Night of the Assassin: Assassin Series Prequel by Russell Blake (people reading books .TXT) 📗

the moon as it struggled to break through the gathered clouds. It was a good life; he was a lucky man. This had been a fantastic birthday so far and whoever had said that life began at fifty wasn’t lying. He reached below the bar and extracted a bottle of Herradura Selección Suprema tequila and poured a healthy slug of the amber nectar into a tumbler before returning his attention to the nubile entertainment. Yes indeed, a great birthday. He studied the face of his platinum Rolex Masterpiece and noted the time – a little after midnight. Another day older and closer to death. Ah, well. What was one to do? He’d try to enjoy himself nonetheless.

“Ladies. You’re shameless. Move inside and let the games begin. And save some love for Papi!”

The security team studiously avoided looking up at the transom of the huge ship, preferring to scan the periphery for signs of intruders. Papi’s love for the high life was well known and by now the men had seen everything. It was all fun until he couldn’t perform or things turned nasty after too many drugs and the girls ended up begging for forgiveness. They’d had to bury their fair share of young strippers who had failed to judge his moods correctly. He was infamous for being mercurial. A career as a playmate for a narcotraficante was a high-risk, high-reward proposition in a world where the men were inured to violence and thought nothing of snuffing out life on virtually any pretense, including because it amused them to do so.

A pelican rustled its feathers at the water’s edge before taking flight, swooping low over the water as it searched out more tranquil surroundings. Two of the sentries swung around at the sound, ready to engage whatever enemy presented itself. They exhaled with relief when they saw the huge bird lumber into the air. Everyone’s nerves were raw from the last week’s duty, moving from danger zone to danger zone while Contreras partied without a care. They were in friendly territory but that counted for little when he was exposed like this. Every moment held the possibility of an attack by enemies who were every bit as vicious and determined as Papi, and when he wasn’t in his fortified compound back home, the risk-factor went through the roof.

The men were working in shifts, eight guards each shift, four hours on, eight off, so they could get rest and stay alert. After four hours of high-intensity patrolling, acuity fell off markedly and human error became more likely. The cartel game was one where you only got to make one mistake – your last. Papi was paying the highest rates in the world for his security; they wanted for nothing; but in return, he expected them to keep him safe no matter what, and if that meant every member of the team taking a bullet for him, so be it.

That was the gig.

The sound of the party from the boat was a headache for them, although no one would dare mention it to Papi. But he might as well have painted a big bulls-eye on the super yacht’s bow for any hostiles in the area. The head of security, Alberto, clenched his jaw as the women laughed, each squeal of ecstasy an invitation to disaster…in his mind. Let the old pervert bang around with his doped-up teenagers inside the fucking boat. Why did he need to make such a public display of it? It was recklessly endangering them all. He sucked down his frustration and concentrated on the job at hand, eyes scanning the surrounding dock area and the buildings for any hint of latent danger. They’d be back at the compound tomorrow afternoon, and so far there had been no attacks; with any luck they’d make it home safe, where the routine drill would be executed in a more controlled environment – where they knew everyone and owned the town. This was making him nervous – exposed – on the water, a million miles from nowhere with the boss kite-high on powder and bellowing into the night sky as though he was safe in his own living room.

A cat scurried after a large rat on the slick-wet concrete path by the shops at the far end of the marina, setting Alberto’s nerves further on edge. He didn’t want to think of how wound-up his men must be after almost ten days of constant vigilance. All he needed was a trigger-happy lapse and they’d have the police and military landing on them, which would be a little awkward given that Papi was the number four most wanted man in Mexico. Money obviously bought selective vision where he was concerned, but it would only go so far. Gunfire at a six star hotel’s exclusive marina could raise the wrong eyebrows and the last thing Alberto needed was an all-out gun battle with the military in the dead of night.

He silently cursed Contreras for being so careless, then exhaled a sigh of relief when he heard the drug lord call his whores back inside the boat with him. Alberto had six men on land, two on the boat, and one on each side of the bridge keeping watch for any potential menace that they might miss from the dock. It would be impossible to approach the yacht from the water in the still of the night – a boat would be immediately detected, even if it was being rowed. But he wanted to ensure that all avenues of attack were covered, so even the waterside was being watched. Contessa was docked on a side tie, her port side fastened to the pilings and the starboard side facing the harbor opening, beyond which the bay stretched into a black nothingness. If there was going to be an assault it would have to come from the land because they’d have enough warning from the ship’s radar to take positions on the waterside and cut any encroaching