Free Age of Voodoo by James Lovegrove

ask.”
    “What we need right now,” said Buckler, “is to go retrieve our gear. It’s come through under diplomatic seal and I guess it’s being held somewhere private off to the side. Maybe you can assist with that...?”
     
     
    I T WAS A test, of sorts. A way of establishing Lex’s bona fides and level of competence. He’d anticipated something like this, however, and had already identified a senior member of airport staff in the arrivals lounge. Within minutes he and the Americans were in a private room whose tinted windows afforded a good view of the runway and the mid-sized passenger jets parked in a row alongside the terminal building like piglets at the teat. Paperwork was checked and approved, dotted lines were signed on, and shortly each of the five Americans was in possession of a large canvas duffel bag whose contents clanked dully and heavily.
    “We’re booked in at the Cape Azure Hotel,” said Buckler to Lex. “Any good?”
    “Don’t expect Radisson standards and you’ll be fine.”
    “Website says it’s got five stars.”
    “Deduct one for exaggeration and another for this being Manzanilla.”
    Two of the Americans went in the Suzuki with Albertine and Wilberforce. The rest rode with Lex in the Subaru.
    “Guess I should introduce us properly,” said Buckler as Lex pulled out of the airport car park. “Lieutenant Buckler’s my full title, and they call us Team Thirteen. We’re a Navy SEAL platoon, only not quite.”
    “Not quite?”
    “Well, for one thing, there’s five of us in this boat crew. The average SEAL platoon’s sixteen strong—two officers, fourteen shooters. And for another thing...”
    “We do the jobs other SEAL teams don’t do,” Tartaglione chimed in.
    “Don’t or won’t?” said Lex.
    “Don’t, ’cause they wouldn’t know how to handle ’em.”
    “Right. Meaning dirty work.”
    “Hell, no. SEALs do dirty work all of the time. It’s what they’re there for.”
    “We do... stuff,” said Sampson. “It’s kinda hard to classify. ‘Grey ops’ is the official name for it.”
    Lex shrugged. “Still none the wiser. Is that black ops but a few shades paler?”
    “Put it this way, hoss,” said Buckler. “There’s shit out there in the world, and then there’s freaky shit. Me and my shooters get parachuted in to deal with the freaky shit.”
    “Oh. Okay,” said Lex.
    “More than that is need-to-know only. I’m told you have top-level clearance.”
    “I do.” Lex certainly used to, and it seemed it hadn’t yet been rescinded.
    “But unless or until you’re actually operational with us, you’re better off staying in the dark. Speaking of which. Those two civilians back there...” Buckler jerked a thumb in the direction of the Suzuki, behind them. “Pearce won’t say a word to ’em as a matter of course, and Hospitalman Morgenstern knows to keep her trap shut. But they can be relied upon to be discreet, yeah?”
    “I guarantee it.”
    “Good. Good for their sake, and for yours.”
    Lex was forming an impression of Lieutenant Buckler, and it was not a wholly positive one. He understood that the man had a job to do and wasn’t a Navy SEAL officer because of his impeccable social skills. Nonetheless, there was no excuse to go around treating people you’d only just met with a brusqueness bordering on contempt.
    Under normal circumstances Lex wouldn’t have stomached such an attitude from anyone. But two hundred grand bought a great deal of leeway. If Buckler wanted a dogsbody to boss around for a couple of days, at that price he could have one. Lex could swallow his pride.
    The René Smithson Highway, Manzanilla’s most impressive infrastructure project, petered out to become a narrow, badly asphalted road. Thirty bumpy, swerving minutes later, the two cars pulled in at the turning circle outside the Cape Azure. The hotel was a set of low buildings laid out haphazardly on a promontory—two-storey oblong blocks with seaward-facing