Massive Attack (A Guy Niava Thriller Book 1) by Dana Arama (e reader for manga .txt) 📗

When Silvia saw we had a big appetite and that we were enjoying her food, she was thrilled. She went out of her way to inform us about all the attractions in the area. She babbled quickly in Spanish, I could only pick up a few words here and there, but Laura understood everything and was translating simultaneously. The explanation was, of course, unnecessary, but we showed interest, just in case someone inquired about our plans after we left.

At the end of our meal, we left a generous amount of money and left the kitchen. Instead of leaving by the main entrance, I turned to Silvia and asked, “Do you have a back door?”

With a scared look on her face she asked, in broken English, “Are you in trouble?”

“Do we look like we’re in trouble?” I smiled casually and pointed to Laura’s shoes. “The lady is wearing high heels and I thought it would save us walking around the block.”

She smiled at me and I realized that she didn’t completely understand me. Maybe she just didn’t buy my excuse, but I preferred to stick with it. Without saying anything, she led us through the kitchen and from there was an exit into a modest backyard. “There’s the gate,” she said pointing towards the fence. “Behind it, you’ll be between the buildings and from there to the main street.” We thanked her and left.

The alley between the buildings was empty and safe. “I want you to stay here, while I go and question our stalker.” I said quietly.

“No. We don’t have time for this now.”

Laura Ashton,

Cancun, November 12, 2015, 9:50 a.m.

Guy looked at me in surprise. He said, “First of all, we have a lot of time, and second of all, he’s a pro. Why shouldn’t we end this now?”

“Because wherever he came from, a lot more can come as well,” I answered him hurriedly. I knew we were talking about a professional. Even though I anticipated being followed, I didn’t recognize the man. Guy had spotted him by chance. It wasn’t a surveillance by the cartel, but by the American authorities. The surveillance was for me. I didn’t want Guy to know about it. I left the country with my real passport and on a mission like this, it was considered a mistake. And if Guy was who I thought he was -- a Mossad agent -- he would also have an abundance of passports, but he had used the one identifying him as Niava. It was a pity, our passports acting to our detriment.

When I was back in the office and had realized I had no way to get to Mexico, I picked up the phone to Arlington, to the Anti-Drug Authority and spoke with the manager there. This was a man who could allow me to travel freely because he could choose what he wanted to report. I knew I had to promise him something that only I could give him. What I promised him was the location of the successor of El Chapo. Information like that on the new leader of the cartel was like treasure for the Anti-Drug organization, and for the head of the organization especially. Information that only a few people know holds much power. I promised that my investigations would produce a lead to find Gail. I promised the head of the Anti-Drug Authority the information that he wanted, because he personally knew me and Gail and he also knew that I would do everything in my power to save her, especially with an opportunity like this knocking on my door. The trail was to ensure that I keep my promise.

He wasn’t worried I wouldn’t locate my target. He wanted to make sure that I passed on the information to him. Because there was a significant chance that once I finished my personal mission and found Gail, I would sabotage my own professional success for his personal failure. Because the only person I hated more than the person who now held Gail was my uncle -- the head of the Anti-Drug Authority. I hated him, I despised him, I was afraid of him… and he knew it.

“We should leave the stalker in his place. We already know about him; we have already managed to elude him. If we burn him, the ones after him will be more careful.

Think of Jonathan. We don’t need time to waste on unnecessary battles. Every moment is significant.”

“Yes, I get your drift, every moment counts,” he agreed.

I wanted to have this meeting already. My body was charged, just as it always as before meeting with her. My heart was racing, I felt pressure in the back of my head and every cell of my body was electrified. Maybe it was just the anticipation of seeing her again. She was the one, that from the first time we met, I had difficulty breathing when I was close to her. I had no idea how she was going to react when she saw me. If I wasn’t equipped with David Gideoni’s name and accompanied by Guy, I don’t know if I would have the courage to appear in her stronghold.

Guy Niava,

Cancun, November 12, 2015, 12:00 p.m.

The sun scorched and dried the Mexican faces around us; even their traditional sombreros didn’t help. We stopped at a small corner kiosk and bought a bottle of water. An old man sat there, using a piece of torn carton as a fan and complaining of global warming. “What is it going to be like in the summer?” he asked, as if he expected that as soon as summer arrived, the world would end. My watch showed that it was twenty-eight degrees Celsius, and I thought that the temperature was pleasant.

In addition to the water, we also got directions to what we thought was supposed to be Zorro’s place, an assumption which