Father's Day: Rebecca Jamse Thriller, #7

By tony lavely

Beckie and Ian accept a standard "cost plus half-spoils" contract to prevent a Mexican prosecutor from receiving a Father's Day present he doesn't want: his daughter's head, gift wrapped.

 

Both the girl and the drug cartel—the one the prosecutor's working to eliminate—provide lots of opportunity to save her life. One of those 'opportunities' may allow the "half-spoils" clause to go into effect, as it exposes a blackmail operation that has few qualms about under-age prostitutes.

 

Sonora state in Mexico provides a beautiful setting for action that hardly stops for the life of this contract.

 

Father's Day, the seventh book in the Rebecca Jamse Thriller series, is set in an approximation to the real world.

 

Father's Day was previously published as Low Places. This edition has a new title and cover, and revised front and back matter, with inconsequential changes to the story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: tony lavely
• Release date: Sep 6, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393610014

Book preview

Father’s Day

A Rebecca Jamse Thriller

By

Tony Lavely

Cover Image:

MarbleSteps… © Elvert Barnes

Published under Creative Commons License CC BY-SA 2.0 via Flickr.com

Damaged Fragile Parcel… © The Bag N Box Man LTD

Puddles © 蠹蟲 (dirty_bug)

and

The Sims 4 - Great Red Dame © April in Paris

All via Flickr.com and Published under

Creative Commons License CC BY 2.0

All modified by author

All Maps by Tommi Salama

[e-mail]

Copyright © 2024 by Tony Lavely

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Edition 240206.2

All rights reserved.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite e-tailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Tony Lavely.

Fonts used in this document (Cinzel, Cinzel Decorative, Spectral and Spectral SC) are used under the terms of the SIL Open Font License, Version 1.1.

Publishing history.

Father’s Day was previously published under the title, Low Places. The current edition has a new cover and minor editing changes.

Description

Beckie and Ian accept a standard cost plus half-spoils contract to prevent a Mexican prosecutor from receiving a Father’s Day present he doesn’t want: his daughter’s head, gift-wrapped.

Both the girl and the drug cartel - the one the prosecutor’s working to eliminate - provide lots of opportunities to save her life. One of those ‘opportunities’ may allow the half-spoils clause to go into effect while exposing a blackmail operation that has few qualms about under-age prostitutes.

Sonora state in Mexico provides a beautiful setting for action that hardly stops for the life of this contract.

Father’s Day, the seventh book in the Rebecca Jamse Thriller series, is a thriller set in an approximation to the real world. While it stands alone, readers unfamiliar with previous books may find the history preceding Father’s Day of interest. Real language is used; it is recommended for 15+.

L’enfant terrible, according to Webster’s Dictionary is "a usually young and successful person who is strikingly unorthodox, innovative, or avant-garde."

Some might consider Rebecca Sverdupe’s behavior more in line with the usual definition from French: a terrible (unruly or incorrigible) child, but we choose Webster’s.

The fleur-de-lis was carried by Joan d’Arc, as well as many others. The symbol is a legend in itself - a lasting emblem of royalty, power, honor, grandeur, faith and unity.

For these reasons, the fleur-de-lis overwritten by l’enfant terrible represents Rebecca Sverdupe well.

Father's Day

17 May - 26 June, 2019

One: Friday, 17 May

Hermosillo; The Nest

Light from the mid-May sun lit the room in the Hermosillo, Mexico, hotel in subdued salmon pinks and bronzy golds. Ian Jamse stood at the window, taking in the vista. The sun was behind the hotel, hence the subdued quality of the light. He rather liked it. The high desert scene and sparsely populated town, on the other hand, bore too great a similarity to others he’d seen in myriad sub-tropical cities and towns, places he visited undertaking his work as a mercenary, or gun-for-hire-to-do-legal-things, as his partner, Keven deVeel, quipped when the topic arose⁠⁠⁠—which seemed to occur more often, now that Rebecca, his wife and mother of their child, made good on her goal of reducing the warfighter aspect of their contracts in favor of protection, escort, security planning and the like.

He smiled, a deep rooted pleasure welling up in his heart and mind. She is right. Not worrying about whether the next round has her name on it, or mine, is remarkably liberating.

The rap on the door brought his head around. He glanced at the bedside clock; 19:15 glowed red. Punctual. A good sign. After peering through the peephole, he opened the door to admit a trim, medium height man with greying brown hair and brown eyes. Señor Guillermo Colón, I assume. The man nodded firmly. A pleasure. Come in, please. May I offer you anything?

The man came through and followed Jamse’s wave to one of the chairs by the standard sofa. No, he said as he sat. I’m fine. But feel free to help yourself.

His English is all we hoped. Ian closed the door and seated himself on the matching chair. So, señor, how may we assist you?

First, I must say you come with the highest of references. Almost unbelievable, if I may say that to you.

Of course you may. I did not provide the testimonials, therefore, your opinion of them cannot reflect on me.

Colón nodded sagely. That is true. Still, they seemed to me… how shall I say⁠⁠⁠—

You should not. If you are uncomfortable with any part of this, we are not the group for you. He checked his Patek Phillipe Complications, indifferent to his possible client’s small gasp as he uncovered the timepiece. I can still schedule a flight tonight⁠⁠—

No, no! Por favor, señor. I apologize. Señor del Río trusts the references, so I trust them.

Though they seem ‘unbelievable’ to you?

I don’t wish to… I apologize. I set aside my feelings, since as you say, your references are not your responsibility, and I have not the… I should not bring those concerns to you.

We do not wish to contract with you if you are uncertain, señor. Perhaps I should depart; you can consult with señor del Río and decide a better course for you.

Colón’s face went pasty-grey. A shock, then, to affect his dark skin so. I ask you to stay, señor. Por favor. Please.

He has spoken out of turn, and his concerns, while real, are not del Río’s. If I depart without him completing his task, he will find himself in an untenable position. Jamse smiled as he ignored Colón’s continued pleas. He rose and went to the stand to remove a bottle of water from the ice bucket. Colón continued to speak, but more slowly, now.

Very well, Jamse said after a sip. I will do you the honor of listening to your concerns and offer.

Gracias, señor Jamse. Once again, I apologize for⁠⁠—

I am past that. Your job? Dear me. The wind has gone from his sails once more. What can his concern be? Not del Río’s, I posit.

Colón swallowed several starts, then said, My principal, señor Javier del Río, is responsible for the criminal case being assembled against… Probably at this point it matters little who the man is. Jamse nodded. I don’t know how familiar you may be with the system of justice in Mexico…

I have no knowledge whatever of specifics beyond that it is based more or less rigorously on Civil Law precepts.

An excellent beginning. You may have heard, between 2008 and 2016, the structure of the judicial system, I think you might say, was changed from one based completely on written documents comparing the alleged offense with the written law, to one more familiar, perhaps, to you, utilizing oral arguments before the judge.

Surely this has little to do with your… problem?

Colón spread his hands in the universal sign: who knows? Little is clear. The instant case spreads across the two systems; however, the portion señor del Río is assembling is old enough to be handled under the older rules. Señor del Río is in the unenviable position of producing the documentation with which the judge will decide… the case.

The case against the unnamed man?

Sí. This man’s associates have discovered señor del Río has this… responsibility and authority. They have demanded he make sufficient errors and such that the judge must find against the state and release…

Indeed. Release this man. I assume his offense is trafficking either drugs or humans, or another equally abhorrent?

"Sí. It is as you say. To… encourage him to follow the demands, they have offered his young daughter’s head⁠—she is but twelve years old⁠⁠—as a present. In his hands. Her body, elsewhere. The judge must receive the expediente, the case file, on 19 June. Señor del Río wishes to contract you to protect her until the expediente is in the judge’s hands."

An interesting proposition. Does he truly consider the threat ended because the file is out of his hands? Jamse waved off the rhetorical question. Instead, he went to the desk and picked up a small notebook, which he perused for several moments. A sidelong glance at Colón showed Jamse the man’s tension. He flipped a few more pages, then replaced it next to his phone. I wish you had given us the dates earlier. We will accept the girl’s protection, but not from today. From… early next week. Without delay, we will require more details, to be received by Rebecca Jamse, who will, I believe, be able to begin the planning and execution immediately. However, she and I must attend a function in New York on Monday. He retrieved his phone and scrolled to a familiar number. "Boynton, hello. May I speak with Rebecca?

Good evening, love. I trust I did not wake you or Ralf.

No, of course not. He smiled at the pleasant energy in his wife’s voice. Her flat midwestern tang increased his warm feelings. Angel and I played the boys’ energy all away; they’re both sleeping. What do you need?

In addition to hearing your voice? Your schedule. I am in Mexico, in Hermosillo, Sonora, with señor Colón. He offers a protection contract for a girl, the daughter of a prosecutorial official who can prevent the conviction of a, shall we say a drug runner for the sake of argument. If the father does his job, they promise to kill the girl.

Wow! Must be a drug runner of some significance. Schedule. Are you going to get details?

I can, and discuss them with⁠⁠— Colón was waving a hand. Wait a moment, please. Yes?

I don’t have the necessary details. And another is charged with the financial aspects.

Why the bloody hell didn’t he bring what is required? Ian pushed his calm to return, though Colón’s cowering argued he had been at best only partially successful. When can they be available?

I can see them tomorrow if they come here, Beckie said. You could bring them.

Jamse smiled. Tempting, Rebecca, but no. To Colón, he said, "If our references are all you suggest, have your people⁠⁠—ones with all the necessary information⁠⁠—at our facility in the Bahamas tomorrow. If they fly to Nassau, an air taxi can bring them to our Port Cay. He removed a pad from his case and wrote on it. The contact details of Ms Jannike Meyer. She manages our fixed base operation, and can make arrangements with the taxi company. Have your people call her; she may have other suggestions. He paused. At present, I see no need to understand the intricacies of Mexican law that make action possible."

What intricacies… Beckie stopped. Yes. I agree, love, but let’s reserve the right, if we need to know later.

He relayed the proviso to Colón who merely nodded. What else can you say?

Nothing, señor. Will señora Jamse have the contract for signature?

She will. Rebecca, ask Rou to prepare a standard cost plus half-spoils contract for signature.

Cost plus half-spoils? Colón said. That is a description I’m unfamiliar with.

Our fee will be Rebecca’s estimate of our costs. In addition, given that we are dealing with criminals who may have secreted sums of cash or liquid assets, should we uncover such, we will retain half and turn over the second half to del Río. We assume he will dispose of it as he would government-seized ill-gotten gains from any criminal enterprise.

This has stunned him. Jamse smiled. Oh, Colón said. Of course. I will converse with him this evening.

Good. If he has comments, or further questions, they should be presented to Rebecca during her meeting. Please ensure the people can answer her questions.

Certainly! Colón drew a pen from his jacket pocket. I’m confident you will be successful. He does not appear to believe his own statement. What else… He ripped the paper Jamse had given him in half, and scribbled three names. Here are the names of people I know will attend. He handed it back.

Thank you. Rebecca, after I show señor Colón to the door, I will return instantly. He placed the phone carefully on the desk.

"One last thing… Your high quality references notwithstanding, señor del Río wishes you to understand the… the… all the drug cartels here are… I don’t have the correct words, I fear. Ruthless, cold-blooded, inhuman, sadistic, these all describe the cartels’… not only their beliefs and actions, but their soldiers’ as well. And yet the words do not go far enough."

I understand, señor. We have dealt with similar groups, and I did review current news reports on Mexican criminal activity, which seemed well-focused on the cartels’ activities. We shall not underestimate them.

Very well. Del Río wished it clear. He dipped his head. Thank you, señor, for bearing my… imprudence and lack of foresight. Both señor del Río and I have the utmost confidence in you.

I appreciate that. To go forward, your people must meet with Mrs. Jamse tomorrow.

They will. Thank you again.

Jamse closed the door and returned to the phone. I am not confident in señor Colón’s… words. In what he meant. He portrayed anxiety beyond that which the situation calls for. But, no, I do not know what that may imply.

Hmpf. She chuckled in her throat; he loved the sound. A ‘standard cost plus half-spoils contract,’ Ian? Does Rou know what that means?

He laughed. I have complete confidence that between you, Boynton and Rou, such a contract can come into being.

You really think there’s money and such just lying around? Seems like wishful thinking.

Perhaps. However, I cannot identify another way to even cover all the costs of such a venture otherwise. Asking him for more than one hundred thousand euros would seem destined to failure.

Why say yes, then?

Rebecca, darling, had I said no, I would then be obliged to explain to you exactly how money could possibly compensate for a twelve-year-old girl being beheaded.

Fuck! Is that the goal? Saving this girl… from that! Damn. You’re right. Okay. We’ll keep our eyes open. You’re headed north tomorrow, right?

He examined his watch again. I cannot make a flight tonight, so, yes. I will go to Los Angeles in the morning. The meetings are arranged so I can finish in time to fly to New York Sunday night. Boynton tells me I must fly into either LaGuardia or Kennedy, so I will meet you when Jean-Luc lands at Stewart.

I’m looking forward to it already!

He chuckled. Indeed. One last thing; Colón gave me the names of the people who will meet you.

Cool. A brief pause. Ready.

He spelled the names. We will talk more after your meeting.

With another few moments of leave-taking, he disconnected and sat to wonder what Colón’s game really was. Not that it mattered at this point. He had not accepted the job just for fear of Rebecca’s reaction. Beheading a young girl… far beyond the pale!

At the Nest, Beckie clicked the phone off and looked across the kitchen island at Maurice Boynton and Angel Sabrina, two people who made the Jamse household function. Well, you heard Ian. Boynton had already turned to his keyboard. You’re checking, what, exactly? Ian’s schedule?

No, Mistress, Boynton said without turning. Angel giggled softly.

Your turn will come, Angel, Beckie warned with a grin.

Boynton now faced her. She smiled as he said, As I was saying, no. Just a little huffiness in his voice. Flights as Mr. Jamse suggested to señor Colón, from Hermosillo to Nassau… The most convenient one I see still requires eighteen hours and two stops, and would arrive no earlier than nine PM in Nassau. Add to that the flight here…

Well, that sucks. Better warn Janni, if it’s not too late. She slid the paper she’d written the names on to him, then grabbed her ponytail. We’ll talk to Rou tomorrow. We can meet them Sunday, I suppose.

Ms Meyer is always available, Boynton said, and proved it by phoning her.

Not the way I wanted to spend my Saturday morning, Kerry Byrne muttered to herself.

What’s that, Kerry?

Just complaining. Pay me no mind.

Eduard Wilmsted gave a subdued chortle. Look at us! Saturday morning, almost seven. In fifteen minutes, we’ll all be out of the boat and grinding each other into the sand.

That’s supposed to make her… pleased, Ed?

Lisa, Lisa, Lisa. Shouldn’t you be in front of the TV watching cartoons?

Lisa Grove shoved Charlie hard, but not hard enough to push him out of the boat. "Tjaart, you’re leading this morning, right? I want my first session with Charles Staton, here."

You sure, Lisa? He’s got about five years and forty pounds on you.

Kerry grinned. This workout session might be fun after all. Tjaart Mulder had the helm of the skiff; he was headed south from Sud Cay at the Nest to Tiny Cay, the small barely above water patch of sand and scrub Ian Jamse, LLC, used for physical workouts. He, Kerry and Eduard Wilmsted all were full team members; Lisa and Charlie⁠⁠—Don’t call me Charles!⁠⁠—were both apprentices, but not raw recruits. Charlie had more experience than Lisa, or even Kerry; he’d spent the five years Tjaart mentioned working with the MI5 and SO15, but wanted more action. Kerry wasn’t sure why he was still an apprentice; she wondered how Lisa would approach him.

Her musing ended abruptly when Tjaart ran the boat up on the sand and Ed hopped over the bow to tie the painter off at the only man-made item on the cay, the concrete mooring block. Lisa pitched the line to him; he made it fast.

By then, the others were also ashore. As her warm-up, Kerry jogged the almost mile-long circumference of the cay. For most of the distance, she could see the others as they stood between stretches or exercises; the cay never rose more than ten or fifteen feet above the water.

The sand wasn’t well-packed this morning; she needed eleven minutes to do the loop. By the time she’d finished stretching, Lisa and Charlie were having at it. She grinned as Lisa caught his leg and tripped him, but laughed aloud when, as he fell, he clipped the back of her knee and took her to the sand, too.

Kerry, you want Tjaart today, or me?

Both, she said shaking her arms, but one at a time. You were first last time, so, Tjaart. I’ll get the pads and helmets.

Ooo. Going for the heavy stuff today, then? Ed’s grin about broke his face. She gave him a variant on the single finger salute that didn’t offend her quite so much, and pulled the gear out of the boat.

An hour later, she and Ed collapsed beside the others, already finished and breathing hard. Kerry was panting; she billowed her camo teeshirt to get some air inside the garment. Too bad the clouds burned off, Tjaart said. I was hoping to repay you for the twisted knee, Kerry.

Pretty sure you’ll get your chance. Anyway, between you and Ed, this sand burn is enough for today.

I was watching, Lisa said, there at the end when you escaped Ed’s chokehold. Can you show me?

She nodded and looked over the other four. Lisa, nine inches taller than Kerry, was still the shortest⁠⁠—oops, vertically challenged! She grinned⁠⁠—of them. Charlie was an inch or so taller than Lisa, while Tjaart stood five foot nine, three inches more than Lisa. At six feet, Eduard towered… Well he towers over me! But not the others, so much.

We’ll start with Charlie, Kerry said, unless you’re anxious to avenge that cut she gave you?

Not a bit of it. Deserved it, I did. Should’ve been quicker. But we don’t use chokeholds, do we?

In the end, Tjaart said, you use whatever you need to.

Yeah, but… It’s easy to kill someone with one of those. If you’ve got him down, he’s under control. Right?

That’s where the intelligence comes in, Kerry said. To correctly judge if you do have control, or if the opponent still represents a lethal threat. But I hope you won’t be confused about Lisa!

Naw, I’m good.

Kerry put them in position with Charlie’s arm across Lisa’s throat in the classic, generally illegal form of the chokehold. He tightened a bit, and Kerry moved Lisa’s body through the grab his arm, twist and drop motions. It doesn’t work as well when he’s holding the arm across your throat with his other hand, but then it’s harder for him to break your neck from the hold, too. If he’s tall enough, you maybe able to jam the point of your hip into his groin. Guys tend not to like that, so strike hard and be ready to take advantage when he reacts.

Over the next fifteen minutes, Lisa practiced. All of them took a turn, except there were a couple laughs when Kerry tried to clamp her arm around Ed’s throat. The foot and a half difference in heights was too much; she gave up and used her knee in the back of his to bring him down.

On the way back, Charlie asked if anyone was going to see Pieter Nijs for marksmanship work. It’s the thing I’ve got to work on before he’ll recommend me.

I’ll go, Kerry said. I need more experience with long guns.

They were about to dock when Kerry’s phone rang; she grabbed it and stared. It’s Angel Sabrina.

Mrs. Jamse, then, Tjaart said. You best answer.

The phone rang again, and Kerry swiped the Accept. Hello?

Miss Kerry? Miss Beckie’s planning a job; she’d like to talk about it with you at dinner.

Okay. What time?

Seven. Would you know where Eduard and Tjaart are?

Right here. We just finished a workout down at Tiny.

They’re invited as well. Can you pass the word to them?

Sure. Thanks. See you later. She clicked off and said, Tjaart, you, Ed and I are invited to dinner with Mrs. Jamse. Angel says she’s planning a job.

Boynton’s food is legendary! Tjaart said.

And I’m ready for a job, Ed said.

Remember us, Charlie and Lisa said together. We’re available!

Two: 18 - 19 May

The Nest

Saturday morning, Beckie played with Ralf enough to wear him out. Or so Angel said with a grin as she did the same with her boy, Ethian. After moving him to the lanai playpen, Beckie went to the kitchen.

Boynton didn’t even look. Back to the lanai, Mistress. Everything is prepared.

That intercom gives him way too much advance notice! Since he was bent over the stove, she huffed at his back and returned to the lanai.

The Jamaican Blue Mountain decaf in its insulated carafe hit the spot; she nibbled on a small muffin and waited for Boynton. The wait wasn’t long enough to finish the muffin; Boynton brought a server with pan-fried fish and eggs for her.

Where’s yours? she asked as she began.

Finished, Mistress. Ms Meyer called a few minutes ago. She has made the appropriate arrangements for the prospective clients. They will arrive in Nassau late this evening, and the taxi will deliver them here tomorrow before noon. I agreed that would be excellent.

She nodded as she took another bite. This is wonderful, as usual. You continue to spoil me. I don’t think I’ve tasted this combination before, though.

Courtesy of Miss Angel. She has been assisting me… in a variety of ways.

Oh?

Indeed. Nothing that need concern you, however.

If you’re sure?

I am, Mistress. You know… you know I worry over Ralf and Ethian as I do you and Miss Angel. As if you were my own.

Beckie colored. That’s been pretty obvious. Okay. Keep on track, Beck. I did a little research on the new job before the clients arrive, but I’m sure you’ll have more detail.

He nodded. After you finish.

Beckie finished the plate and drank the end of her coffee. As she poured a fresh cup, Boynton escorted Angel through the slider, but she continued on to place Ethian in the playpen with Ralf.

As Angel took her seat, Beckie said, Thanks for the excellent assistance you’re giving Maurice in the kitchen.

Angel dipped her head, but Boynton snorted. Mistress Rebecca, for shame. I’ll not have you interrogating her. We work together. However… He laid an inch-thick folder beside her plate. To add to your studies, I collected a few news reports and the like on the Mexican drug cartels. Mr. Jamse suggested they might provide a backdrop for the del Río job.

She opened the folder and flipped through the top few pages. Cool! I can check what you have against what I found last night… though, gotta say, you went beyond where I did. She gave Angel a lopsided grin. "Looks like my evening’s accounted for. She closed the folder and gazed at Boynton again. Thanks. Since neither you nor Angel has a folder, I assume we’re not going to go through it, right?"

Boynton gave her his little smile and said, Correct.

And you’re sure you have nothing else to tell me? Her glare pinned Boynton first, and then Angel, who quailed momentarily, then straightened, her smile matching Boynton’s.

Nothing, Mistress. There is no critical need.

Her scowl wasn’t really meant for either one of them, she decided, more for herself, not being able to handle multiple balls at once. If you’re sure? She dragged it out, but Boynton was quick to respond.

I am sure. If events change my opinion, I will talk with Mister Jamse and yourself instantly.

You’re okay with waiting, too, Angel? Don’t want to lose you.

Miss Beckie, I am so-o-o happy here, I can’t tell you. Mister Maurice and I’ll talk; it’ll be fine.

Wish I knew what they’re thinking. Oh well. Good enough. I’ll take my folder off to a quiet corner, then, and get started. Angel’s expression pushed even happier. First, though, to get you up to speed⁠⁠—

No need, Mistress. She knows all I do.

Hmm. From what I found… and jump in if your work points in a different direction. I’d like to send… how about Kerry Byrne and… Tjaart Mulder might be a good pair. She paused; Boynton’s look… Who else is available? What’s Eduard doing? Eduard Wilmsted?

Boynton smiled somewhat more than he had. We were about to send Mr. Wilmsted to work with Sam in Syria; work on his hand-to-hand, according to Ms Rios. However, she also said he’s ready for action, as she put it.

Elena’s on that escort job, isn’t she?

Angel nodded as she said, For another week or so.

Beckie felt her brows float up. Okay, then. So, excellent! I’ll add Eduard, too. But I hav’ta talk with them. See if you can get all three over here later on. Say, for dinner? If they don’t have other plans.

I’ll check with them as soon as we’re done here.

That’s it for me. Either of you have more?

At dinnertime, Beckie stood at the door as Eduard came up the crushed shell walk; Kerry Byrne and Tjaart Mulder arrived together a minute behind. How did the shooting go? Ed asked when Kerry reached the porch.

Her resigned laugh caught Beckie’s attention. Pieter was beside himself at both Charlie and me. I finally relaxed enough to begin hitting the mark, and I got out to seven hundred meters before he had me switch back to my handgun. So I didn’t forget how that feels, he said.

How’d Charlie do? Beckie asked.

I’m not qualified to say, Kerry said, but I think he needs to relax. He seems way too tense. But Pieter would know better.

Beckie nodded as she waved them onto the lanai. Good she’s not judging her team members. I hope Charlie loosens up, if that is his problem. I like your new makeup, Kerry. Who’s the designer?

Around the white of the antiseptic ointment, Kerry’s china skin flushed red. We had a workout down on Tiny this morning, and I got some sand burn. I thought these guys did, too, but either they’re more stoic, or theirs are hidden.

Hidden, I assure you, Mrs. Jamse. Kerry gave every bit as good as she got, Tjaart said a little ruefully.

Kerry’s next question, Where’s Ian? effectively ended the small talk. He’s due back pretty soon, isn’t he?

I talked to him yesterday, Beckie said. He’s going to join us in New York Monday for Dylan’s graduation, then he’s off to Syria, touching base with Sam and his guys. But that’s not why we’re here.

Boynton rapped gently on the frame of the slider. Dinner is prepared.

Cool, Beckie said. Grab a seat at the table and I’ll fetch Angel.

When she returned, carrying Ralf and leading Angel who had Ethian in tow, Kerry had taken one side of the table with Tjaart and Eduard across.

Since setting up Ralf’s carrier didn’t take much thought, she considered her team while laying him down. Tjaart, early thirty’s, above average height, slightly⁠⁠—way taller than me!⁠⁠—and weight’s under control. His marks in hand-to-hand and firearms were both, not exceptional, but on the high side. This job’ll get him into the mainstream; should make him happy.

Eduard, a bit younger, was maybe three inches taller. And blond, almost as light as Ian. His experience in the Bundespolizei GSG 9 had focused on IEDs⁠⁠—safeing them⁠⁠—and marksmanship. She hoped the explosives wouldn’t be needed.

Kerry, the diminutive one, stood four feet, nine inches in her bare feet. Her Irish heritage shown in her auburn hair and white skin, freckles notwithstanding. Ever since Beckie had offered her a chance to redeem past mistakes, the girl had worked as hard as any of the trainees; she’d done a couple of small jobs successfully and Beckie wanted her to grow.

With Ralf laid down, she took her seat at the head of the table. Angel slipped back out when Ethian was down, but shortly returned with Boynton, the two of them bringing what smelled to Beckie a wonderful spicy dish. Jerk shrimp, Angel said. Not knowing everyone’s tastes, I cut the hot peppers in half. This… She placed a small bowl in the center of the table. … is full strength if anyone wants.

From his seat across from Angel, Boynton said, Begin, please.

Fifteen minutes later, there were empty plates and full smiles. Once the table’d been cleared, Beckie started the business course. "Ian provisionally agreed to take a contract yesterday to protect a twelve-year-old girl from enemies her father has made prosecuting a drug cartel in Sonora, Mexico. While there aren’t many details yet, I’d like to put you three in place even before we sign.

Their team will be here tomorrow for discussions and to sign the contract if everything pans out.

What happens if the contract’s not signed? Kerry asked.

"You get a brief vacation in Hermosillo. But since there’s a twelve-year-old girl at risk, I’m pretty motivated to find a way to make it work.

Eduard, your German passport’s okay? And Tjaart, your Bahamian passport’s arrived, right? They both nodded. Good. We won’t have to get either of you visas. Kerry, you’re okay too, right?

Yeah. I’ve got years to go on both of mine. So, what’s the deal?

Boynton sat forward and shuffled a small pile