Rudy, do your friends know it was my load they grabbed at Tres Legos?”
“Oh yes!” Rudy nodded enthusiastically. “They were very impressed, so I got a feeling we can get some mileage out of that. We may as well take advantage of your reputation, yes?”
“Can they be bought?” Roger asked.
“We shall know tonight how it goes,” Rudy answered.
“And our growers?” asked Roger.
“There is much more than you need,” Rudy said confidently, “thousands more. We start in Corozal district and go all the way to Cayo if we need. The weed is coming in, and there are few buyers. They all want to make the business with you.”
“Well, we’ll see,” Roger said. He knew how much these regions produced, so he knew Rudy was exaggerating—but his apparent government contacts seemed to be exactly what he’s said, so maybe there would be enough. “We need a lot and we only take the best quality.”
“Of course, Mr. Roger,” Rudy said. “only the best. As soon as you are rested, we will begin.”
“Rested?” Roger snorted. “We got three days, and I expect to be buying before we meet Carlos and Gillette!”
“Okay,” Rudy said. “We can start as soon as we get to Orange Walk.”
“What have you heard about George and Manu?” Rudy cringed.
“Those two are very lucky they have escaped trouble,” Rudy said. “You must stay away from them. Jacob told the police they were responsible for the checkpoint shootout. Then George found out I am now helping you to find the large amount you need and said he had a message—that he needed to speak with you. But that would be a mistake! Believe me, I have everything arranged.”
“Don’t worry my friend, this run is all yours,” Roger said. Rudy visibly relaxed, then Roger smiled his famous grin. “That is, if you drive fast enough so we can get this done on time.”
“But that would be hard on this old car and waste gas.”
“Listen buddy, you’ll be able to buy a new car with what you’re making on this gig.”
“This one cost me twenty-five hundred.”
“Twenty five hundred B.H? Will you take twenty-five hundred U.S. right now?”
“Yes!”
“Then it’s a deal. Now, since this is my car step on it, and when we’re done you can have it back.”
Rudy punched the accelerator and established an acceptable pace. Roger and Eddie exchanged grins. Shortly thereafter, they reached the southern curve of their future runway and Roger pointed it out to Eddie.
“This is where we’ll block the road on this end so we can put her down on the straight section without anyone seeing us.”
“Nice,” he said, nodding his approval as the road straightened and he saw the straightaway. “Way better than some of the shitholes Tony sets up for us.” Rudy was astonished at what he heard.
“You will land here, Mr. Roger?” he blurted out.
“Yep. We’re on the runway now.” Rudy shook his head in amazement.
“You know best, Mr. Roger,” he said, “but hay caramba, tiene huevos grandes!”
“Man, this thing just seems like it goes on forever,” Eddie said.
“This is only the overrun,” Roger laughed. “The working area’s up ahead. No houses along this whole stretch and another curve blocks the view on the north end.” He gestured for Rudy to turn onto the gravel quarry road.
“How long do you think we can hold up traffic before it’ll be a problem?” Eddie asked as Rudy parked out of sight of the road. “Not many cars, but it’s the main road, right?”
“There is no traffic at night,” Rudy said proudly. “It will be perfect.” Eddie darted a glance at Roger, who gestured for him to let Rudy’s comment pass.
“We’ll be back in a minute, man,” Roger said to his driver. “I want to show him a couple of things he’ll have to do.”
“Guy’s never done an aircraft load, has he?” Eddie said as soon as they walked out of earshot. Roger shrugged.
“I’m sure he helped the Colombians refuel their seaside connection,” he said, “and his boat-packing stories sounded realistic, but no, he clearly hasn’t done any air ops or he’d know better than to talk about doing them at night.”
“Well, you gotta work with the tools you have,” Eddie said.
“That’s right,” Roger said, “and having you along more than makes up for Rudy’s shortcomings. We’ll just need to keep a tight rein on him around the plane.”
They returned to the car and continued on their way. A couple of minutes later, they reached the northern curve and Roger pointed to a small creek that passed under the road through a large culvert.
“Perfect roadblock spot,” he said. “All we need is two vehicles and no one can get around them.”
“I don’t suppose there’s time to build a culvert on the other end,” Eddie said, grinning.
Several minutes later, Rudy pointed out another small gravel road.
“That’s where we will stash the load,” he said. “That way we won’t have to pass any checkpoints before we move it to the quarry.” Roger nodded, recognizing it as the spot George had showed him a few weeks before after the helicopters had sprayed it with paraquat. Soon after, they passed the small cement toll station that marked the end of the Northern Highway’s new section and rejoined the old, narrow, pot-holed narrow route. The pace slowed to “Rudy speed” until they reached Orange Walk 15 minutes later, where Rudy navigated several dirt side streets and parked in front of his ramshackle home. At the end of his road, two men were jacking up a large truck box.
“My cousin Francisco will mount it on his flat bed truck today,” Rudy explained. “We will use it to store and transport our load.”
“Good enough,” Roger said. “That will work.” Rudy pointed across the street to a 1959 Chevy pickup that looked to be in pretty solid condition.
“That’s how we’ll shuttle our buys,” he said as he got out of the car. “Wait here.” Then he disappeared into the house.
“Guy seems a little sketchy,” Eddie said.
“A little,” Roger agreed, “but he’s honest and he figures out ways to get things done. He sure saved my bacon before Christmas, that’s for sure.”
“Seems like a fast learner, too.”
“Yeah, and that’s the thing,” Roger continued. “These folks haven’t been at it that long. Most people aren’t hip to Belize as a source yet because they haven’t cultivated enough to get the word out, but that day’s coming. So for now, we have to teach them how to do it right. I’m telling you, if George hadn’t stirred things up with the police, we’d be coasting.”
“Only time I heard of this place is a story about some guys stopping for gas on the way back from Jamaica.”
“I know the story,” Roger laughed. “In fact, I know those guys. If only they knew they were bypassing a gold mine. You know, I’d like to come here and get into politics and legalize the stuff. It really wouldn’t matter even if the U.S. cut off the aid because legalization would put Belize in the black and produce a surplus. The problem would be getting the wealth to work for the people and not the politicians.”
“Yeah, how would you solve that?” Eddie asked. Roger pondered, then sighed.
“Good question,” he said. “So much for that idea. Wouldn’t work.”
Rudy returned with a teenage boy, some large flashlights, and a hanging spring scale.
“This is my son, Rudy Junior,” Rudy said proudly, but Roger say instantly that the kid was hyper and unfocused and overwhelmed with what was happening.
“You are the famous ganjanero, Señor Huevos Grandes, sí?” he blurted out. “How many cars and houses and women do you have? Do you have a Ferrari?” Roger looked at him so coldly the boy clammed up and recoiled as if he’d been slapped. Roger stared at Rudy.
“I think it’s time he learns to listen more and talk less.”
The words cut Junior like a knife. He backed away, then turned and ran into the house.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Roger,” said Rudy, embarrassed. “He’s a good boy. He’s just excited to meet you. He will be a good helper. You will see. He will drive the pickup for us and he will stay quiet. You gave him a good lesson and I thank you.” Roger held Rudy’s gaze for a long moment and saw the sincerity in his eyes, but he knew he had to hard-wire the moment into both of their souls.
“You make sure you reinforce it,” he said harshly, pointing a finger at Rudy that he knew was very disrespectful in Belizean culture. “If you don’t…” then he stopped, as he saw pain flare in Rudy’s eyes and knew he needed to say no more.
“I promise you he will—” Rudy pleaded, but Roger held up his hand for silence. Rudy shut up instantly.
“Enough,” Roger said, and smiled to put a calm edge on the end of the moment, “let’s go shopping.”
They walked a few doors down to a porch-front store, where Roger bought non-perishable food and lots of batteries. Rudy filled up two gas cans and packed their knapsacks with Roger’s rations. Roger also added his calculator, paper pad, several pen flashlights, and $20,000 to an inside pouch.
They began buying southeast of a small village named Copper Bank.
“If the boonies had boonies, it would be here,” Eddie said, as they bounced along a narrow, rutted jungle road on the way to inspect a 2,000-pound lot Rudy knew about. As they rounded a corner, an old peasant emerged from the bush with a boy in tow who wore a faded Chicago Cubs t-shirt. Rudy stopped and spoke with him in Mayan. Then Rudy turned to Roger.
“He says he’s been waiting for days and had something to show. He needs a buyer so he can afford to buy some late Christmas presents for his boys.”
“Dude’s a mess,” Eddie whispered to Roger.
“Lot of them are,” Roger whispered back. “Let’s see what he has.”
They climbed out of the car. Rudy gestured for Junior to stay in his truck. Then the man led them a few rows into some sugar cane to his small stash and invited Roger to inspect it.
Roger smelled an unpleasant acidic odor as he untied the top of the sack and, without even digging in, he knew it was contaminated with paraquat. He looked closely at the boy’s eyes and saw signs of irritation. Roger tied the sack closed.
“Put it in the car,” he said to Rudy, then fished a package of cookies from his backpack and handed them to the boy, whose dirt-streaked cheeks grew a smile. Rudy returned as the boy peeled open the package and the old man smiled his thanks.
“Ask him how much he wants,” Roger said to Rudy when he returned for the car.
“Two hundred dollars U.S.” Rudy said after a brief conversation in Mayan.
“Tell him two-hundred-fifty B.H.” Roger replied. The old man nodded and they shook hands. Roger pulled some Belizean money from his pack and handed them to the man.
“Tell him that neither he nor his family nor any of their animals should go into the field until it has rained several times,” he said to Rudy while keeping his eyes on the man. The man realized instantly that Roger knew his stash was contaminated—and had bought it anyway. He clasped his hands in thanks and the two peasants disappeared back into the bush.
“Why did you buy that crap?” Eddie asked sharply as they drove away. “Something’s wrong with it.”
“American paraquat,” Roger said. “Just cleaning up the mess.” He pointed to a clearing. “Pull over here and tell Junior to bring me one of the gas cans.” They got out and Roger threw the bale on the ground, slashed the wrappings with his knife, and kicked it apart. Junior walked up with the gas can and Roger poured some of it on the broken bale, then sent Junior and the can back to the truck. Then he threw a match on the bad weed and they watched it burn.
“No wonder these people work so hard for you, man,” Eddie smiled.
They continued on down the rough road until they approached a Mayan ruin.
“Oh my God,” he whispered. “There’s one.” To his delight, Rudy turned toward it on a cut made through the swampy jungle by a bulldozer. They reached the end of the freshly carved path after just a few hundred yards and parked. Rudy. As they got out, he pointed to several mounds that looked like little hills entangled with trees, vines, and roots.
“They had to stop bulldozing because that’s a cluster of ruins,” he said as they grabbed their bags and walked into the jungle along the path the bulldozer had followed until an odd animal sound interrupted their journey. Rudy returned the call and a small, round-faced man appeared on the path. He eyed the Americans with caution until Rudy smiled and gestured toward Roger.
“Señor Huevos Grandes,” he said simply. The small man smiled in recognition and motioned for them to follow him deeper into the swampy bush.
They reached a temporary camp after several minutes of hiking and inspected nine 50-pound bales watched over by a second man who looked much like the first. Roger showed Eddie how to check for consistency by squeezing inwards on the bags and sliding his hands inside to see if it layered as he picked up on different sections. Eddie easily learned how to detect poor quality because Roger rejected the first few bales for “shake.”
“Only four are worth taking,” Roger said to Rudy. “Tell him in the future not to bale the dust and leaves.”
This angered the peasants, but Roger eased their ire when he counted out a fair price in American dollars. The farmers then told Rudy about a shortcut to the tiny village of New Hope, where they could merge with the old Northern Highway and they walked back to their vehicles lugging the bales.
“I don’t need to see any more five-hundred pound batches,” Roger told Rudy as they bounced down the rutted trail. “If we don’t start scoring bigger and much better buys, we’re going to have a problem.”
“Okay,” Rudy said, nodding. “We’re going to Altun Ha next. My—”
“Altun Ha?” Eddie interrupted. “That’s a famous ruin, right?”
“Yes, it is,” Ruddy nodded, “and my brother-in-law is the caretaker there.” Roger flashed his famous grin at Eddie.
“Do I take care of my staff or what?”
“That you do,” said Eddie, and settled back into his seat, content.
They made good time when they headed south on the Old Northern Highway and turned off at the entrance to Altun Ha while the sun was still above the treetops. They followed a dirt road through the thick vegetation for a mile and a half, past many shacks and small houses, until they reached a large grass parking lot. Roger slung his knapsack over one shoulder for the short hike to the site and grinned at Eddie, whose face was lit up like a kid on Christmas morning.
“This is so cool,” he almost whispered as the sun touched the treetops in the distance and they started walking with their haul bags toward the ruins, some of which he could see through the foliage.
A huge weathered pyramid stood boldly at the edge of the site, a large, bare field with a primal jungle backdrop. Watchmen guarded the site to keep grave robbers from stealing the precious artifacts.
“There are over two hundred structures here,” Rudy told Eddie, “But many of them are still covered by the jungle like the ones we saw before. Eddie stared around him in awe.
“I can still feel them,” he said as the sunset intensified its eerie aura, “even though they’ve been gone a thousand years.”
“Course you can,” Rudy chuckled. “I’ll introduce you to some of them now.”
“Loving fossils,” Roger said as a smiling Mayan walked up to them with his hand out.
“Hello,” he said. “I’m Hernan. Would you like me to show you around a little before we get down to business?” Eddie shot a “Can we? Can we?” glance at Roger, who smiled at Hernan.
“Thank you,” he said. “That would be great.”
Hernan pointed out the details of several structures as he led them to a funeral chamber near the pyramid.
“I’ve even found human remains while digging for things to sell,” he said as he showed them a small excavation in one corner.
“They don’t care if you take stuff?” Eddie asked incredulously. Hernan shook his head.
“They pay us very little,” he said without resentment, “so as long as we keep the important things safe, we are free to dig a bit on our own as long as we don’t get greedy.”
Hernan pulled a painted clay pot from the dirt next to his outlaw excavation. It had been crudely pieced together with epoxy. He also uncovered a jade carving of a man with an aquiline nose, large square eyes that were cross-eyed, and a filed incisor in the upper row of teeth.
“Kinich Ahau, the face of the sun,” Eddie whispered. Hernan looked at him in surprise.
“Legend says that whoever finds it must give it to someone who will appreciate it,” he said to Eddie solemnly. He rubbed the head, then took a thin vine and made it into a necklace onto which he fastened the talisman. “So I give it to you,” he said as he draped it over Eddie’s neck. “It will keep you safe from the creatures of the jungle. The god of the sun will protect you.”
“Thank you,” Eddie said earnestly. “May your sleep be peaceful.”
Hernan glanced at Rudy.
“Who is this fine man who knows even our proverbs?” he asked. Rudy grinned.
“This is Eddie,” Rudy said. “He is a friend of Señor Huevos Grandes.” Hernan nodded approvingly.
“Kinich Ahau has guided my hand well,” he said to the American. “Please come again when I can show you everything I know about Altun Ha.”
“Deal!” said Eddie and they shook hands. Then Hernan led them out of the funeral chamber onto a dark, winding path that led to another uncovered temple. A campfire illuminated a wealthier, more sophisticated group of growers who had assembled more than 1,000 pounds of weed that filled their camp with its unmistakably potent smell. Each grower sat with his own bags while Roger and Eddie moved among them with their flashlights, checking the quality.
“This is what you’re looking for, right?” Eddie asked Roger after he had inspected one bale. Roger nodded and grinned, his teeth flashing in the dying light.
Nearby, Rudy jammed a branch between two trees and weighed the contents of each accepted bale on a fish scale. When they were finished, only one bale sat apart.
“I’m sorry,” Roger said to the grower. “The quality is excellent but it’s too wet.” The grower gestured his acceptance of Roger’s verdict, then the real business began.
Given the uniform quality, the group agreed to bargain collectively, and Eddie watched fascinated as Roger bartered like a Belizean native until they agreed on the price he knew Roger had wanted to pay all along. He and Rudy exchanged knowing glances about their leader’s skillful haggling as Roger counted out the payment to each grower, then Rudy glanced at his watch and sighed.
“We need to get to our meeting in the city,” he murmured to Eddie, “so let’s put fresh batteries in the flashlights and take one load back when we leave.”
“What about the rest?” Eddie asked, frowning. “We don’t have time to load it all, right?”
“Maybe you stay with Junior and take care of it and we meet you at Hill Bank later tonight.”
“Good idea,” said Roger as he approached, “but I want Eddie with me for support and to enhance my image. The growers can help Junior load it up, then he can wait for us at Hill Bank.”
“Thank you, Mr. Roger,” Rudy said in response to Roger’s trust in his son. “Junior will get it done right.” Roger patted Rudy on the shoulder.
“If I didn’t think so, we wouldn’t do it this way.” Rudy grinned and started toward the weed pile, flashlight bobbing in his hand. Eddie glanced sharply at the growers, then back to Roger.
“Really?” Eddie asked, skeptically. Roger’s teeth flashed in the glow of Rudy’s flashlight.
“This is not Colombia and we’re not dealing with powderheads.”
“Sorry, man,” Eddie said, “I keep forgetting.”
“Old paranoia habits are hard to break.”
“Yeah, they sure are,” Eddie said as they followed Rudy to the pile. “I like this place more all the time.”
Hardly a soul stirred as an intermittent ocean breeze spread the dreaded smell of the Belize River throughout the crowded warren that was Belize City as they arrived at Carlos Weatherton’s house. Roger got in the back seat with Eddie as the big man approached. The suspension sank under his weight when he sat down, and the car seemed to labor briefly as Rudy pulled away.
Roger and Carlos checked each other out like two strange dogs, circling each other with wary questions, each man trying to sniff out the other’s character and intent. Roger could from the start tell by how Carlos spoke that he had a college education and had studied English. He also felt his confidence, competence, and caution and he could see clearly that the man had risen to manage the national airport by competence and force of personality rather than political connections. Roger also saw that his own professionalism and focus impressed Carlos too. Then they got down to business.
“I’m not really involved in your trade,” Carlos opened, “but even I have heard of your reputation. People talk, you know. Gillette wants me to make sure it’s wise to bring you two together. As the head of our country’s anti-narcotics squad, he is a secretive man. He only agreed to meet because he wants to make certain things are clear about your losses last week.”
“I’m not here looking for trouble,” Roger said, puzzled but also encouraged a bit that his near-bust several days before would be part of the conversation, so he pressed on. “I just want to get an understanding with him. You speak of him highly, but can he be trusted?”
“Like you, Gillette is a man of his word, Señor Huevos Grandes,” Carlos said evenly, signaling to Roger that he’d done his homework about him. “You can count on whatever he says. He knows you’re very active and respected, but he is a powerful man in Belize. He must take due care.”
“Well, what’s your decision?” Roger asked quietly but forcefully. Carlos looked at him for a long moment, then extended his hand over the seat.
“Let’s see what you and Gillette can get done,” he said in the same tone. They shook, and Roger jumped to the next phase.
“Is it possible to load a gig at the airport?” he asked. Carlos held up a cautionary hand.
“Nothing is done here without Gillette. Everything runs through him so it is he whom you must ask about such things.”
“Good enough,” Roger said. Carlos said a quiet word to Rudy and they turned off the main road into a higher-class neighborhood of homes sitting one story in the air on stilts to protect them from occasional hurricane tidal surges.
“This is his street, Mr. Roger,” Carlos said. “His house is the white stucco halfway down on the right.”
“Okay, slow down and keep driving,” Roger said to Rudy, then clicked into scanning mode, peering into the narrow passes between the wooden structures, looking around and watching behind them. “Make several circles so I can survey the situation.”
The car looped around the neighborhood until Roger was comfortable, then he directed Rudy to park across the street from Gillette’s house and tap lightly on the horn in the quiet night air. Gillette emerged almost instantly and walked down his stairs to the street. He approached the car cautiously until he recognized Carlos, who slid over in the front seat as Belize’s anti-narcotics chief got in without greeting.
“Drive,” he ordered Rudy, who immediately pulled away from the curb. “You’re sure you weren’t followed?” he asked Carlos.
“I’m sure,” Roger interjected, seizing the initiative. The grey-haired Creole turned to look him over and offered Roger his hand—but Roger didn’t take it.
“Before we bind any friendship,” he said tersely, “let’s get something straight. I’m working this country, and if you want to form a relationship, we better come to terms.”
Gillette withdrew his hand and studied Roger, then smiled slightly and re-extended his hand.
“I allowed you to meet me for precisely that purpose,” he said evenly. “If your credentials weren’t as they are, you wouldn’t be here. It wasn’t until the Tres Legos seizure that I realized the level of your activity. That speaks well for you. Now tell me, how can I help you?”
Roger shook hands with Gillette.
“We’re about to do another air shipment,” he said, “so what can you do for me?”
“I have sole control of the forces pursuing the drug trade,” Gillette said without hesitation. “You tell me when and where you’re going to be, and I’ll make sure my men are unable to respond to any call. If for some reason things get fouled up and you’re taken into custody, I will see to your freedom and exit from the country. This will cost fifty thousand dollars.”
Roger looked at Gillette through his sunglasses like a card shark as he digested the proposal and the others looked on anxiously.
“That’s a lot of money for not doing too much,” Roger countered. “However, to establish the relationship, I’ll consider it—as long as any deal we make includes protection for anyone who works for me, and your word we won’t be betrayed.”
“I let you see where I live with my family,” Gillette said smoothly. “That should be proof enough of my word, yes?”
“Perhaps, but I already knew where you lived the day you stole my load,” Roger bluffed.
“I’ll provide assistance to your workers,” Gillette went on just as smoothly, ignoring Roger’s jibe, “but make it known they may get arrested just for show if there are too many witnesses, so they must not panic and start talking. Now tell me if you’re interested.”
“I am, but there’s one final thing. I’m told you’re looking for George Ramirez. His safety is part of the deal.” Rudy flinched at the name. Gillette frowned slightly.
“Ramirez is no good for you, Roger,” he said tersely. “Neither is Pete Smith. I suggest you stay away from them both.”
“George is a friend of mine,” Roger said flatly, “so he’s a non-negotiable part of the deal. Otherwise, it’s me against you.”
They stared each other down for a long moment, then Gillette nodded curtly.
“All right,” he said, “but only if you assure me there will be no more gun fights and your men carry no weapons. Too many things are happening now in Central America that we don’t need in Belize. This thing is about money, not blood.”
“Agreed,” said Roger, “and I apologize for the misunderstanding last time. I assure you that will not happen going forward.”
“Excellent,” Gillette said, and he visibly relaxed. “Now tell me, Roger, when are you planning to do it?”
“Tomorrow at noon on the new highway.”
“No way,” Gillette said abruptly, his composure deserting him. “No way you can do it there. Out of the question.” Roger grinned and delivered the next blow.
“Listen, my friend, you’re the one who blew up my runway after you stole my load.”
“Isn’t there somewhere else?” Gillette asked, composure regained. “What about Progresso or Orange Walk or one of the strips south of here?”
“Sorry, no,” Roger answered in a carefully controlled voice. “I’m bringing in a big plane to make up for our losses, so unless you want us to land at International, it’s my way and that’s the highway.” Gillette’s eyebrows arched and he drummed his fingers on the back of the seat. Roger could tell the anti-narcotics chief didn’t usually have to bargain like this.
“My oh my, you ask a lot, my new friend,” he said with a faint smile, “but here’s what I’ll do. Tomorrow morning, I’ll take my men on a surprise maritime strike to San Pedro. That will have us out at sea when it happens, but I want the money up front.” Roger shook his head and reached into his knapsack.
“Half now, the rest after the plane’s safely out of your airspace.” He held out $25,000 to Gillette, who looked at it for a moment, then took it.
“I’ll trust it’s all here,” he said mildly, then said more forcefully: “Now I want you to get some things straight. First, nobody approaches me directly. All communications go through Carlos. We have a reason to speak to one another and a code has been worked out. Second, never use my name for any reason at any time. Third, if any of your people get intercepted by my men, they use the word ‘Jack’ to identify themselves as one of yours. That is a code U.S. agents are using, so it will work for you, too. I personally oversee the important runs and so I can guarantee there’s no interference.”
“I like that last part,” Roger said sternly, though once again the reference to the American government presence there made him uneasy, but it was too soon to probe the topic. Gillette directed Rudy back to his house, then turned to Roger and shook hands with him.
“We will repeat this process tomorrow night for the rest of the money,” Gillette said as he got out of the car and walked away without another word.
Rudy dropped off Carlos off, then grinned at Roger and Eddie.
“And now I give you a treat,” he said. “Dinner at Yuen Woo’s, the finest Chinese restaurant in Belize. “They also have phones you can use,” he added, winking at Roger.
“Man!” said Eddie, shaking his head in wonder at Roger. “At first, I thought you were way too aggressive, but you sure seemed to know how work that guy.”
“Cops are pretty much all alike,” Roger said. “If you act like a mouse, they’ll go cat on you and pounce—and if you’re all big dog, they want to fight, so you gotta be tough enough that they don’t pounce but calm enough that they don’t fight.”
“How’d you learn to do that?” Eddie wondered.
“Getting inside the head of skydiving students mostly,” he said, flashing his famous grin.
Yuen Woo greeted Rudy and his guests graciously and gave them the best seat in the surprisingly elegant establishment. Roger and Eddie were impressed again with Rudy’s connections. They ordered a meal and Roger went to clear his messages.
“Tony’ll be here on the one o’clock flight,” he said, raising his glass, “and the rest of the crew is in place and ready to go.” They clinked glasses and drank.
“Okay,” Roger said when they put their glasses down, “from now on we call Gillette ‘the Razor.’ I believe he’s playing us straight, but I sure would feel better if we could verify that he and his men really do go to sea tomorrow.”
“Why did you tell him we were doing it tomorrow?” Rudy asked. “You told me the plane wouldn’t be here until Thursday.”
“That way we’ll know if he’s around the highway, and if he is, then we know it’s a set up. When I see him, I’ll just say Sugar had engine trouble, which—”
“—is true,” chuckled Eddie, “just not this time around.”
“I’m more worried about his credibility than if he thinks he’s getting the runaround,” Roger continued, “and engine trouble saves face for him.”
A few minutes later, a small Asian lady brought several dishes, and the four enjoyed a good meal.
As they finished, Yuen Woo returned and bowed.
“May I speak to you privately for a moment, Mr. Roger?” he asked quietly. Rudy was surprised but hid it pretty well as Roger accompanied Yuen Woo into the kitchen—where to his own surprise he found George waiting for him by the cooler.
“George! How did you find me here?” Roger asked incredulously, impressed by his old friend’s detective skills no matter what his answer was.
“When I learned Rudy was putting together a large load,” George said, “I knew who it was for, so when Buddy saw you at the airport, I just kept an eye on Rudy’s car until you showed up.”
“Yeah, but how did you know we’d be down here?” Roger wondered. “I know you didn’t follow us around the bush.” George laughed and smiled knowingly.
“I knew he would introduce you to his big friends, so when you left Orange Walk I just found myself a nice spot along the highway near the city and waited for you to go by, then I came here because Rudy never leaves the city without stopping at Yuen Woo’s.” Roger smiled despite his displeasure with his friend and business partner, then turned serious again. George got the message. “I know we got a lot to talk about, and I’ve got some explaining to do, but for now you must know there’s an American here looking for you. It’s the same one Pete introduced me to who bought our excess. Says he’s a friend of a friend.”
“Don’t know who it could be,” Roger said, “but that meeting’ll have to wait. There are several things we need to clear up. After our last experience, I decided to pay off the police. With the size of these loads, I had to make sure it didn’t happen again. Part of the deal was to leave you alone.” Roger’s words stunned George for a moment, then he broke into an appreciative grin.
“You’re always so good to me, Roger,” he said, “sometimes even when I don’t deserve it.”
“That’s to make up for the times when you more than deserve it,” Roger said, cracking a slight smile. George smiled sheepishly.
“I know things went bad for us, but it’s just the way it happened. I’ll understand if you don’t want to work with me, but if you need any help, Manu and I would like to finish what you already paid us for. What do you say?”
Roger let George’s question hang for a few tactical moments. That was exactly what he’d hoped to hear, and on top of that, George’s skill at both hunting him down and staying undetected not only impressed him, but reminded him how cleanly and efficiently things almost always went when George was involved. But he wasn’t going to let him know just how happy he was to have him back.
“Let’s do a trial run first,” he said, “and go from there.”
“Sure, Roger, whatever you think is best.”
“All right, here’s the gig. I met directly with one of the country’s leading officials and I’m still leery about him, so I lied and said the trip was going down tomorrow at noon. He said he’d take his men to the cays, but I don’t have a way to verify that. If you could put a tail on them and confirm it, I’d feel a lot better.”
“I can handle that, Roger,” he said as he flashed his big Belizean smile. “I know right where the police boat docks, and I have a friend who does runs to the islands. A hundred bucks to rent his ship, and we’ll be on the pier waiting for them to leave.”
Roger handed George a few hundred dollars. “Meet me here at a quarter after ten tomorrow evening. Make sure to get details on everything he does. Our meeting’s at eleven and I want to blow him away with what I know.”
“No problem,” George said, “and if you have any trouble scoring, I know several growers with very good bud.”
Roger could see that George felt he was back on the team—and given how unimpressed Roger was with the current buying pace, he was glad of it.
“Bring Manu with you tomorrow night and be ready to shop.” Roger slapped George on the shoulder and gave him a big hug. George waved good-bye and slid out the back door. Roger returned and finished dinner with Rudy and Eddie, relieved to be reunited with his main man and now able to see if Gillette really was a man of his word. When they finished eating, they headed back north to rendezvous with Junior.
They stopped along the way at the small village of Rancho Delores, where Rudy took them to a farmer with 300 pounds. Roger accepted half, which they stashed in the bush on their way toward Hill Bank, which they reached just after 1 a.m. They found Junior sleeping in the pickup parked in a cluster of thatched roof huts encircled by narrow trees tied together with vines. The nearby New River Lagoon mirrored the moon’s reflection.
“Everything ready?” Rudy asked him after he’d rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He nodded and held up a finger to wait, then walked over to one of the huts and had a murmured conversation with someone inside. A moment later, the shadowy figure of a Mayan man left the hut and disappeared behind a building. He returned a minute later with two other villagers carrying big empty packs and spoke in Mayan to Rudy, then turned to Roger.
“Are you ready for a long hike and do you have something to carry a load?” he asked. Roger nodded and the Mayan led them through their crude fencing system into the bush, their flashlights bobbing in the darkness to follow the dim trail.
They reached a stand of trees 20 minutes later and there under a makeshift tarp shelter tied between the trees was an exceptional batch of 400 pounds. Roger accepted all of it, and they carried it back to the truck, arriving just as the moon set. With nothing more to do until daybreak, they curled up in their vehicles and got some sleep.
The Mayans woke them at sunrise, and they proceeded to a crude floating pier.
“We need to take a boat because there are some stashes we can only get to by water,” he explained as the Mayans readied the square-backed rowboat with a 10-horsepower trolling motor bolted to its stern. They climbed in and putted toward the south end of the lagoon.
“I could row faster than this,” Eddie muttered as they moseyed across the water.
“Yeah, but then you’d be too tired to haul,” Roger grinned back.
“And this water,” Eddie observed. “Is it always this dirty?”
“Belize is Mayan for muddy water,” Roger said. Eddie grinned and kicked back to enjoy the view. Roger smiled at him; unlike most of the smugglers he knew, Eddie was a pretty regular guy who enjoyed normal things, not just the supercharged part of the business.
The Mayan driver guided his boat to a landing at wooded section on the opposite shore, and they walked up a swampy trail to a 200-pound stash of good weed. Roger took all of that too.
“There are many more places we need to check by boat,” Rudy said on the even slower return trip. “Maybe Junior and I should drive now to Indian Church and meet you there.”
“Makes sense,” Roger said, and pointed to the Mayan. “He knows where to stop on the way?”
“He’s The Man,” Rudy said. “He was showing me.”
“Good enough,” Roger said. “See you in a while.”
They unloaded the bales at the floating pier, then left Rudy and Junior and headed up the waterway, moving slightly faster now with the lighter load.
“I know some of the Indian Church growers,” Roger said to Eddie, “but I’ve never seen their fields. I hear they grow some of the best bud in the country, though.”
“Well, let’s hope you heard right,” Eddie grinned.
The journey was remarkably beautiful as they meandered northward, stopping at several points along the way to buy small batches of weed. All of it was good to excellent and Roger rejected none of it.
The waterway varied from wide stretches to narrow passes and the tangled rain forest on either side formed a massive green cathedral overhead. Giant ferns periodically draped the boat like drooping hands, caressing everyone as they passed. It was eerily still as they approached the landing at Lamanai and saw ghostly Mayan ruins poking up above the canopy. They made sure the weed in the boat was well-covered, though they couldn’t do anything about its fragrant aroma.
“More temples?” Eddie whispered as the Mayan beached his boat near an old man repairing his own tattered wooden boat by the pier. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Didn’t know we were coming here,” Roger explained as his boat driver said something to the old man, who quickly disappeared up a small footpath into the trees. “But this is a good one—the Temple of the Jaguar.”
The Mayan led them to a hut surrounded by fruit trees, where they met Rudy and Junior with the vehicles. They walked to the ruins that had been cleared of all jungle and Roger was as awed by it as Eddie. Ancient pyramids and sports arenas loomed around them, dwarfing the crumbling remains of a Christian church that represented a more recent era when Spanish missionaries brought the Holy Word to the Yucatan heathens. The missionaries had abandoned the church when the Indian population dwindled and Spain lost its influence in the area.
Roger walked into the decaying church, admiring its basic design. Remembering Rudy’s relative at the other ruins, he dug in the dirt for a few moments, flipped over a stone he unearthed and found a small cross under it. He rubbed away layers of crust between his fingers.
“Hey man,” he said to Eddie, “let me see that thing hanging around your neck.” Eddie handed over his vine necklace and Roger added on the cross to it. “Now you’re double protected.” Eddie put the vine back around his neck and patted the two talismans on his chest.
“Either that or they cancel each other out.”
They left the church as Rudy sent one of the locals into the bush.
“The one you saw repairing his boat is the settlement’s elder,” Rudy said, “so he was the right guy to talk to.” Rudy pointed to a jungle path as three growers appeared, lugging their wares for inspection. Roger checked random bales from each one, and closed a few more deals. Another farmer displayed an impressive sample, and they drove to his stash to inspect the rest. It was 1,500 pounds of freshly harvested colas sitting on and next to a flatbed truck.
“Guess you heard right,” Eddie chuckled.
“Ask him how much to use his truck too,” Roger said to Rudy, who nodded and talked to the farmer.
“He says to add fifty bucks to the deal and he’ll do it,” Rudy said. Roger smiled his thanks to the man and they started packing the rest of the load back on the truck. It was then that Roger noticed that every bag was marked with “Grown by the Indians of Indian Church.” They covered the load every vehicle with tarps, and the now-three-vehicle convoy headed north.
They arrived back at the staging camp without incident, and parked under a canopy of trees next to the large converted box truck that now looked much different. Its shiny surfaces had been wrapped in burlap and the white box camouflaged with branches. Several sheets of plastic lay stretched on the ground, waiting for them to shift through another batch.
Roger showed his men what he wanted done and put them to work shifting out the dirt, stems, and seeds before repackaging the bud. Roger joined in at first to more fully inspect his goods and to just help out; the large haul placed a heavy burden on the men. Eddie also joined in, and Rudy hired the Indian Church grower to help too.
Roger stood back from the processing and watched it go, then smiled again as he watched Eddie naturally managing the operation, getting the men to work more efficiently, yet doing it in a low-key way that perfectly matched their culture.
“Hey man, I think it works best for you to stay here,” Roger said to him, “if you don’t mind.”
“Happy to,” Eddie grinned. He stuck a sticky cola near his nose and inhaled deeply. “This beats the heck out of bouncing around crappy roads with a bunch of smelly dudes. No offense.”
“None taken,” Roger said, “and I agree. You’re definitely getting the better part of the deal.”
Roger left again with Rudy and Junior to check a stash at Rancho Delores. Roger accepted it and left Junior to load it up and take it to camp while Rudy and he picked up Tony at the airport.
When they got back to camp, Roger invited Tony to go for a walk so he could get the additional cash from him. No one else needed to know how many Franklins Roger would be carrying.
“Did I slow you down?” Tony asked, after they’d completed the transfer.
“No, everything’s right on schedule,” Roger said. “Tight, but on schedule. We’re half way done, and I could use some experienced help loading the plane. You want stay an extra day and give us a hand? It’d be a good way to ensure your investment.”
“Nah, man, that ain’t in the deal,” Tony said, eyes darting nervously to check the bush. “Besides, I gotta be on that flight tomorrow to make some appointments in Tampa.”
“Well, if you gotta go, you gotta go,” Roger said casually as he picked up on Tony’s fear like a jumpmaster getting a first-time student ready to go.
“So how’s Eddie working out?” Tony said, changing the subject.
“He’s doing okay,” Roger said, deliberately lowballing his new assistant’s contribution. “Better than the locals anyway.”
“He’s all right, I guess,” Tony said, and Roger could see that the pipe lover at his side had no idea what a class act Eddie really was.
They got back to camp and watched Eddie and the other men hard at work cleaning and repackaging the load.
“Roger says you’re working out okay,” Tony said to Eddie. “How come you don’t work like that for me?”
“Maybe I do and you just don’t notice,” Eddie said lightly, without looking away from his work. Roger grabbed Tony’s arm and steered him away before the conversation went any further.
“Seriously,” Tony said to Roger as they strolled away, “he’s not—”
“—a bad kid at all,” Roger said. “He’s a good hand—and hey, look who’s coming to dinner.” He pointed to Junior, pulling in with the load from Rancho Delores.
“You’re late,” Rudy scolded as his son got out of the truck.
“Sorry, Papa, but there was some unexpected business,” he said, looking squarely at Roger. “As I left, I met several other growers with much weed. I told them I didn’t have money, but they gave it to me anyway and told me where to bring the money tonight if you wanted it.”
“Good work, Junior!” Roger said with an approving smile. “Let’s see what you got.”
Roger inspected the load and accepted it all.
“All right, that makes forty-six hundred pounds total,” he said. “We still have long ways to go, so let’s go to Orange Walk for supplies and more help.”
They lucked onto another 900 pounds while shopping and cleaned out Orange Walk. Rudy also learned of a large stash west of town, and they followed the directions through a series of cane roads to a drunken Mexican who insisted there was “lots,” but would only take one American because the others would get nervous.
“Don’t go, man,” Tony said nervously. “I think it’s a setup.”
“Maybe in Colombia,” said Roger, ““but probably not here, and we don’t have time to waste.”
He passed his excess cash to Tony and waded into the bush with the drunk. They climbed over a small ridge and onto a drivable lane. The drunk walked a weaving gait for a couple of minutes, then turned into the jungle. Roger constantly scanned for an ambush then, to his relief, they came upon two peasants—but to his dismay, they had just three moldy bales of junk, so Roger left angrily without a word, leaving his tipsy guide behind.
Just as he stepped back into the lane, a British Harrier roared over the treetops, startling Roger, who settled slowly back into the bush until it disappeared. As he jogged back to the others, the jet made another pass from the other direction and he detoured into the bush again until it went by.
When he rejoined his companions, they were already in their vehicles waiting to roll. He jumped in the wagon and for once Rudy drove fast.
“You think Razor set us up?” he asked Roger while he kept his eyes on the cane road.
“Maybe,” Roger shrugged, “but that’d be a weird way to do it.”
“You better tell me what the fuck is happening!” Tony demanded from the back seat. “I didn’t come here to lose my money and get busted.” Roger turned a stern gaze on him.
“Relax,” he said flatly. “The Brits control those, not the Belizeans. I don’t know what that was all about but I don’t think it has anything to do with us.”
“Like hell,” Tony snapped, clearly rattled. “You expect me to believe that pilot was just fucking around having fun?” Roger looked at him stonily, then laughed.
“No, I expect you to know that as a fact, man. You know as well as I do that’s exactly what pilots do, especially fighter pilots in the boonies with nothing to do.”
“Maybe we even screw up his deal,” Rudy offered. “Those things, they land like helicopters, right?”
“Right, so maybe we actually saved him from a bad deal,” Roger said, shaking his head. “That stuff was worse than the paraquat weed.”
Their banter calmed Tony, and he slouched quietly in his seat as Rudy bumped over the rough road. Roger kept his eyes on the edges of the road, hoping either he or Rudy was right about the pilot, and that Gillette hadn’t sent a ground crew along with the jet. He also pondered what to do with Tony before they next met with the anti-narcotics chief.
Another American face would help Roger make an even bigger impression on Gillette, but the risk was opening a new door for The Snake to exploit. Then Roger remembered that he was on his retirement run, so it wasn’t a risk at all. When this gig was done, he’d never again have to worry about what Tony or any other smuggler was doing. He turned to Tony.
“Tonight I’ll take you to a meeting with the top cop in the country and then you’ll know exactly what’s happening with your investment.” Tony nodded gruffly at this news, but he couldn’t hide his elation. Roger turned his eyes toward the road again knowing that The Snake was already thinking of ways to jump his connection. So be it.
They wasted the rest of the day chasing false leads, and he became impatient with Rudy as the sun dropped toward the horizon, and they drove away from yet another rejected stash and headed south to meet Gillette.
“I don’t care if we have to search the Maya Mountains or go all the way to Punta Gorda,” he said harshly, “we’re gonna be done by tomorrow!”
“Please, Roger,” Rudy begged, “you know not everyone who talks can back up what they say. Just give me a little more time.”
“I have no more time,” Roger said coldly.
“And you don’t have any more fucking sources,” Tony snarled from the back seat.
“Tell me he’s wrong,” Roger said quietly. Rudy darted a pained glance at Roger, then watched the road again for a long moment before shaking his head.
“He is not wrong, Roger,” he said miserably. “I am sorry.” Roger let him wallow in his apology for several moments, then patted him collegially on the shoulder.
“Don’t be sorry, man,” Roger said soothingly. “You did pretty well considering how big a job I gave you.”
“But what will you do now?” Rudy wailed. “I have failed to fill your plane.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Roger said, flashing his famous grin. “I always have a Plan B.” Rudy glanced sharply at Roger and frowned.
“You talk to George again, yes?” Roger nodded and Rudy sighed. “Then I guess it was good you didn’t listen to me about him.”
“Oh, I listened, all right,” Roger said, “but when he chased me down yesterday after things were already going slow, I had to take the chance.”
Rudy nodded his understanding and turned his attention back to the road. Roger knew Rudy was disappointed in himself as well as with Roger’s decision to work again with George, but he clearly accepted it. A good soldier he is, Roger thought. It’s a shame I met him at the end of my dealings here, not the beginning.
They stopped at Rancho Delores to pay for Junior’s haul and discovered that the enterprising growers had brought in even more bales and Roger quickly bought another 500 pounds. They loaded it into Junior’s truck and sent him back to camp with instructions to meet them.
“You were right about your son,” Roger said as they got back on the road. “He is a good boy—a very good boy.”
Rudy beamed at the compliment and by way of thanks, he stepped on the gas. Roger laughed and nodded his appreciation at the gesture.
As planned, George and Manu were parked on the street near Yuen Woo’s when Rudy, Roger and Tony arrived.
“You guys go grab a quick drink,” Roger instructed as he got out of the car. “I’ll come get you when I’m done.” Then he walked over and got in George’s truck.
“So how’d it go?” he asked as the three of them exchanged handshakes and smiles.
“I’d say your top official is a man of his word,” George smiled.
“Call him the Razor from now on,” Roger prompted. George nodded.
“Well, the Razor left for San Pedro at six a.m. with eight men and then to Cays Chapel.”
“Then he called his office about one-thirty,” Manu said. Roger arched his eyebrows, impressed. Manu laughed and patted a huge pair of binoculars on the seat.
“And they came back after three p.m.” George concluded.
“Great work, guys,” Roger said, smiling. “That’s really good news.”
“And more good news,” George said. “I can take you many places to fill your needs, but the Cayo District is plentiful right now. I also ran into the gringo who’s looking for you and he says he has a ton of primo weed and that you both have a mutual friend. He’ll be at his villa in Belmopan tonight if you’re interested.”
“We’ll save that for later,” Roger said, not wanting to commit to any deal or even meeting with an unknown gringo—especially not now. He didn’t need complications like that no matter how big the potential upside. “For now, go link up with Junior until my meeting’s over. You know that closed repair station on Dean Street?”
“Near Albert,” Manu said knowingly. Roger nodded and got out of the car.
“One more thing,” Roger said to George. “You’ll be working with Rudy the rest of this gig, so I trust you to be professional, all right?”
“You got it, Roger,” George said solemnly. “He will be my new brother.” Roger nodded approvingly and George drove away into the darkness.
A few minutes later, Rudy was driving Roger and Tony to pick up Carlos for their meeting and with each passing block, Tony grew more nervous.
“Why do you call this guy ‘the Razor’?” he demanded.
“Because he’s a dangerous but useful tool,” Roger said, wanting to make sure Tony gave Gillette the proper respect, “and because that’s his weapon of choice. One wrong move and he’ll slit your throat.”
“Sí, señor,” Rudy added, picking up on Roger’s intent. “He has killed many men with his razor and they never see it coming until it’s too late.”
This information made Tony more nervous, which pleased Roger. The last thing he needed was for Tony to be his usual loud-mouthed, obnoxious self.
They picked up Gillette the same way they had the last time and Roger quickly introduced him to Tony.
“This is Steve,” he said, “one of my financiers. He wants to make sure his investment’s properly protected.”
“Understandable,” Gillette said smoothly. “These are not times for putting your assets at risk. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
“Same here, man,” Tony said, then Gillette smiled sardonically at Roger.
“I was happy to hear from my office that nothing unusual happened today,” he said. “I assume things went smoothly?”
“We didn’t do it today,” Roger said bluntly.
“What?”
“In fact,” Roger said, smiling grimly, “I never was. Today was your test.” Gillette was startled, then angry, then almost smiled.
“Very careful of you, Roger,” he said with a hint of admiration in his voice. “So. Did I pass?”
“Well, let’s see,” Roger said casually. “Nine of you left at six. First San Pedro, then Cays Chapel, then a one-thirty-ish call to your office to tell them you were coming home empty-handed. That was a touch of class, so yes, you passed.”
“I am impressed with your intelligence,” Gillette said, relaxed again, “though you’re not the only American who’s impressed me this way. I won’t bother asking how you learned all of that, but if you’re satisfied with my credibility, what’s the real schedule? I do have a department to assign.”
“Thursday at noon,” Roger said simply, wanting to know more about the other Americans, but not wanting to reveal his ignorance. Gillette nodded in approval.
“Then, since I passed your test and with your blessing, I’d like to keep my schedule of working the region around the highway tomorrow night. Will that be a problem?”
“What’s the story with the jet buzzing us today?” Tony blurted out before Roger could reply. Gillette frowned and glanced at Roger, who gave him a “you know how twitchy some of the money guys can be” shrug to cover for Tony’s bad manners. Gillette looked tranquilly at the agitated cokehead.
“Probably a British training mission,” he said evenly, “and you need not worry. They aren’t permitted to do anything but report to us. Since Guatemala still considers Belize a stolen province, the British are keeping some jets here for a while to discourage them from acting on their claim. This has worked to our advantage. The negotiations are very favorable, and we expect a treaty very soon.”
Tony visibly relaxed at the straightforward answer, and Roger turned the conversation back to the business at hand.
“I’ll go along with your plans but our paths may cross, so let’s go over that one more time.”
“No guns, stay calm, and keep quiet except for the code word ‘Jack.’ We are very serious about our work at night so it could be very tense at first, but if your men act like professionals, they will be treated as such. Shall I plan on seeing you Friday to conclude business?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Roger said and handed him the remaining $25,000. Gillette pocketed the money and gave Roger a long, respectful look.
“It seems that everything I have heard about Señor Huevos Grandes is true,” he said, extending his hand to seal the deal. They shook hands earnestly. “If this goes as well as we hope, I can see a long and prosperous future for both of us.”
“As do I,” Roger said just as earnestly and respectfully. He liked Gillette and felt a twinge of regret that he would not be working again with this elegant man.
“How can you be serious about your duties and work with us at the same time?” Tony demanded, teeth grinding, and Roger knew he was thinking more about putting a pipe into his mouth than he was the words coming out of it. Gillette and Carlos, however, picked up only the rudeness and the accusation. They looked at Tony coldly.
“You should know how it works,” Gillette said almost sadly. “Ours is a poor country, dependent on the powerful to be allowed our sovereignty. Our mission is not to die imposing on our own people the policies and troubles of the powerful but to make a living for our families. Your level of activity contributes much to the prosperity of our people, so we stop the many smaller loads to satisfy our overlords and give cover to our own politicians. Thus do we improve the lot of our people and keep our government intact by deterring popular unrest without violence. And as long as our people are happy with their government, the foreign aid keeps coming. It all fits together to support the agenda of the world’s wealthy.”
“Really?” Tony sneered. “You’re telling me this operation is big enough to contribute to your country’s prosperity?” Roger and Carlos glared at him, hoping he’d shut up, but Gillette waved off their worry and smiled indulgently at the uptight American.
“Yes, you are,” he continued, gently. “As I said, Belize is very poor and your money is absolutely a force to be reckoned with.” He nodded matter-of-factly in Roger’s direction. “Just as importantly, he not only treats the people fairly, he helps them often in ways that go far beyond being a fair businessman.” He stopped and smiled warmly at Roger.
“I told him about Rosa,” Rudy said proudly.
“I had heard the story,” Gillette continued, now looking back at Tony, “but not who did it—and when Rudy told me, that was when I decided that your associate here was a man with whom I wanted to do business. So yes, he—and by extension, you—are very much contributing to the prosperity of Belize and we thank you because what we most fear is being caught in a situation like Nicaragua, where many innocent people die and all the people suffer because your government played games by placing Somoza in power and then allowing him to be overthrown. What is the real purpose for all this? Now the country is in turmoil. Tons of weapons arrive, and tons of drugs ship out. In Belize, we wish to avoid the violence, so we do as we do in order to increase our prosperity and keep the peace so we can make it as hard as possible for your government to create problems here too.”
Roger shifted in his seat and started to interrupt, then decided not to. Gillette was on a roll and everything he had to say was good information for the future—except, Roger reminded himself, that he had no future in Belize if this man kept his word and his gig went off without a hitch.
“The Soviets took advantage of the resulting unrest and supported insurgencies,” Gillette went on, “so the U.S. sought allies against the expansion of communism and was willing to support abusive dictators in that quest, so the brown guys ended up doing most of the dying on both sides. Argentina, Peru, Bolivia, Colombia, Venezuela, Panama, Salvador, Honduras, and Cuba. We see this also in the Middle East, with Islamic extremists taking on the role there filled here by the communists. The world will pay the price for a long time to come, and I hope only that, through what little I can do, Belize will not pay as high a price as have so many others.”
“Yeah, well, whatever, dude,” Tony said, “but what I—”
“Thank you, Razor,” Roger interrupted forcefully, and Tony paled as the name reminded him of their earlier conversation. He glanced fearfully at Gillette.
“Hey, man, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean any disrespect,” he said clumsily and held out his hand. “Seems like you got everything under control.” Gillette shook hands graciously.
“Thank you very much,” he said, “and thank you for helping Belize to prosper.”
“Sure thing, man. Happy to help.” He sat back and tried to disappear into his seat. Roger and Gillette traded knowing glances.
“Steve hasn’t spent a lot of time studying great power politics,” Roger said, covering the awkward moment, “so thank you for explaining. And as agreed, we’ll be on the highway Thursday at noon.”
“Best of luck,” Gillette smiled, “and hopefully I won’t see you until your next visit.” They grinned at each other and the meeting ended.
Rudy drove the Belizean officials home and smiled as he stopped at a once-stately and now somewhat worn-out building.
“This is where the British officers pass the time between flights,” he smirked at Tony. “Many very nice young ladies tend to their needs, if you know what I mean.”
Tony grinned for the first time since he’d been there and slapped Roger on the shoulder.
“Thanks for taking care of your old buddy, man,” he said. “Looks like you got everything in hand, so I’ll see you back in the States.”
“Okay, brother,” Roger said as they shook hands. “Have fun doing all those things I don’t do.” Tony laughed and disappeared into the building.
“What an asshole,” Rudy said as he put the car in gear and headed for the repair station to meet the rest of the crew.
“Yeah, but one with money,” Roger said, “and remember, we also got Eddie out of the deal.”
“Yes, Eddie is good man, Roger,” Rudy said. “Reminds me a little of you.”
“Thanks, man,” Roger said, “and you remind me a little of George at his best, so you guys be cool to each other, okay?”
“No problem, Roger,” Rudy grinned. “I take back every bad thing I said about him.”
“Good,” said Roger.
They met George, Manu and Junior in the dirt parking lot of the closed repair station, then proceeded down the Western Highway to the Cayo District. It took them more than an hour to get there and then George found only another 1,000 pounds throughout the course of the night, 2,000 pounds short of what they needed.
“Maybe now it’s time to meet the gringo, yes?” George suggested, as they took a break on a side road, bleary-eyed, dirty and hungry. The eastern sky started to lighten.
“Do it,” Roger said, and George drove them quickly through the prosperous university town of Belmopan to one of its nicer neighborhoods just as the sun was rising. Their dirty, heavily-laden vehicles looked out of place but there was no one up and about yet so they passed unnoticed.
George parked on a side street, then walked around the corner and knocked on the door of the nearest villa while Roger and the others waited with the loads. He came back two minutes later and waved for Roger to join him.
“Victor, I’d like you to meet Roger,” George said to a muscular, square-jawed man with short brownish-black hair and a professional, almost military bearing. Roger didn’t recognize him, and he watched his eyes carefully as they shook hands.
“Nice to meet you,” Victor said, then looked over his shoulder toward the street. “Probably be a good idea for you to park your rigs behind the house.”
“Thanks,” Roger said. “You took the words right out of my mouth.”
“And when you get done with that,” he said to George, “take everyone in the guest house. They can clean up a bit and I’ll have the cook bring you some grub.” George nodded and left to take care of that and Victor welcomed Roger into the house. They sat down at the kitchen table and the cook served coffee, then went back to the kitchen.
“I’ve been trying to meet you for a while,” Victor said. “I was told you had a hit-and-run operation, and he was right. Every time I thought I’d caught up, I was told you had already left.”
“George tells me you’re a friend of a friend,” Roger said, feeling uncomfortable with this stranger talking so familiarly about him in this way. “Is that true?”
“In more ways than one,” Victor said easily, “but let that rest for now. If we decide to do business, I’m sure you’ll understand.”
“All right,” Roger replied just as easily, to mask his growing alarm, “then we need to make that decision so we can get out of town before traffic picks up. Show me what you got.”
Victor left the room and returned with a full garbage bag of beautiful colas. Roger marveled at the unusual quality.
“You have a ton that looks like this?”
“Probably more,” he said matter-of-factly, without a hint of boast or bravado, “but listen, since you’re already loaded, you better get going. This is stashed north of the city, and I can’t get free until later, so how about you meet me at the Sand Hill Tavern tomorrow evening?”
“Where the old and new highways join together?” Roger asked. Victor nodded and extended his hand. They shook to seal the deal and Victor looked out back at the dirty caravan.
“It’s best if you only bring one truck.”
“Sure thing,” Roger said, “and I’ll try to wash it.” Victor smiled slightly and gave the idea an emphatic thumbs up. Roger left feeling better, especially because the pickup point was close to his camp. Maybe this gig would end up being his retirement run after all.
The meeting place wasn’t far from his camp, and Roger agreed. They departed as the sun began casting its morning light.
The day revealed Cayo’s distinctive landscape as they left town and drove back to camp. Unlike northern Belize, Cayo had lush rolling hills dotted with occasional farm plots scratched out of the jungle. Stoic Mennonite barns accented the swells of green with their Old World look.
They turned off the Western Highway onto the Burrell Boom Cut to save time and avoid driving near Belize City, then linked up with the Northern Highway just north of Los Lagos.
They arrived without incident at the camp, where Eddie quickly organized the other workers to unload the latest acquisition, then gestured for Roger to join him over at the seven-thousand pound mountain of processed weed stacked higher than their heads. Roger sat on a bale and smiled at it.
“Good work, Eddie,” he said admiringly. “Looks great.” Eddie pointed to a separate, much smaller pile of five bags. “Check out those.”
Roger leaned over and opened one of the bags. It was stuffed with nothing but dust and seeds. He glanced at Eddie, dismayed.
“What is this, five hundred pounds?”
“Six,” Eddie said unhappily. Roger held up a handful and let the debris sift through his fingers back into the bag.
“Well, that’s what happens when you’re in a hurry,” he said. “Still, I can’t believe we bought this much junk. No sense carrying back something we can’t really sell, but I didn’t figure on losing this much.” He sighed and looked over at the unload operation. “Why don’t you make sure they’re dialed in, then take a break. I can see by this pile you haven’t had one yet.”
“Thanks, Roger,” Eddie said. “Don’t mind if I do.” He walked over to talk to the workers.
Roger walked around to the jungle side of the weed mountain and settled himself into a comfortable nook among the bales, then started planning his next move.
The unexpected high payment to Gillette had seriously depleted their funds and what they now had wouldn’t fill the plane. It was enough to recoup their investment but not enough for a retirement run. If he took advantage of Victor’s high quality supply, though, he’d have the record breaking scam he’d planned all along; he just hoped he had the cash to make the deal. He fell asleep among the sweet-smelling colas trying to work out the math in the his head. On the other side of the mountain, Eddie set the crew to work sifting the new batch, then found himself a soft spot and embarked on his own power nap.
Roger woke refreshed just before noon and saw Eddie already back at it. He cleaned up from two day’s worth of backcountry dirt, then had George drive him to Orange Walk.
“Nice to be in the clear again,” George said. “I missed my family and it’s very hard to hide this truck!”
“Well, I hope you stashed the Enforcer until I’m outta here.”
“Oh yes, Roger,” he said sheepishly. “She is not even at my house. I’m so sorry I didn’t listen to you from the first about that.”
When they got to Orange Walk, they stopped at a phone where Roger left a message for Mickey—“Trish is looking forward to the party”—then they went shopping for food and other staples for the crew while they waited for Mickey’s response. When it came on schedule in exactly the form they wanted to hear—“Sally is ready to party,” they used the balance of the afternoon buying ten gallons of white paint and finding two 55-gallon drums of aviation fuel. They returned to the new camp with the fresh supplies, then left after sundown to make their final purchase.
Roger didn’t want to take any chances this close to the gig, so he and Rudy followed Manu and George in their truck. They met Victor behind the Sand Hill Tavern and climbed into his Land Rover, leaving the conspicuous station wagon behind.
He led them dangerously close to civilization, to the international airport road, and down the dead end road to within half a mile of the terminal, then parked behind a large cement block building and entered through a loading dock.
To his surprise, Roger saw that the weed in the building was his; the neatly cubed bales they’d lost to the police at Tres Legos were unmistakable. He frowned at Victor.
“How did you—”
“A friend of a friend,” Victor said, smiling. Roger looked again at the pile and smiled grimly.
“Can’t believe I gotta buy back my own product,” he muttered.
“Fortunes of war,” Victor said, “and, really, I’d rather it didn’t shake out like this, but the way I look at it, we had to buy it ourselves and since we can’t ship it all, better for you get the rest than someone else. So instead of playing games, just tell me what you have to spend.”
“Give me a minute, would you?” he asked, and walked away with George even before Victor had nodded his assent.
“What do you think?” he asked George.
“Top quality and we know we won’t have to sift it,” George said.
“You mean, we already did,” Roger said wearily.
“Don’t remind me,” George said, “but at least we get it back, yes?”
“Yes,” Roger said and slapped George on the back, “so let’s make a deal.”
He told Victor how much cash he had left and what he needed to keep for his crew and the remaining expenses. Victor pondered for several moments, then stuck out his hand.
“Deal.” They shook and Victor smiled. “By the way, there’s not two thousand there.” Roger’s eyes narrowed and Victor grinned. “There’s twenty-four hundred.” Roger laughed.
“You ought to be a comedian,” he said appreciatively. Victor winked.
“How do you know I’m not?” They both chuckled at that old standard of the smuggling business—how little they actually knew about the lives and backgrounds of the people with whom they did so much handshake business.
Victor said he’d babysit half of it while they loaded the first half into George’s truck and raced back to camp, stopping at Sand Hill to retrieve Rudy’s car. They unloaded quickly and got back on the highway to get the rest. Then George saw the eerie but familiar image of several flashlight-waving men on the road ahead.
“Here we go again,” he said to Manu, reaching for a radio, “but this time we do it differently.” He keyed the radio. “Hello, hello, cops ahead! I say again, cops ahead.”
“Ignore them,” Roger replied instantly from Rudy’s car a quarter mile behind them. “Hold back until we catch up to you, then just drive through and keep going and make sure you don’t hit anybody! We’ll follow you and stall them, then meet you later at the place.”
“Okay, will do.”
George slowed up until Rudy was right behind him, then they both sped past the checkpoint.
“Yep, it’s the cops all right,” Roger said to Rudy as they roared by, then watched over his shoulder as the men scrambled into Jeeps to pursue. “At least they didn’t start shooting,” he chuckled, then looked to see sweat pouring from Rudy’s forehead. “Chill, my man, it’ll be cool.” He keyed the radio. “Hello hello, keep going. We’ll take care of this.”
“Okay okay,” came the answer, then Roger stashed the radio in a bag with some other incriminating stuff, watched for an identifiable tree, then had Rudy slow down while he tossed the bag into the roadside bushes.
“All right, go ahead and pull it over,” he said calmly, trying with his voice to soothe his companion’s jangled nerves. “Now we find out what the Razor’s all about.”
Rudy nervously screeched his wagon to a halt and moments later headlights lit up the inside of the station wagon and they heard booted feet, jingling military equipment and shouting voices.
“Hold your hands outside the window,” Roger said, then did the same with his own. Still, he heard the unpleasant sound of submachine gun bolts being charges and pistol hammers being cocked.
Two men on each side pointed their gun muzzles at their heads while a third opened their doors.
“Get out and get down on the ground,” said one man sternly and with great authority but without anger or cruelty. A good sign, Roger thought as he carefully complied, and the voice seemed vaguely familiar.
As Roger laid down slowly on the ground, he saw Gillette holding a .45 automatic with an extended clip as two other police officers searched the car.
“What is your business in this area?” one of the door-opening officers asked Roger.
“Jack,” said Roger resolutely. “We’re looking for Jack.”
He saw Gillette frown and do a double take. He apparently hadn’t recognized Roger or their muddy wagon in the darkness. He looked closely at Rudy, then gestured at his men to get back in their vehicles.
“Go back to the checkpoint,” he said. “These aren’t the ones we’re looking for.”
And with that, Gillette holstered his pistol, his men uncocked their weapons and they all vanished into the darkness, leaving Roger and Rudy still lying on their stomachs outside their car. Rudy sat up and laughed.
“I’ll be damned,” he said. Roger stood up and got back in the car as if nothing had happened.
“Come on, let’s go.” Rudy jumped into the car, they backed up and got the bag, then went back to the airport stash building and met up with George, Manu and Victor.
“George says you had a little adventure on the way back here,” Victor said with a grin.
“Not much of one,” Roger deadpanned. “They mistook us for someone else for a couple of minutes. It’s all good now.”
“Indeed it is,” said Victor as George and Manu loaded the last of Roger’s repatriated bales into the pickup bed. He extended his hand one more time. “Been a pleasure, Roger,” he said as they shook again. “Don’t be a stranger next time you’re down this way.”
“Done,” Roger said, smiling to himself at the idea that, after this gig, he really wouldn’t be down here again.
They made it back to camp without any more adventures and after adding the last 1,200 pounds to their mountain, Roger collapsed onto the nearest bale and grinned at Eddie.
“Stage One complete,” Eddie said.
“Now for the easy part,” Roger said, flashing his famous grin. “We don’t let it out of our sight until it’s on Sugar Alpha and we watch her gear retract.”