Donna Young - Black Ops Bodyguard

Though he had never returned home, he continued sending money to his mother and sisters through untraceable means.

A limousine pulled up near the gangway. Solaris pitched his cigarette into the water and stepped from the railing.

Cristo’s lieutenant, Jorgie, got out of the front passenger seat and stood next to the limo. A bandage crossed his nose and connected two swollen black eyes. Another wrapped around his right hand and wrist.

A moment later, four additional homegrown thugs emerged from a nearby black sedan and flanked the limousine.

Once his men appeared in place, Cristo emerged from the limo, said something to Jorgie while he buttoned his Armani suit coat, and slipped on a pair of mirrored sunglasses.

Despite his age, Cristo managed to stay trim and fit. Driven by vanity, he worked out regularly in the villa’s indoor pool. But besides a mistress or two, Solaris’s boss had no other vices.

Cristo glanced up and smiled, revealing a row of white teeth that flashed against the tanned face and well-groomed silver hair.

Even from a distance, it was evident that Cristo’s smile didn’t quite mask the tight features, nor the stiff, determined gait.

Solaris assumed something had gone amiss with the Cutting woman.

It was time for him to get to work.

“Your boss seems happy enough, eh?”

Captain Damien Stravos appeared beside Solaris. The man stroked his overgrown beard with his knuckles and squinted into the sun.

He was short for a Greek, his head not quite meeting Solaris’s shoulder, with a rotund stomach that hung over bowed legs.

“And why not?” Solaris agreed without qualm. Deliberately, he studied the horizon where the blue sky merged with the deeper blue of the ocean. “It is a beautiful day today.”

“Somehow, I do not think it is the weather that has put Cristo in a good mood,” Stravos commented, wheezing, but from his excitement or his girth, Solaris wasn’t sure. “We have made a good deal.”

Solaris did not correct the captain. It was a good deal. The transportation of thirty tons of cocaine to the United States—a street value of millions—with the promise of more if all went well.

The risks were high, but that was the nature of their business. Solaris didn’t agree with Delgado’s plans for freighting the merchandise over the Caribbean Sea when smaller boats, while less profitable, were easier to keep under the DEA’s radar.

But Solaris kept his opinion to himself. He had no stake in that side of Cristo’s business, so the risk was not his.

Captain Stravos met Cristo at the top of the gangway. The latter ordered his men to stand guard by the rail several feet away.

“Good day, Damien.”

“Yes, yes. A good day.” The captain glanced at Solaris. “Were we not just talking about that?”

After Solaris shrugged, the men shook hands. “You are ready to finalize our plans?” Cristo asked.

“Yes, yes,” Stravos responded once again, his voice more eager.

Something Solaris had thought impossible.

“How is your lovely wife, Cristo?”

“She is doing well. In fact, she insists on your dining with us the day after tomorrow.”

“Fine, fine,” he said, barely masking his joy.

Cristo Delgado bit back the irritation and widened his smile. It was no secret that Stravos lusted after his wife. But Cristo chose to ignore the fact. For now.

Stravos was annoying certainly, but he was an excellent captain. And he asked very few questions. Besides, it wasn’t Stravos that sparked Cristo’s impatience, it was the Cutting woman. And now, Calvin West.

“Allow me a moment with my man, here.” Cristo nodded toward Solaris. “Then I will join you, Damien. For some brandy, maybe?”

“Of course.” Stravos tipped his hat briefly, and then made his way to the bridge of the ship. “I will have someone return and escort you to my quarters.”

Cristo waited a moment, his gaze settled on the sky just beyond Solaris’s left shoulder. “You have the opportunity to take care of some unfinished business for me.”

“What business?”

Cristo handed him the business card. “Calvin West has returned.”

“West?” Solaris glanced at the card, surprised. His mind processed the implications. “Here?”

“He accompanied the Cutting woman.”

“So your inside source was right.” Solaris nodded, satisfied. “She came. Did she bring the MONGREL prototype?”

“We’ll see soon enough.”

“West was MI6 until last year. Now, I believe, he is some sort of diplomatic liaison between London and Washington, D.C. Why is he involved?”

“It does not matter. He is an unexpected opportunity,” Cristo answered. “You’ve been given another chance at West. Don’t screw it up again. Understand?”

“I will take care of it,” Solaris replied, pleased. “What about Jason Marsh?”

“Marsh is not your concern,” Delgado retorted. “Find West. When you’re done, bring the woman to me. If she’s

decided to visit her ex-husband, I will find out why, and how

I can use her presence to my advantage. Then I’ll dispose of her. You can do what you please to West. Just make sure of the impact. On both of them.”

“I will.” Solaris pocketed the card. “But if West let you know he was here, there’s a good chance he has already set a plan in motion.”

“You act as if I should care,” Cristo said arrogantly, then walked away with a wave of his hand. “Just do your job this time, Solaris. I won’t tolerate another failure.”

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