The Desert Run Page 17

  “Listen, you boys have all had a very long journey. When you arrived I was just about to have some breakfast. How about I fix us all some scrambled eggs?”

  There was a momentary pause in the room, as we all took in this shift, but then Ben said:

  “Sure.”

  34

  Jimmy told his brother to make four rounds of toast and then broke a whole box of six eggs into a bowl. He cut the corner off a pat of butter and dropped it in. Then he pulled open a drawer and pulled out a cheese grater and a spice bottle. From the bottle, he shook out a little round nut and began to rub it against the grater so that a powder fell into the mixture.

  “Freshly ground nutmeg. That’s the key to decent scrambled eggs. Did you know that?”

  When no one answered, Jimmy continued.

  “For hundreds of years, this stuff grew on just a few islands in Indonesia, the Banda Islands. Nowhere else. They became known as the Spice Islands. Now, back in Europe at that time, everyone thought this little nut would stop you getting the plague. You know, boils all over your face, dying. All that. So you know what happened? A few very enterprising people worked out that if you could sail a ship and find those islands, and if you could fill your hold with this stuff and sail it back to Europe, you could make yourself very, very rich indeed.”

  He finished grating from the nut, and he tapped the grater and placed it down on the empty work surface.

  “Nowadays, of course, it grows all over. You can buy it anywhere. This comes from the shop down in...” He stopped. “Well. I bought it for just a couple of quid. My point is, you can’t get rich from this anymore. You need to find something else.” He stopped; it seemed the history lecture was over.

  “But it’s still the secret to fucking good scrambled eggs.” He pulled a pan out of the drawer and set it going on the hob, with another knob of butter melting against the heavy iron base.

  Paul had sat down with us at the table now. We were all waiting to see what was going to happen next. And that turned out to be watching Jimmy cooking the eggs and ignoring us completely. He poured the egg mixture into the pan and stirred it slowly. It was like he’d forgotten we were in the room. But then, suddenly, he turned to us.

  “Let’s indulge in a little fantasy. Let’s imagine that over breakfast here, we come to an arrangement. It’s not going to be eighty-five a kilo, but let’s imagine we reach a deal, maybe fifty, fifty-five, somewhere in that region. What happens then? Are you going to invest that money into arranging another deal? Are we contemplating a regular arrangement here?”

  Ben started to say something, but Jimmy cut him off.

  “And that question is aimed at Jake,” Jimmy said sharply, still with his back to me.

  I froze, unsure how to answer. In the end, I went for the truth.

  “We’re not really drug smugglers. We just did this to help pay off our student debt. Maybe have a bit of money to set ourselves up, but this was just a one-off.”

  Jimmy still had his attention on the stove and the eggs. And moments later, he was satisfied they were done. He brought the pan over to the table and carefully spooned some onto all our plates, where Paul had already placed some toast.

  “Let’s eat.”

  Jimmy sat down, and we all ate in silence. I’d never much rated scrambled eggs before, but I had to hand it to Jimmy: these were pretty good. Must have been the nutmeg. When Jimmy had finished, he placed his knife and fork together on his plate and sat back.

  “Was. You used the past tense, Jake. This ‘was’ just a one-off?”

  “Is,” I corrected myself. “This is just a one-off.”

  “OK. And this question is to either of you. What do you think is the single biggest issue I have to deal with in this business?”

  Neither of us answered.

  “Come on. You’re newcomers into the industry. I’m interested to hear what you think. Ensuring a regular supply? Minimising my risks? Maintaining a secure distribution network? What’s the most challenging of all?”

  I looked at Ben. He looked at me.

  “Security?” I said.

  Jimmy frowned, gestured for me to elaborate.

  “Getting caught by the police?” I said.

  This time, he smiled.

  “Some of my best friends are police officers. No.”

  Again, Jimmy shook his head. Then he leaned forward and made his hands into a steeple, leaning on the table.

  “It’s manpower. Whatever you do, you need people. To shift bags, to drive cars. Just to come up with ideas. It’s difficult to find people, good people, I mean.”

  Something made me glance at Paul at that point. And his face surprised me. He was beginning to smile. I couldn’t work out why.

  “I’ve been in this business for a long time, nearly fifteen years. How many times do you think I’ve had kids, like you, come to me with a deal the way you two have?”

  “I dunno,” Ben managed when Jimmy rested his eyes on him, waiting for an answer. “A few?”

  Jimmy shook his head.

  “Not once. Not one single time.”

  35

  Jimmy sat a long time, completely still, watching us. Then he spoke.

  “I’m going to make you boys an offer. Actually, I’m going to make two offers. I’d like you to consider both very carefully.”

  I looked across at Ben and listened.

  “Now, you’ve asked for a thousand a kilo. I tried a little trick on you back there. I tried to make you believe your product isn’t worth that, and Ben here saw through that. And I like that. So my first offer is simple. Exactly what you asked. A thousand a kilo. For however much product you’ve brought. In cash. Right now. And afterwards, Paul will drive you to a train station—I’m afraid we’ll need to use the hoods again—but he’ll put you on a train home, back to your lives. And you’ll never see me, or my brother, ever again.” Jimmy stopped.

  For a moment, I waited for him to go on, but he was watching us again, so I turned to Ben, holding my breath.

  “Why don’t you boys step out onto the balcony and have a little chat about that?” Jimmy said. “Just say the word. We’ll shake hands, and we’ll be done.”

  But then, Ben spoke for both of us.

  “What’s the second offer?”

  I thought I saw Jimmy smile, but maybe I imagined it.

  “I’ve just offered you exactly what you came here for. Why would you want to hear the second offer?”

  He was ignoring me now. Totally focussed on Ben. I realised we all were, but I was probably the only one who didn’t understand why.

  “What’s the second offer?” Ben said again.

  This time, Jimmy definitely smiled. Paul too. I still couldn’t work out what the hell was going on.

  “Look around you, kid,” Jimmy said. “Go on. Have a good look.” He leaned back, and both Ben and I did so, tentatively at first, glancing around at the glossy white kitchen cabinets, the wide open windows and steel balcony, the view out over the loch.

  “All this comes at a cost, kid. And I’m not talking money. Are you sure you want to hear the second offer?”

  Ben hesitated for a moment, but not for long. “I want to hear it.”

  The two of them stared at each other, until Jimmy was the one to look away.

  “I told you I’ve been in this business for fifteen years. Fifteen good years. Very good years. But things change. I’ve got a daughter. And a second on the way. And a dog.” He bent down and stroked the ears of the little terrier.

  “Which all means I have to make some changes to the way the business operates. I can’t be going away as much as I used to. I need to rely on other people. Creative people. People who can handle themselves in difficult and unusual circumstances. And people like that are hard to find.”

  No one said anything for a moment, and he went on.

  “And then Paul gets to hear about a couple of guys—not dealers, not junkies, but university graduates, who want to come and bring me a shipment of
product. So we got to thinking. Perhaps we should meet these boys? See what they’re made of. Do you know what I’m saying?”

  Ben nodded.

  “I think you do. I think you did from the moment you walked in here.”

  I looked at Ben, expecting him to look as confused as me, but he didn’t. He was smiling.

  “The details,” Jimmy went on. “We’ll have to work out the details.”

  “Of what?” I blurted out. It seemed like everyone else in the room was able to communicate through some sort of telepathy, but I still didn’t understand.

  “A job, Jake. I’m offering the two of you a job. To come and work with us. To make some real money.”

  PART III

  36

  If you ever find yourself flying into the island of Tenerife, off the west coast of Africa, make sure to get yourself a window seat on the left-hand side of the aircraft, because the view you’ll get is spectacular.

  Almost the entire island is formed from a huge mountain which rears steep-sided out of the Atlantic Ocean. On the day I flew in, the volcanic top of the mountain poked out of a duvet of clouds like an alien world floating in the sky, and as we descended, the clouds dissolved to reveal a landscape of deep greens on the upper slopes, ringed below by the activity of humans—peculiar and insignificant from the air. Roads buzzed with little toy cars, wind turbines spun, tiny resorts glimmered, their blue-water pools like jewels inlaid in the ochre rock. For most of the five-hour flight, I was stuck next to a kid playing video games on his tablets, all bleeps and stupid tunes when he collected gold coins, and then turning around to argue with his brother about who was best, so his sharp elbows dug into my ribs. Then the view got good, and he started whingeing to his mummy he couldn’t see anything because that man was in the way. I took my revenge silently and kept blocking the window, my nose pressed up against it. Drinking in that view.

  I still felt the fear, that raising of my heart rate, the anticipation of doing something dangerous. But it was a familiar feeling now. It no longer felt like it might overwhelm me. I controlled it.

  The glide seemed to take forever over a landscape too rocky and craggy to place a basketball court, let alone land a plane this big, but eventually, the whines and clunks below my feet told me the landing gear was deployed, and I had to trust, as we slipped ever lower, now toward the red roofs of villas and the dirty white of apartment blocks, that an airport would come into view in the final seconds. And just when it seemed it might not, and we really were descending towards a sudden, fiery death, then it was there, reassuringly flat tarmac and wide run-offs to the side, lined with planes waiting to take off. We hit the ground, and the engines roared into reverse. A few people on the plane tried to get everyone to cheer, but it failed to catch on. I wouldn’t have minded if it had. Now I’d learnt to fly myself in tiny light aircraft that bucked and lurched around the sky I had a new appreciation of the smooth effortless comfort of commercial airliners. Just five hours earlier, I was in the Manchester rain. Here, it was sunny, and the baggage handlers, already unloading the plane, were working in shirt sleeves.

  When I walked through the plane door and into the sunshine, I spent a few moments breathing in the warm, fresh air, looking around at the slab-side of the mountain on one side of the airport, and the ocean stretching away on the other. I glanced at the bus at the bottom of the steps, standing-room only already with tourists and their cameras and their tablets and their moaning kids, and their worries about whether they could get reception on their phones, or if they’d be able to find a bar that showed the football. I smiled at that. Thinking how far I’d come. How much I’d changed. And as I watched the tourists, squabbling and pushing for space on the bus, I smiled again at the fear. For how it had made me different.

  I spent a few minutes walking up and down the line of hire car desks, listening and watching, before choosing the one I wanted.

  Buenas tardes, necesito alquilar un coche para una semana, por favor…

  My language skills were coming on by then, Mum would have been so proud.

  The woman behind the desk had teeth as white as her blouse, which was unbuttoned to show a shaft of nicely tanned cleavage. I walked away with the keys to a little red Fiat, and the certainty that a pair of deep brown eyes were watching me depart. Maybe in other circumstances I’d have practiced a bit more of my Spanish, but I had work to do. Instead I found the car and drove the sixty kilometres north to the island’s capital, Santa Cruz, away from the tourist resorts in the south and along a highway hugging the edge of the land before it plunged into the ocean.

  I stopped for the night in the Atlantic Marina Hotel. On a whim, I upgraded to a front-facing room, paying the bill in cash. I always tried to do that by then. There was no one chasing me, I was sure about that, but it made me harder to track, just in case.

  When I got to my room, I threw my bag on the bed and took a shower to wash off the grime of travelling. Then I poured a drink from the minibar and pulled open the door to the balcony. Outside I could hear the hum of the city and the lights were coming on as darkness descended. It was warm, comfortable. That’s when I got my first glimpse of her, looking beautiful and elegant in the evening light. I raised my glass and said a silent toast.

  37

  I’ve told you about the first time. Now I have to tell you about the last. Well this was the last. There were others of course, but if I told you about each of those this story would go on for ever, and I’m not in here long enough for that.

  Our secret, the way we operated by then, was as simple as it was clever. We simply never did the same thing twice. We built up no patterns, left nothing that anyone could track us by. It kept things interesting too. Once we’d brought in a shipment by lorry from Tunisia via Italy and Poland hidden in washing machines. We’d done light aircraft trips—never with the same origin or destination, never the same plane. We’d carried suitcases through customs. But this last one was the biggest we’d ever tried. If this worked we wouldn’t need to work again for a very long time.

  I had a lot to get done, but I allowed myself the luxury of a leisurely breakfast. My meeting with Carlos wasn’t until eleven. I took a swim in the hotel’s outdoor pool, twenty lengths, the sun already hot on my back. Then I worked my way through a plate piled high with fruit, and then sat back with coffee and looked around me. The hotel’s other clients were mostly business people, a few older couples. Despite my casual look, I didn’t appear out of place. No one would remember me.

  Carlos the Broker—that wasn’t his official name; it was just what we’d taken to calling him—had an office in a small block near the main highway into town. it was all cool marble, a wide view out over the ocean, and a showy receptionist, the whole office was designed to impress people who needed all that to feel comfortable. I accepted the red-lipstick smile from the receptionist as she showed me into Carlos’s office, where photographs of boats filled the walls. He rose at once from his chair and shook my hand with an enthusiasm that betrayed how, even if he felt aspects of this deal were unusual, it was profitable enough for him to overlook them.

  “Mr. Smith! How lovely to meet you in person. How was your trip?”

  We’d agreed how to handle this. Businesslike and polite, but offering nothing.

  “Very pleasant, thank you.” I accepted the invitation to sit, not at his broad wooden desk but in a more informal area, where we were equals.

  “Coffee?”

  I nodded.

  “Maria!” I was flashed another smile as the receptionist walked past to a coffee machine on a low table by the window. From the way she had to bend down to fetch our drinks, a move which pulled her skirt tight against her arse, I guessed the table was low on purpose. Carlos flashed me a look to check I was watching, and I saw no reason not to.

  There were pastries laid out in front of us, and Carlos waved his hand over them, but neither of us touched them.

  “There is a very fine little restaurant on the quayside,” Carlos wen
t on. “Once we are done with the paperwork here, I would like to invite you for lunch. A little celebration.” He smiled broadly.

  “That’s kind, but I have a prior engagement.” I accepted my coffee from Maria, not allowing my eyes to be drawn down to her chest as she leaned in to hand it to me.

  “Of course.” He assimilated the brush-off and adjusted his strategy. He was probably happy not to go through all that schmoozing bullshit anyway.

  “Another time, perhaps? Shall we?” Carlos opened a leather-bound folder on the table in front of him. “There are just a few papers to sign, and I can check that the money has gone through online. Then she’ll be all yours.” He smiled again, a reassuring smile, which belied how keen he was to complete this sale.

  He’d marked where I had to sign the documents and I scribbled the same signature six times. The last one was a bit loose, but good enough that Carlos didn’t notice anything. He pressed the button to bring an iPad to life and I saw it was already logged into a banking app. I had no worries about the money side of things.

  “Are you sure you won’t have a pastry?” He asked, as we waited. Why the hell not? I thought. It’s not every day you buy your first boat.

  Apart from the week’s intensive course, taken to prepare me for this trip and where we never left the choppy, enclosed waters of the Solent on the south coast of England, I’d never so much as set foot on a yacht before. You don’t tend to, growing up like I did in south London. And the boats we went on for the course were small, knocked-about vessels that rolled under your weight as soon as you stepped aboard. The Prima Donna was different. She was twice the size for a start, at fifty-four foot long, and with a mast that stretched up into a sky a thousand times bluer than the one I had sailed under in the Solent. When I put my foot on the scrubbed teak side deck and climbed aboard, she barely moved at all.