Read The Trade (A Hans Larsson Novel Book 2) Online
Authors: Chris Thrall
The Trade (A Hans Larsson Novel Book 2) (33 page)
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hen
Brenda and Karen left, Hans stayed in the dreary cafeteria and downed another beer.
Irrespective of whoever else was involved in the trafficking, he had decided to
leave it all behind and return to the States to spend time with Penny and
Jessica, but something bugged him, and he couldn’t put his finger on it.
After a visit to Eddy Logan, who lay semicomatose with Krystal
holding his hand, Hans returned to Penny and Jessica’s room and, following a
quick chat with Phipps, crept inside and picked up the daypack containing his high-tech
camera. He snapped a few pictures of his sleeping girls, then pressed a button
to review them on the Canon’s display screen. The camera was in gallery mode,
showing the most recent photos in a psychedelic grid.
One of the thumbnails was the shot Hans took, using the
self-timer, of him, Penny and Gonzales at La Laguna. He smiled, remembering the
pedestal displaying a Soviet-made RPG head he’d rested the camera on. The Soviets
had backed the Sandinista government in Nicaragua and supplied such weapons to their
troops. The mayor must have taken the missile as a memento. The connection with
the area also explained Gonzales’ use of Latin American Spanish.
Feeling morbid curiosity, Hans navigated to the thumbnail
and enlarged it to fill the screen
– Ahhh!
That
was what bugged him!
There was a photograph on the mayor’s wall right behind his fancy
desk where they’d stood either side for the shot – four men in combat fatigues kneeling
in a line holding M16 rifles. When setting up the camera, Hans had spotted it immediately,
purposely shielding his interest from the mayor and focusing the lens on the
picture instead, intending to use the Canon’s high-pixel clarity to enlarge it
later.
Hans ejected the camera’s memory card and powered up his notebook.
After saving the photographs to the hard drive, he opened FlickerView, double-clicked
the shot in question and then zoomed in on the four combatants.
A twenty-three-year-old Enrique knelt next to Gonzales –
Commandante 380 – both wearing olive-green foraging caps and the intoxicated grin
of war. Alongside them, Fernando stared dead ahead, a vacant expression on his
dumb face.
“Hans, is that you?” Penny stirred.
“Right here, honey.” He set the notebook down and went to
her side. “How is it?”
“Feels like I’ve been shot – ouch!” She grimaced.
“That’s
prob
ably because you have.” Hans kissed her
forehead. “Can I get you anything?”
“Some new ribs would be good.” Penny eased herself onto an
elbow. “What are you looking at?”
“See for yourself.” Hans lifted the notebook. “Do you
remember the picture I took of us with the mayor in his office?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I spotted this photo on his wall, taken in Nicaragua during
the civil war.”
Penny craned at the shot. “Enrique . . . Gonzales . . . his butler.”
“And this fourth guy.” Hans tapped the screen.
Penny stared for a few seconds. “Well, definitely not Latino.
I’m guessing American –
CIA
?”
“Howard Baxter.” Hans nodded. “The guy who got my team
drowned in Sierra Leone.”
“The same guy who blocked Muttley’s request for US Navy
assistance when
Future
went down?”
“Yeah, and I’m pretty certain he had Kerry and JJ killed too.”
“And do you think he’s linked to the Trade?”
“Look at the photo, Penny. Don’t all roads lead to Rome?”
“Yeah, of course,” Penny muttered, knowing where this
particular road led before she’d even seen the picture. “You’re going to kill him,
aren’t you?”
“Penny, I—”
As Hans spoke, Jessica emerged from slumber.
“Papa,” she murmured, rolling to face them.
“Sweet pea, I thought you were gonna sleep forever!”
“No, I’m fine.” She gave a stoic shrug.
“You’ve been Daddy’s brave girl, hey?”
“Ah! I told that man you were gonna come and kick his ass.”
“Oh, you did, did you?” Hans glanced at Penny as they fought
not to laugh.
“Yeah, I told Holly too. She was a bit scared – she’s just a
little kid. She didn’t even know where America is – she called us Mercans.”
“So, you’re feeling fine.” Hans grinned.
“Snoozin’s for losing, Papa.”
Penny stretched out a hand, and Jessica grabbed it. “I love
you, sweet pea.”
“I love you too, Penny. Can we go back to Portland now?”
“Hey!” said Hans. “We can all go back to Portland tomorrow.
But do you know what?”
“What, Papa?”
“There’s someone who wants to say hi!”
Jessica’s face froze in fear. “Wh-wh-who, Papa?”
Hans reached into his daypack. “It’s this little guy,” he
said, waggling the culprit in front of her.
“Bear!” she screamed, taking her buddy into her arms.
Chris Thrall
is a former Royal Marines Commando and
author of the bestselling crystal meth memoir
Eating Smoke.
A
qualified pilot and skydiver, Chris has backpacked throughout all seven
continents, worked with street children in Mozambique, driven aid workers from
Norway to India and back by coach, and scuba dived with leopard seals in
Antarctica. He lives in Plymouth, England, and plans to continue adventuring,
charity work and writing.
T
o my Jenny for your encouragement and unconditional support. My loyal Eating Smoke readers, many of whom said, “Chris, you write it, we’ll read it.” My awesome delta team of Mike “Rosco” Ross, Carole Poke, Patrick Burke, Nikki Davenport, Sian Forsythe, Nikki Densham, Fiona Jackson and Kenneth Fossaluzza for volunteering to read the manuscript and feeding back with invaluable observations and advice. Andy Screen at Golden Rivet your amazing artwork and dedication has brought the Hans Larsson series to life. Marcus Trower, for polishing the final draft and being a great editor to work with. Thank you.
The Hans
Larsson series
The
Drift
The Trade
Non
fiction
Eating
Smoke: One Man’s Descent into Crystal Meth Psychosis in Hong Kong’s Triad
Heartland
