Santa Marta Hotel

By Phil McNulty

Gabriel Magee, ex army and British Secret Services, heads to an idyllic island for well earned R and R. He is immediately embroiled in the corruption and violence of the island and uses his military and security training to tackle a mass of problems on behalf of his old military friend, Roger Kirk, who owns the Santa Marta Hotel.
The powerful and dangerous Gomez-Gomez, the Mayor, is his nemesis in all aspects of the story- drugs, gangsterism, grand theft, prostitution, extortion and extreme violence. There are lighter moments, not least through his involvement with the attractive and charming local interpreter, assigned to assist him.
Throughout, nothing is as it seems.

• Language: English
• Publisher: SeaQuake Books
• Release date: Nov 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005722166

Book preview

Santa Marta

Hotel

Published by SeaQuake Books

Copyright 2022. Phil McNulty

ISBN: 9781005722166

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Santa Marta Hotel

DAY 1

The small ferry picked its’ way between the white planked open fishing boats and towards the Santa Marta quayside. The Mediterranean was flat and blue and there had been barely a ripple on the crossing from the mainland. Gabriel, standing in the bows, looked towards the harbour with its hanging nets and seafront cafes. Beyond that, the small town rose up in a mix of terracotta roofs and multi coloured rendered walls. The sun shone, the sky was cloudless. It looked idyllic.

And, with any luck, this short holiday may turn into a real getaway. An escape from the past. Gabriel fully intended to relax, keep a low profile and hold his peace about his recent work for Her Majesty’s Government.

The boat eased against wooden stanchions, ropes were thrown, gangplanks lowered and the gaggle of passengers filed onto the stone flagged harbour wall. Gabriel had already spotted the squat, moustached, nervous man beside the battered Fiat. He placed his luggage on the pavement and waited for an approach.

‘Hola amigo. Senor Magee?’ Said the man.

‘Si.’

‘Mi nombre es Josef. Habla Espanol? Do you speak Spanish?’

‘A little.’ Said Gabriel.

‘No es un problema,’ said the man. ‘My English estupendo. Senor Roger, he send me to get you. I take you his hotel.’

At that he picked up Gabriel’s bags and took them to the Fiat.

Gabriel sat in the back and didn’t speak on the journey. Reticence had become a habit. It was thoughtful of Roger to send the car, but he was that kind of person. Roger Kirk. Good soldier. Popular with the men and one of Gabriel’s oldest friends. It was no real surprise that he had moved into the hospitality business upon leaving the army. He had all the skills for the job and the ebullient personality guests might expect.

Away from the harbour the small houses were clustered for shade. Typically shuttered on the ground floor with balconies above. Here and there, a single pavement table indicated a small café or bar. Josef steered the Fiat through the narrow streets of the old town with lazy abandon.

They climbed steeply in low gear and emerged into an area of typical Mediterranean scrubland. There were occasional palm trees and even pine, in sheltered depressions amongst the stunted bushes, and Gabriel noticed rectangles of ground given over to groves of wizened olives.

Roger’s letter had come as a surprise. In truth they had not been in regular contact in the last couple of years. Gabriel knew that his friend had worked for a number of European chains but this venture in Santa Marta was completely independent. He must be ploughing all his funds into it. The invitation to look over the place and have a relaxing break came at exactly the right time. Roger sounded pleased with himself. It would be great to see him again.

To the west of the town, the land dropped steeply to the sea, which sparkled at the edge of an area of sandy beach. Josef had avoided the coastal road, clearly visible beneath them, and their route skirted the higher ground before dropping down behind the hotel. The Fiat trundled past the service entrance at the rear and deposited Gabriel at the marble steps to the elegant façade.

Ten minutes later, cold beers in hand, Roger and Gabriel were on the first floor terrace overlooking the beach and the sea. There was the familiar banter of ex soldiers- reminiscing over lost friends, memories of R and R in Cyprus and women they’d known.

They were a similar age, mid forties, but at five feet ten Roger was a little shorter than Gabriel. He was also stockier, perhaps even corpulent. His fair hair, worn short, was thinning and was flecked with grey.

‘So, how’s the consultancy business?’ he said.

‘Oh, it ticks over.’ Said Gabriel.

He had to be guarded. He couldn’t reveal that it was over a year since he had worked in the security industry, nor how complex and chaotic his life had been since then. From his point of view, his involvement with British State Security had been a very bad experience indeed and still affected his outlook. He had lost his girlfriend, had less contact with his grown up children and felt paranoia over being drawn back into the deep state apparatuses that had nearly cost him his life. He was very glad to be away from the UK. Rest and relaxation were what he needed and, with any luck, Santa Marta may turn out to be just the bolt-hole he was looking for.

‘It looks like you’re doing very well for yourself anyway.’ He said, gesturing along the terrace at the well-dressed holidaymakers, relaxing on their wicker chairs, under sun shades.

Roger became serious. He put down his drink and looked at Gabriel very directly.

‘All my money’s in this place,’ he said. ‘It was a wreck when I took it over and everything you see I’ve had to pay for. Sure, on the surface it appears successful, but I’m having problems. That’s partly the reason I invited you over here. Just to pick your brains really. I’m good at running hotels but you can see beneath things. You’re a trouble-shooter. That’s what you do.’

‘How do you know you can afford me?’ said Gabriel.

‘What! A free holiday, all the beer you can drink, fishing trips on the Med and the company of my beautiful lady friends! All for a few sentences of advice. I think I can afford it.’

They both laughed and Roger summoned more drinks.

‘Okay,’ said Gabriel, ‘what is it Roger Kirk can’t sort out for himself?’

Roger breathed heavily as though on the cusp of a bad tale.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘when we first opened it was fantastic. The place was full of locals wanting a night out in an up market venue. The restaurants and bars were busy, we had functions booked, people came just to hang out in a smart place and we had a lot of independent tourist bookings. For a few months we were riding a wave, then, around the time of the official opening, things started to go wrong.’

‘What happened,’ said Gabriel.

‘Well, I won’t hide anything,’ said Roger, ‘we’ve had threats. It’s all familiar stuff about protection, sending guys in to ‘steam’ the place, cause trouble, upset the staff and customers. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before, but, here, I’m struggling to get a grip.’

‘Why’s that?’ said Gabriel. ‘I’d have put money on you being able to sort anything out. And anyone,’ he added with a smile.

Roger laughed. ‘Maybe I’m just getting too old or maybe there’s just too much of me,’ he said, patting his stomach. ‘The truth is that there are so many problems it’s hard to know where to start. As I said, we’ve had threats. I know who it is, a local gangster called Bernardo, but it’s impossible to pin it on him. The staff feel intimidated. Several of my barmen have been attacked and I can’t get locals to operate properly as doormen. Two of my chamber-maids have disappeared, deliveries have become hopelessly unreliable, we’ve got all sorts of problems with cleanliness on our lower terrace, by the beach and to cap all that, on Opening Night, the Mayor’s Merc was stolen from right outside and hasn’t been recovered. On an Island of this size! We’re only about six miles across in any direction. If it carries on like this I can see myself closing.’

‘Wow!’ Said Gabriel. ‘I think this is definitely a three beer problem don’t you.’

Rodger laughed. ‘Maybe more than that,’ he said.

………………………………………………………………………………………

That evening, they dined on Argentine steaks with Greek salad and vino tinto from local vines- dark and heavy with a touch of vanilla. A pianist played lounge jazz which syncopated behind the general buzz of conversation from the other diners. They had a table by the window and Gabriel felt relaxed looking out over the darkening sea, illuminated by the hotel lights and the small orb of the moon.

‘Looks like a good crowd,’ he said, scanning the room. ‘Everyone appears to be enjoying themselves.’

‘So far so good,’ said Rodger. ‘We have some good days and some bad.’ He paused. ‘Look mate,’ he said, ‘I’m sorry to have got you here under false pretences. You’re on holiday right. Let’s just keep it that way and you enjoy yourself.’

Gabriel laughed. ‘Oh I can do that now can’t I,’ he said. ‘When a pal needs a bit of support. Let’s just keep to the agreement shall we. I’m going to have a great holiday and, at the end of it you’ll get….how did you describe it…a few sentences of advice. There is one