They called me The Puppeteer 2: The Puppets of Washington, #6

By Lavina Giamusso

Tayla is running, and she's also running low - low on trust. She can't trust the law, and she can't trust the FBI. She isn't even sure she can trust her people any more. 
She is left with only one option: to run. 

After a mission to track down the drug lord Osnoir in Jacksonville goes horribly wrong and ends up with two people dead, Tayla realizes that she has to flee the USA, because if she doesn't she might end up dead herself. She meets a host of characters along the way, but she is never really sure if they are out to assist her - or to kill her. 

Following the nail-biting path of Tayla's flight from the USA in They Call Me The Puppeteer, the sixth book of The Puppets of Washington series) and you'll be turning pages from the first to the last in this fast-paced, action-packed thriller from Lavina Giamusso.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lavina Giamusso
• Release date: May 2, 2016
• ISBN: 9781533786531

Book preview

Prologue

In the months that followed my arrest and subsequent trial, I had the pleasure of receiving copies of Talya’s journal. She recorded her misadventure in such a way that I, for one, learned how she managed to survived it all. It all seemed fantastic to me – even to this day.

****

The evening was quiet. I sat in one of the lounge chairs and looked at the shadows of the trees in the park. They were the giants of my thoughts; each was a memory of too many deaths, too many conflicts, too many power figures who were trying to rule the lives of millions of people with evil as the maestro of this unbridled and obscene orchestra of drug addiction.

Many questions that needed answers were dancing in front of my mind’s eye like a hundred question marks at the end of each of the paragraphs of my life. One of these question marks, which was perhaps a running winner to the finish-line of my answers, was, Why wasn’t Slimane in Miami? Everything had pointed to him being in that city for the past two years at least. I had deduced that he was back in West Africa by now, hoping to reconstruct his empire on the ruins that I and Khalid had left in their wake. Was that a sound deduction, or was I mistaken? He had a profitable and elaborately hidden business flourishing in Florida, so why wouldn’t he stay where ‘business was good’ rather than running off to where he wasn’t yet needed or where he had no one to help him? And, why didn’t the agency realize that the Nassau House was a trap, or that Ben Slimane had never occupied it, let alone making it his headquarters?

PART ONE:

Moving under the radar

Chapter 1

As Mark and I walked through the door, we saw Aziz wearing the carpet of the hotel lobby down to bare threads. Finally! Good God, Talya, Khalid is waiting for us to disappear somehow – but how? he blurted, handing Mark’s phone to him.

Did he say anything else? Mark asked.

Just that you should call CSIS and get a rundown on a Monsieur Bourdon – apparently this guy is a new character in the play and Khalid wants to know who he’s dealing with.

All right, let’s get out of here. I’ll call from the launch.

What about...?

Not now, Aziz. Mark was visibly irritated with their doctor’s inquisition.

Did he sound all right? I asked Aziz impatiently. In a few words; Khalid sounded as a Prince ready to do battle would.

I had to smile at the comparison. Because Khalid’s commanding presence and speech sometimes could be overwhelming to the unknowing interlocutor, I suspected that Aziz got an earful a few minutes earlier.

Given that we had no luggage and nothing to laden our stride, we reached the launch quickly. Aziz took the wheel while Mark and I sat facing each other. The sun was high above the horizon already and the heat was beating down on us.

As we were heading down the inlet at reasonable speed to avoid the pounding of the waves, all at once I saw the second trawler. I didn’t recognize it as such momentarily. Since there are many trawlers and boats of all kinds travelling these waters on any given day, I hadn’t paid attention to this particular vessel. Yet, there it was, coming straight at us. Aziz swerved to avoid it. The sudden jerk had been so strong that it wrenched me off my seat. I tumbled onto the floorboards just in time to hear the whizzing sound of a bullet pass near my ear. I had no time to think.

Stay down, I heard Mark scream at me. I flattened myself and put my hands over my head.

When I felt the boat resume a steady pace, I slowly removed my hands from atop my head and glanced furtively at Aziz. He was smiling down at me calmly. Nothing would shake this guy out of his skin. Even hearing shots being fired around him didn’t seem to faze him one bit. I returned the smile and turned to see what Mark had been up to. The reason for his silence dawned on me in an instant – he had been hit. He was slumped on the bench bleeding from his butt. I burst out in hysterical laughter. It must have been a reaction from the shock. Some of my friends would say, Talya, you’re awful. Aziz looked over his shoulder in Mark’s direction and realized why I was laughing.

Take the wheel, will you? I’ve got to get him on the floor. He must have passed out... and I’ve got to stop the bleeding...

Go, go..., I yelled as I stood up and took the wheel from Aziz. When I did, the first thing I noticed was the trawler coming back at us at full speed. Although the launch was much faster than the trawler was, and much more manoeuvrable, I would have had a hard time, in such a short distance, to avoid it ploughing us into smithereens, but I wasn’t going to let it pass us all guns blazing either. In a jerk, I turned the wheel 180 degrees and backtracked, leaving our pursuer at liberty to catch up to us, which I knew it couldn’t do. The only problem with this was that they were now heading in the wrong direction – north instead of south towards the St. Johns River.

I veered to the right this time and got as near to the beach as I could, knowing that a trawler’s hull sinks much deeper into the water than that of a launch, so it couldn’t come close enough for anyone aboard even to take aim at us. Now, and as I wanted, I was heading south. However, the speed at which our launch was travelling was creating a spray behind us that was showering every other craft in its wake. I was trying my best to keep from hitting anyone, but unfortunately, some of the numerous wind-surfers had to take a quick dip to avoid us, nonetheless. I heard screams from them as well as a few chosen unwelcome words. Luckily, there aren’t any bathers on that side of Amelia Island, so I was sure I hadn’t chopped anybody’s head off (yet).

Meanwhile, I resumed riding the waves, literally, at a more reasonable speed and drove the launch into quiet waters so that Aziz could attend to his new patient. The latter had regained consciousness and was swearing his head off. I didn’t think he was swearing from the pain, though, rather from the indignation he had sustained. Cats are very proud usually, and Mark was no exception. Being shot in the butt was totally undignified for an agent of Mark’s caliber.

"You could always tell anyone who asks that you were covering my butt when you got shot," I yelled over my shoulder.

Don’t you start...! Ouch...! Will you just get on with it and stop fondling my rear-end, you miserable butcher? Mark shouted, while Aziz was trying to evaluate the damage as delicately as he could.

And if you’d stopped jiggling like a bloody eel I would have done it already. Just hang on a minute, I’ve got to see if there is anything in there...

Chapter 2

As we moored the launch against the marina pier, I realized the second trawler had disappeared from view. It had followed us at a safe distance, when we saw it was making its way northward. Opening fire in the middle of an inlet was one thing, but doing the same near a marina would have attracted too much attention.

One of the men from the boat-rental shed ran over to us when he saw the difficulty with which Mark was climbing over the bench and onto the pier.

Are you okay? He extended a hand to help Mark out of the boat.

I’ll be just fine, Mark said, cringing with pain.

Aziz had padded the wound with some gauze and plaster bandages that he had found in the first-aid box of the launch, but the sewing up would have to wait until they got to the hotel. He had taken care to wipe the blood from the seats and had spread seawater over the floor. He had also found the bullet encased in the sideboard. He had carved it out and put it in one of the numerous pockets of his vest, so that practically no trace of our ordeal remained. However, the stain on the back of Mark’s jeans was quite visible. The blood had run down his pant leg after the bullet had left a deep gash in his buttocks.

He’ll be fine, not to worry, Aziz said reassuringly, while shielding Mark’s backside as he, too, climbed out of the boat. We’ll go on ahead, he added, shooting a quick glance to me. I was ready to get off as well.

Yeah, I’ll just sign the paperwork and be right with you, I said as I observed the three men walking up the pier towards the rental shed.

I shook my head. The guys on the boat will be back. They know they haven’t hit our mark by now.

I joined my companions as they were reaching the footpath leading back to the road. Mark could hardly walk. Not to be too conspicuous to the passers-by, Aziz only supported his patient under his elbow. I walked behind them, trying to block anyone’s view from noticing the blood on Mark’s trousers.

It took us the better part of an hour to reach our hotel. They had to stop several times to let Mark sit down on the benches that lined the promenade, before being able to take a cab that drove us back to our B&B on San Fernandina Beach. Mark was exhausted. He had lost a lot of blood and this walking had used all of his remaining strength.

When we finally got to our rooms, Mark pulled down his pants and lay on the bed without a word – he knew what was coming.

Standing away from the scene, by the window, the next thing I heard was a series of screams that would have woken all sleeping evils of hell.

I don’t know why you’re screaming, it just took a good bite out of your flesh but no bullet here – you’ve got a couple of gouges..., Aziz told him.

You son of a... God! Did you cut half of my behind out or what? Mark hollered.

No, I just drilled... Aziz’s sense of humour hadn’t abandoned him, I was glad to hear.

You friggin’ bastard...

Mark, come on... it’s not that bad. Just don’t get it infected.

And how would I do that?

Don’t expose the wound to bacteria for one thing and don’t sit on it for too long.

I’m not planning to do any mooning for a long time to come... but as for sitting, what do you propose I do? Should I kneel at the table when we have dinner next?

No, but I suggest that you carry a ring cushion with you for the next few weeks.

Just get me sewn up so I can stand and... You... Mark growled, his voice smothered by the pillow.

Now don’t move, otherwise I can’t guarantee the stitching...

Just get on with it... ouch...! Aziz.

You’ll have to stand for another three or four of these... so just lie still for a few more minutes.

You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? You doctors are all the same; you enjoy inflicting pain...

Mark, stop it ... just think of what we’re going to do..., I said, trying to get Mark’s mind onto something else than Aziz’s painful stitching. You brought me back so we could plan something together... What about it, Mark?

"Do you really think I am in a position to think of anything else than my butt at this moment? Ouaach... For God’s sakes, take it easy, will you? This is my bloody flesh you’re sewing."

Aziz then gave Mark a painkiller that knocked him right out within a few minutes of having bandaged the wound and covering him up. He would have liked to give him an I.V. for a few hours so he would recuperate faster, but that was something he didn’t have on hand.

I looked up at him when I saw that