Destroyer 130: Waste Not, Want Not by Warren Murphy & Richard Sapir

Author:Warren Murphy & Richard Sapir
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

Remo had collected his shoes and threw a handful of money at the captain of his rented boat. Leaving the skipper to pilot his way back alone, he rejoined Petrovina on the Russian agent's trawler.

Even more scows had joined the garbage armada since Remo left shore. With Petrovina at the helm, the beat-up little boat had a tough time winding its way through the Caribbean maze of garbage scows on the long way to land. The sun was riding low in the sky by the time they puttered up to a private pier along the Mayanan fishing coast.

Houses that looked picturesque on puzzle boxes but were just squalid in real life slumped up the lush hills. Even away from the harbor, the air was ripe. Overloaded barges waited their turn in a line that stretched up the shore.

Remo had walked the five miles from town. They took Petrovina's car back to the center of New Briton.

The two of them were staying in the same hotel, Petrovina four floors down from Remo. The hotel was on the trash route from the bay. All day long massively loaded trucks rolled by, shaking the walls and littering the streets with trailing bits of trash. Petrovina had to wait for two flatbeds to pass by before she could turn into the hotel parking lot.

The car's air-conditioning had filtered out some of the smell. As they stepped into the humid dusk, the odor assaulted them anew. On their way into the hotel from the parking lot they made arrangements to meet after dinner.

"I will come to your room," Petrovina said. While she went to the desk to check her messages, Remo headed for the elevator.

He was pressing the button for the eighth floor when a small group of men hustled onto the car. Most of the men looked like they had pieced their outfits together from the Goodwill bin. Two wore suits with sandals. But at the center of the crowd was a roly-poly little man, well dressed except for a straw Panama hat that didn't quite coordinate with the rest of his outfit.

When Remo glanced at the man's face, he realized with a smile why he was wearing the mismatched hat.

NICOLAI GARBEGTROV was frowning as the elevator doors closed. When he saw his reflection in the silver doors, he took quick inventory, as he always did these days. He tugged gently on the brim of his hat, making certain the offending pro-American tattoo that had mysteriously appeared on his head was completely covered. Satisfied that none of the disfigurement was showing, he let loose a soft grunt.

The former Soviet leader glanced around the car. Garbegtrov noted the thin man who was not part of his entourage standing in the back of the elevator. The man seemed to be smiling at some private joke. In his T-shirt and chinos he didn't look like a visiting diplomat. Probably a member of the Green Earth rank and file. The ex-head of the Soviet empire stuck out a pudgy hand.

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