Last Light Part 11

Quiet contemplation obviously wasn't Aaron's thing and he was soon waffling on.

"You see, the ca.n.a.l isn't as most people think, just a big ditch cut through the country, like the Suez. No, no, no. It's a very complicated piece of engineering quite amazing to think it's more or less Victorian."

I had no doubt it was completely fascinating, but I had other, more depressing, things on my mind.

The Miraflores, and the other two sets further up, lift or drop these ships eighty feet. Once up there, they just sail on over the lake and then get lowered again to sea level the other side. It's kind of like a bridge over the isthmus.

Pure genius the eighth wonder of the world."

I pulled the ring on my second orange and nodded towards the lock.

"Bit of a tight fit, isn't it?" That'd keep him waffling for a while.

He responded as if he'd designed the thing himself.

"No problem they're all built to Panamax specifications. Shipyards have been keeping the size of the locks in mind for decades now."

The vessel continued to rise like a skysc.r.a.per in front of me. Just then, the trumpets, drums and whistles started up as the band broke into a quick-tempo samba and the girls did their stuff to the delight of the scaffolders.

Ten minutes later, when the water levels were equal, the front gate was opened and the process began all over again. It was like a giant staircase. The batons were still getting thrown into the air and the band were marching up and down the gra.s.s. Everyone seemed to be getting very Latin as some of the bra.s.s section chanced a few dance moves of their own as they strutted their stuff.

A black Lexus 4x4 with gold-mirrored side windows pulled up opposite the shop.

The windows slid down to reveal two shirt-and-tied white-eyes. The front-seat pa.s.senger, a muscular, well-tanned twenty something got out and went straight to the trailer window, ignoring the queue. One of the new small, chrome-effect Nokias glinted from his belt along with a weapon holstered on his right hip.

Just as with the CMC, however, I thought nothing of it after all, this was Central America. I just tilted my head back to get the last of the drink down my neck, thinking of getting another couple for the journey.

A young American voice called out from the Lexus as the twenty something went back with the drinks.

"Hey, Mr. Y! What's happening, man?"

Aaron's head jerked round, his face breaking into a smile. He waved.

"Hey, Michael, and how are you? How was your break?"

I turned as well. My head was still back but I instantly recognized the grinning face leaning out of the rear pa.s.senger window.

Finishing the drink, I brought my head down as Aaron moved over to the car. My tiredness disappeared as adrenaline pumped. This was not good, not good at all.

I looked at the floor, pretending to relax, and tried to listen above the music.

The boy held out a hand for Aaron to shake, but his eyes were on the girls.

"I'm sorry, I can't get out of the car my father says I have to stay in with Robert and Ross. I heard they'd be here today, thought I'd get a look on the way home, know what I mean, Mr. Y? Didn't you check out the pompom girls? I mean, before you got married ..."

I could see that the two BG (bodyguards) weren't remotely distracted by the girls or the infectious Latin tempo, they were doing their job. Their faces were impa.s.sive behind tinted sungla.s.ses as they drank from their cans. The engine was running and I could see the moisture drip from the air-conditioning reservoir on to the tarmac.

The band stopped playing and now marched to the command of a ba.s.s drum. Michael jabbered on with excitement, and something he said made Aaron arch an eyebrow.

"England?"

"Yes, I returned yesterday. There was a bomb and some terrorists were killed. My father and I were very close by, in the Houses of Parliament."

Aaron showed his surprise as Michael pulled back the ring on his can.

"Hey, Nick, did you hear that?" He pointed me out to the target with a c.o.c.k of his head.

"Nick he's British."

s.h.i.t, s.h.i.t, Aaron no!

Michael's eyes turned to me and he smiled, displaying perfect white teeth. The BG also moved their heads casually to give me the once-over. This wasn't good.

I smiled and studied the target. He had short black shining hair, side parted, and his eyes and nose looked slightly European. His smooth unblemished skin was darker than most Chinese. Maybe his mother was Panamanian, and he spent a lot of time in the sun.

Aaron had realized he had f.u.c.ked up and stammered, "He kind of hitched a lift from me in the city to take a look at the locks -you know, and check out the chicks ..."

Michael nodded, not really that fussed. I turned back to the ship as it left the dock, wanting very much to walk right over and ram my can in Aaron's mouth.

After a minute or so of university stuff Michael got a nod from the BG and started to wind down the conversation. As he held out his hand again for a farewell he glanced over one more time at the leotards and pompoms. A whistle sounded out commands and the drums sparked up once more.

"I have to go now. Will I see you next week, Mr. Y?"

"Sure thing." Aaron gave him a high five.

"You get that project done?"

"I think you'll like it. Anyway, catch you later." Out of politeness he nodded to me over Aaron's shoulder, then the window powered up and the Lexus moved off, leaving behind a poodle-size p.i.s.s puddle from the air-conditioning.

Aaron waved until they were out of sight, then spun towards me, his face abject as the bra.s.s section and girls joined in the fast drum rhythm.

"Nick, I'm really sorry." He shook his head.

"I just didn't think. I'm not really cut out for this kind of thing. That's Charlie's son did I tell you he's on the course I teach?

I'm sorry, I just didn't think."

"It's OK, mate. No damage done." I was lying. The last thing I needed was to be introduced to the target and, even worse, have the BG knowing what I looked like. There was also the connection with Aaron. My heart was pounding. All in all, not a good day out.

Those guys with him Robert and Ross? They're the ones who hung up those Colombians. They're Charlie's special guys, I've heard stories about-' Aaron's expression suddenly changed.

"Did you have something to do with that bomb in London? I mean, is this all about-' I shook my head as I swallowed the last of the juice. I could feel the blood rushing around my head.

I'm sorry, it's not any of my business. I don't really want to know."

I wasn't too sure if he'd believed me, but it didn't matter.

"How far have we got left to Michael's house?"

"Like I said, five, maybe six miles. If the picture back at our place is anything to go by, it's some kind of palace."

I started to get my cash out as I walked towards the trailer window.

"I think I'd better have a look at it, then, don't you? What about another drink while we wait for Michael to get home and settle down?"

The expression on his face still said guilty.

"Tell you what," I said, 'you buy and then we're even."

At least that got a fleeting smile out of him as he delved into his grubby pockets for coins.

"And see if they have anything for a headache, could you?"

Over the other side of the car park was an ATM with the HSBC logo. I knew I wouldn't be able to withdraw any more money today, but within hours of me attempting to, the Yes Man would at least know I was in-country.

We spent the next forty minutes killing time at the plastic table with just the sound of the lo cos humming along their tracks as the entertainment took a break for lunch. I had the Jackie Os back on, trying to rest my eyes and head. It seemed no one ever got a headache round here.

Aaron took the opportunity to explain about the US stand-down the previous December. The fact that he could reel off all the dates and numbers so precisely emphasized his bitterness about what had happened.

In total, more than four hundred thousand acres of Ca.n.a.l Zone and bases, worth more than $10 billion, had been handed over -along with the ca.n.a.l itself, which had been built and paid for by the US to the tune of a further $30 billion. And the only way they could come back was under the terms of the DeConcini Reservation, which allowed for military intervention if the ca.n.a.l was endangered.

It was all interesting stuff, but what was more important to me was confirming that Michael would be at university this week.

"For sure." Aaron nodded.

"They'll all be headed back. The semester started for most folks last week."

We headed for the house, driving into Clayton. Aaron explained that now the US had gone Charlie had got his hands on some of the Zone and built on it.

The only security these days at the guard house was an old guy sleeping on the veranda of the guard room with half a jam-jar of something resembling black tea by his side, looking quite annoyed to be woken up to lift the barrier.

Clayton might become a technology park one day, but not yet. We pa.s.sed deserted barrack blocks with tall gra.s.s growing between them. The US Army's legacy was still very much in evidence. I could see stencilling on steel plates above every barrack door: Building 127, HQ Theater Support Brigade, Fort Clayton, Panama, US Army South. I wondered if our SOUTH COM bosses during my time in Colombia had sent us our satellite photography and orders from these very buildings.

The neighbourhood looked as if it had been evacuated before a hurricane. The children's swings between the deserted bungalows and palm-fringed, two-floor apartment blocks were showing the first signs of rust through their blue paintwork, and the baseball ground, which needed a good mow, still had the results of the last game displayed on the scoreboard. US road signs told us to travel at 15 mph. because of children playing.

We reached the other side of the ma.s.sive fort complex and headed into the mountains. The jungle closed in on both sides of the narrow, winding tarmac road. I could only see about five metres; after that everything blurred into a wall of green. I'd heard about a patrol in Borneo in the Sixties who had a man down with a gunshot wound. It wasn't fatal, but he did need evacuation. Leaving him comfortable at the bottom of a high feature, all hands moved uphill to cut a winch point out of the jungle so the rescue helicopter could pull him out and cas-evac him to hospital. This was no big deal, and the wounded man would have been airborne by last light if only they hadn't made the fatal error of not leaving anyone with him or marking where he was lying. It took them over a week to find where they'd left him, even though it was less than a hundred metres away at the bottom of the hill. By then he was dead.

The sun beat down on the windscreen, showing up all the bugs that had smashed against it and been smeared by the wipers. It couldn't have been easy for Aaron to see through.

This was secondary jungle; movement through it would be very, very difficult. I much preferred primary, where the canopy is much higher and the sun finds it difficult to penetrate to ground level so there's less vegetation. It's still a pain in the a.r.s.e to travel through, because there's still all kinds of stuff on the ground.

Grey clouds were starting to cover the sky and make everything darker I thought again about all the months I'd spent living in jungles whilst on operations. You'd come out two stone lighter, and because of the lack of sunlight your skin becomes as white and clammy as an uncooked chip, but I really liked it. I always had a fantastic sense of antic.i.p.ation when I entered jungle, because it's the most wonderful place to be; tactically, compared with any other terrain, it's a great environment to operate in. Everything you need is there: shelter, food and, more importantly, water. All you really have to get used to is the rain, bites by mozzies (anything small that flies), and 95 per cent humidity.

Aaron leant forward and peered up through the windscreen.

"Here they are, look right on time."

The grey clouds had disappeared, pushed out by blacker ones. I knew what that meant and, sure enough, the sky suddenly emptied on us. It was like sitting under an upturned bath. We hurriedly wound up our windows, but only about three quarters of the way, because humidity was already misting up the inside of the windscreen. Aaron hit the de mister and its noise was drowned as the roof took a pounding.

Lightning cracked and sizzled, splashing the jungle with brilliant blue light.

An almighty clap of thunder boomed above us. It must have set off a few car alarms back at the locks.

Aaron slowed the car to walking pace as the wipers went into hyper drive slapping each side of the windscreen and having no effect at all as rain stair rodded into the tarmac and bounced back into the air. Water splattered through the top of the side window, spraying my shoulder and face.

I shouted at him, above the drumming on the roof.

"Does this road go straight to Charlie's house?"

Aaron was leaning over the wheel, busy wiping the inside of the windscreen.

"No, no this is a loop, just access to an electricity sub-station. The new private road to the house leads off from it. I thought maybe I could drop you off where the two join, otherwise I'd have nowhere to go."

That seemed perfectly reasonable to me.

"How far to the house from the junction?"

"If the scale on the imagery is right, maybe a mile, a mile and then some. All you've got to do is follow the road."

The deluge continued as we crawled uphill. I leant down and felt under my seat, trying to find something to protect my doc.u.ments. I wasn't going to leave them with Aaron: they were going everywhere with me, like communication codes, to be kept on the body at all times.

Aaron looked at me. What do you need?" He was still strained forward against the wheel, as if that was going to help him see any better through the solid sheet of rain as we crawled along at about 10 mph.

I explained.

"You'll find something in the back, for sure. Won't be long now, maybe two or three miles."

That was fine by me. I sat back and let myself be mesmerized by the rain bouncing around us.

We followed the road as it curved to the right, then Aaron moved over to the edge of the road and stopped. He pointed just ahead of us. That's the road that goes to the house. Like I said, maybe a mile, a mile and a half. They say from up there Chan can see the sun rise over the Caribbean and set in the Pacific.

What do you want me to do now?"

"First, just stay here and let me get into the back."

I got out and put my jacket back on. Visibility was down to maybe twenty metres.

Rain hammered on the top of my head and shoulders.

I went to the rear of the wagon and opened the tailgate. I was soaked to the skin before I got half-way. I was just pleased not to be in a country where being wet also meant freezing my b.o.l.l.o.c.ks off.

I rummaged around in the back. Four five-gallon US Army jerry-cans were fixed with bun gees to the far end of the flatbed, adjacent to the cab. At least we wouldn't be running out of fuel. Scattered around them were more yellowing newspapers, a jack, a nylon tow-rope and all the a.s.sociated c.r.a.p that would be needed for a wreck like this. Amongst it, I found what I was looking for, two plastic carrier bags. One contained a pair of greasy old jump-leads, the other was empty, apart from a few bits of dried mud and vegetable leaves. I shook them both out, tucked my pa.s.sport, air ticket and wallet into the first and wrapped them up. I put that into the second, gave it a twist, and placed it in an inside pocket of my jacket.

I had another look round, but found nothing else that could be of any use to me on the recce. Slamming the tailgate, I went round to Aaron's door and put my face up against the gap in the window.

"Can you give me that compa.s.s, mate?" I had to shout to be heard.

He leant across, unstuck it from the windscreen, and pa.s.sed it through.