Free Age of Voodoo by James Lovegrove Page A

balconies and picture windows.
    As the SEALs checked in at the reception desk, Wilberforce and Albertine kept shooting quizzical looks at Lex: Who are these people? What’s your connection to them? Lex responded with an expression which he hoped said, I’ll explain later .
    “My guys are going to grab some sack time,” Buckler told Lex once the formalities at reception were through. “We’ve been in transit for the best part of thirty-six hours and our body clocks barely know what time of day it is. You and me, though, we should have words. Somewhere private.”
    “Of course,” said Lex. “I’ll just tell my friends they’re free to go.”
    “As a matter of fact, sport,” said Buckler, drawing Lex aside, “your friends might want to hang around. Morgenstern got chatting with them on the way over, and she figures at least one of them could be useful to us, more likely both.”
    “What? No.”
    “Morgenstern has a way of getting people to open up. Seems like there’s some talent there we might tap into.”
    “They’re civilians; your word. Whatever you’re here to do, it surely can’t involve noncombatants.”
    “It surely can if I deem it necessary.”
    “I won’t allow it.” Lex was incensed. This was outrageous. Buckler was overstepping the mark. He couldn’t go dragooning Wilberforce and Albertine into service just because they happened to be present and available. “If there are people with specialist skills you need, I can find them for you on the island, no problem. But I’m not having you exploit these two simply because they fit the bill. I don’t even see what good they’ll be to you. Wilberforce runs a bar. Albertine’s an IT expert. Unless you’re hankering for a cocktail or your laptop’s on the blink...”
    Buckler bent his head even closer to Lex’s, speaking quietly but with force. “Listen, Mr Dove. You are the hired help here. You know nothing. I have certain operational requirements which you cannot possibly understand, and I will employ any and all measures to ensure that they are met. You can either do what you’re being paid to do and comply with my wishes, or you can back off and get the fuck out of my way. Capiche?”
    “And you, Mr Buckler,” Lex replied, not the least bit cowed, “can get your face out of mine, or I will gladly rearrange your features, starting with that gleaming American dentistry of yours. Capiche?”
    Buckler didn’t blink. There was calculation in those snowy-grey eyes, a steady reassessment of the Englishman in front of him. Everyone else was looking on with curiosity and concern. The tension between Lex and Buckler crackled outwards, filling the space around them with an uneasy charge.
    “Let’s us take this outside,” Buckler said. “Discuss it where there’s no audience.”
    “Fine by me.”
    “You two.” This to Wilberforce and Albertine. “Mind waiting here a while?” Buckler thrust a fistful of Manzanillan dollars at them. “Have lunch on me. Mr Dove and I are heading out for a nice friendly stroll.”

 

    NINE
    A REASONED, GENTLEMANLY
    EXCHANGE OF VIEWS
     
     
    L EX WAS SIZING Buckler up physically as they exited the lobby, debating how easy—or not—it would be to take the American down. A Navy SEAL was the hardest of the hard in the US military, the soldier’s soldier. The training programme was second to none in its brutality and attrition rate. On average, four fifths of candidates flunked the initial eight gruelling weeks of instruction and exercise, which was designed to break a man down to the core and show him the true measure of himself. The rest were left with the belief that they were nigh on indestructible. Further training turned these graduates into killing machines with exceptional tactical and strategic sensibilities and an uncompromising, never-say-die ethic. Buckler would be a fearsome opponent in any form of combat, armed or hand-to-hand.
    That was all right, though. Lex was no slouch in the fighting