The 5th Amulet Page 11

  SIXTEEN

  Canopy Tower, Panama.

  Enzi’s contact brought his Leica Ultravid binoculars to bear on his target, gently altering the focus from his vantage point; he could see every detail in brilliant colour, despite the range. He would have told someone what he had seen, but today but only the owner was present; the usual throng of people absent from the observation deck ninety feet up in the tropical jungle canopy. He was observing the beautiful Blue Continga or Continga nattererii, the vibrant blue plumage matched the exterior walls of his accommodation.

  ‘You never told me how you got this place?’

  The owner sat down on the canvas chair, ‘The Canopy Tower is an old US radar station, built in 1965 by the United States Air Force to assist in the defence of the Panama Canal. It received a new assignment in 1988 when it was reactivated as part of the Caribbean Basin Radar network, used by the US government to detect airplanes suspected of drug smuggling.

  It was finally closed in June 1995, and then when control of the area was handed over to the Panama authorities, transformed into an observation platform.’ Standing in thirty-five acres of rainforest within Soberania National Park the aqua blue octagonal tower reached up over ninety feet into the canopy, topped by a gold geotangent dome.

  You know when I approached by helicopter, you can just see the top floor and observation deck with the central dome peeking from the jungle. A golden pearl in a leafy green sea.’

  Normally he would come here alone, anonymous, just an ornithologist, sitting up on the observation deck, looking down, rather than at ground level straining his neck. The variety of wildlife here stunned him, from howler monkeys greeting the dawn; to Blue-crowned Manakin, a true gem of a bird, to seven different species of humming bird. They were his favourite; he did not need binoculars to view them. The feeders placed on the tower meant he could just sit and watch them feed. The delicate constant vibration of their wings on the air, soothed his senses, entranced him.

  He had started his day walking down from Semaphore Hill just before dawn, the early morning light sparking a cacophony of calls from the resident Howler monkeys. Even though the monkeys were only a few feet tall, you would think they were the size of gorillas from the volume. He could not see all of the animals in the forest, but he knew he was walking amongst tapirs, anteaters, armadillos, ocelots and innumerable birds above. He had walked down the Old Gamboa road to Summit Gardens and observed Capped Heron fishing in the early light. Then he slowly walked back, seeing the helicopter he had sent to carry Enzi, arriving at the pad fifteen minutes away. He had hired the tower for two days; no other visitors were expected, or wanted. When Enzi’s party had arrived and been shown to their rooms, he had returned to the dining room, enjoying the extensive selection available for breakfast. The dining hall and library were on the third floor, just below the observation deck, a polished wooden floor allowing reflecting light from the panoramic windows. The wrap-around sofa just off centre was an excellent reading spot, and Enzi’s contact was brushing up from the carefully selected library on rare birds. As usual, despite the environment Enzi was dressed in an immaculate suit, as were his four associates. Mr Jones and Mr Smith were edgy, indicating to their subordinates to inspect the area.

  ‘There is no need for a security sweep, my men have already conducted one, and we are quite isolated from the outside world.’

  Enzi waved them to take the bags to the rooms, dismissing them all, even a hesitant Mr Jones. Enzi walked over to the sofa, glancing out at the jungle trees at eye level, ‘Well General Mastasson, you have selected a fine location, it is truly idyllic.’

  ‘Thank you Enzi, now can you tell me what the bloody hell is going on!’

  Archer had arrived in Panama some hours before Enzi’s party; their delay at airport security was beneficial. He did not have the meeting place, but after checking with local helicopter charters, he found out only one aligned with his arrival time and number in party. Archer needed to get to this rendezvous, but without using air transport, the location remote, and he may be observed arriving. He left Tocumen International by taxi, heading for somewhere he could hire a motorbike, something cheap but effective off-road. He collected it and made for a warehouse near the railroad station, an old contact with hidden assets.

  His friend had security on the door, a large tanned man with a shaved head, more tattoos showing on his forearms than skin, hesitant to allow an American access. Archer called out, ‘Benito, do you want me to tell your friend here, how you really got that scar on your stomach?’ After a short pause and a few heavy running footsteps, Benito arrived slightly breathless. With a glance outside from habit, Benito gestured to the office in the back, a brick building with windows on two sides, and one open door. The warehouse was filled with a variety of pallets, machine parts, DVD players, motorbikes and a small plane, partially disassembled in a corner.

  Archer sat down on a comfortable leather armchair, the smell of Cuban tobacco lingering. Benito came in, sat down, and recovered his cigar from the ashtray, then realised, ‘Do you want one Archer, best Fidel has to offer?’

  ‘No thanks Benito, could you put that thing out, polluting the place.’

  ‘I don’t know, you never call or write, come into my place, don’t want cigars.’

  Archer’s face broke into a broad smile, something he had not had cause to do since meeting Khan some days before. ‘I am sorry to be abrupt, but I need some supplies.’

  ‘And I suppose payment will not be forthcoming?’

  ‘Do you take credit cards?’

  ‘My friend do I look like I trust banks? What do you need, and how soon?’

  ‘I need a sniper rifle, ammunition and in about the next five minutes please.’

  ‘You do not want much, as always; I think I may have just the thing.’

  Benito hauled his sizable bulk from the chair, short legs straining under his oversize stomach, too many good meals from his mother, and fifteen years without exercise. He waddled over to the centre of the warehouse, lifted up a wooden pallet, underneath it a keypad in the centre of a steel trapdoor. ‘This is my Aladdin’s cave.’

  He keyed in the code, and the hatch opened, internal lights revealing steps to the space below. Inside displayed a fine array of weapons, machine guns, pistols, sniper rifles, rockets, enough weapons to supply a small country rebellion.

  ‘Well Benito, you have remodelled since I last visited.’

  ‘My friend you have to impress the clients, cutthroat market.’

  Benito scratched his stubble encased chin, knowing better than to ask Archers intent. Archer saw what he wanted, ‘I will take that one please Benito.’

  ‘Good choice my friend, a Barrett XM 109 Sniper rifle. This is a beautiful piece of work, got them last year, US Army issue. Short recoil only thirty-three pounds in weight, twenty-five millimetre ammunition in five round magazine containing high explosive dual-purpose ammunition. You can blow holes in nearly inch and a-half armour plating. Range in the right hands, like yours, up to two and a half kilometres.’

  Archer picked up the weapon from its rack, less than four feet long, a muzzle suppressor to hide the flash, ‘Is that a BORS scope?’

  ‘Yes, the mark two with integrated range finder, just enter the ammunition type on the keypad, it works out barometric pressure, range, wind and you just point and shoot.’

  ‘It is a little harder than that Benito.’

  ‘I know, but I am trying to sell this to you, course that would mean you were paying, so whatever.’

  Within ten minutes Archer had bagged the rifle, ammunition and some other essentials, and was off up the road heading past abandoned Fort Clayton, keeping the Panama Canal in sight off to his left. From Benito’s warehouse to near Canopy Tower was just ten miles.

  He hid his bike off Old Gamboa Road North, just up from Summit Gardens, ventured into the forest for a good vantage point, a large tree would be ideal. He was spoilt for choice but one tree took his eye. An Espave, with
a large base over three metres across it looked like an elephant was standing with all its legs together balancing. The thick trunk led up to the extensive canopy over one hundred feet above. Archer walked around the side away from the path and began to climb. He was careful not to break branches giving away his position. He reached the top, just above the canopy, attached his rope to the top and fixed a clip to his harness. He wedged himself in the junction of three branches, the fingers of timber held him in place. He could see the gold dome just under a kilometre away, his scope showed him more, chairs up on the observation deck, but he could not see inside the tower, too many reflections off the windows. He checked his position near the top of the tree, he could fire, and then abseil down to the base, double time to his bike and be back on the road before anyone could get there. The muzzle suppressor and density of the canopy would reduce any flash from his weapon, even if he had to take two shots, which he doubted. At this range he could easily take out his intended target, there was no wind and rain, and unlike Afghanistan, no sand and dust. He checked his kit and got comfortable, relaxing into his harness for support.

  Enzi enjoyed the sumptuous breakfast presented on the table in the centre of the dining room, his associates dug in, much less formal and polite in their eating style. Enzi settled down next to his contact in the library, the older man still engrossed in his book. Enzi chose not to interrupt him, instead checking his email. Enzi and The General moved onto the roof, to enjoy the fresh air, and talk unmonitored. His team back at their designated posts.

  Archer saw movement on the roof, a suited black man, the distinctive Chui Enzi. He brought his rifle to bear, adjusting the sight, and inputting the information for the BORS scope to calculate. He focused. Enzi’s chest and head clearly in the sight, Archer’s finger over the trigger, paused. He moved to fire, braced the stock of the rifle against his shoulder, just beginning to apply pressure to the trigger. A blur came across his line of sight. He could not focus on the object, a bird? He adjusted his weapon to check his field of fire; a second man had walked onto the deck. He could not see his face, he was standing looking away to the canal entrance, and then he turned to face Enzi.

  ‘My dear Enzi, you and I have a lot to discuss, and I need to inform you of the next stage of our plan.’

  Enzi was attentive and smiling, but not for much longer, ‘And I need to know how you have been so incompetent!’

  Enzi was taken aback, and stood to address his contact at eye level, increase his hostility towards him.

  ‘I have done everything you have asked General!’

  Enzi was furious, staring straight at The General. ‘You cannot order me! I do not obey a President, so why should I obey a mercenary, a paid assassin!’

  ‘I am a paid assassin? What do you think you are? A saint?’

  Archer levelled his weapon, preparing to fire. Then he thought he heard his name echo across the jungle.

  ‘Enzi you could not even keep hold of Archer Mathias!’

  It was The General’s voice, had he been involved from the start? Despite his instinct Archer decided that killing these men would not be beneficial, although extremely tempting. He needed to hear the rest of the conversation, but had not brought any surveillance equipment. He shouldered his weapon and abseiled down to the base of the tree, rapidly checked the contents of his bag. He found something that might work, but he was too far away, needed to get closer.

  Enzi sat down, The General doing the same, neither breaking eye contact. They both took coffee from the table in between the chairs, and paused.

  ‘Look Enzi, Chui, this situation is recoverable. Just you need to trust me.’

  Enzi was hesitant, he had trusted no one since he was ten years old, if he could convince The General that he was being trusted, he could dispose of him later. ‘Alright, from now on we follow your plan, what do I need to tell you?’

  ‘I need to know exactly what you have done, and who has been in contact with you regarding the Bow of Yi and the Ten Suns.’

  Archer was running through the semi deciduous forest, following a trail that was created by the Spaniards moving Inca Gold to the coast. The Spanish had used mules to move the gold and other artefacts, and even after four hundred years some of the stones they laid to prevent the trail washing away were still visible. Archer’s boots slapped the surface of the stones. He needed to be at an uncomfortable ten metres from the tower. He slowed down, checked for any sentries, saw none, but knowing they would be in the vicinity.

  He moved up the Espave nearby, not as impressive as the previous one, but still substantial, using the last of his rope to ascend, then pulling the surplus up with him. He got to within a few metres of the top and could see the tower, he was on the edge of the forest, and would be visible from the right angle, even at the rear of the structure. He began to assemble his improvised listening device, checking below periodically, his handgun suppressed ready for any visitors.

  Enzi informed The General of the events in Mabalia, Khan’s appearance and subsequent torture and murder, obtaining no information. The General listened attentively, not interrupting to ensure he got all the information he required. After more coffee The General responded, ‘Enzi I have never agreed with all your methods, but I can appreciate that you used the limited talents you have acquired. Now I have the information on the artefacts, how many there are and their current locations, I have plans to acquire all of them shortly. However I cannot use Unit Zero 3 operatives to retrieve them, as I do not want my head of operations or anyone else knowing. I already suspect that Khan was sent by someone from within my organisation, but I have no more information at present. This is for our benefit, and I am concerned that should the United States government discover my intentions, they will ensure I am killed correctly.’

  Archer had completed his surveillance kit, he was unsure if it would work, but had no other choice. He used his Sony phone to take pictures of Enzi and The General together, the clarity effective enough for a positive identification. He could not make a call; a local signal jammer was stopping all cellphone activity, but not all frequencies.

  Enzi could hear a buzzing sound, ‘Do you hear that noise?’ Mastasson paused trying to focus on Enzi’s concern, ‘It’s a humming bird, or more likely a few of them, there are feeders here for them, I will show you later.’

  The humming bird belonged to Archer, and it was landing to the side of the gold dome, aligned with the two men. The small remote controlled helicopter barely a foot long that Archer had been given by Benito for fun was designed for flying inside. He had dismantled his Bluetooth headset taking off the carefully styled cover, leaving just the few grams of components reducing the weight. This skeleton of electronics was strapped to the belly with the microphone taped across the helicopter’s nose, making it difficult to fly, but manageable. Upon landing he had selected voice record and the headset should now be transmitting the conversation to the phone, and storing it. The Bluetooth bypassing the signal specific jammer. He estimated that he had about ten or maybe fifteen minutes before the memory card filled up, it was only a burn phone. Archer could not hear the conversation, his position masking him from sight, but also out of earshot, he just had to wait, record, then review the information.

  ‘Chui the next phase is to acquire the artefacts and then determine their use, how they give us access to the Bow of Yi as mentioned in the parchment.’

  ‘Agreed, you already have one that I acquired in Washington, I presume back on Isla Joya Verde, where are the others?’

  ‘One is with Jacob Mathias who is travelling to Ecuador with it. The other is in a wreck in the Ecuador jungle. I have someone who will acquire it shortly.’

  ‘Which just leaves the fourth which is in the possession of another group.’

  Archer had filled the memory on his phone, he was debating to listen now, but was concerned that he would not hear anyone approaching wearing the necessary headphones. He changed the memory card in his phone and recorded a second session.


  ‘So that is when you attack Chui, but use your men, or hire some locals, you have the funds available?’

  ‘Yes, President Uncotto has been most generous, when he is implicated in obtaining this device.’

  ‘And you are clear what action to take regarding the camp occupants?’

  ‘Yes, quite clear.’

  ‘Well with our business concluded, I think you should relax for a while here, brief your men later.’ The General was about to go down the staircase to the dining hall below, and saw the helicopter on the roof. He walked over, bent down, and looked over it, the Bluetooth earpiece blinking regularly.

  He walked back to Enzi, whispering in his ear, and then used a radio.

  Archer had missed some of the conversation but seeing The General on a radio now, he did not need to hear what was said. He was compromised. The guards below were agitated, moving around the base of the tower, weapons drawn. He could descend the tree easily, but a guard was just below the tree and would hear him. He could shoot him from his position, but the others could not be seen with the jungle around him. With his gear already packed he descended the rope head first, using his feet to brake and moved just above the stationary guard. From just eight feet above he could neither see nor hear anyone else, he eased down, grabbed the guard, pulling him off the ground. Within moments the guard was dead, a well-practised grip snapped his neck. Archer descended the rest of the way, and tied the body in the rope, hoisting him up twenty feet out of sight.

  The General made his way down the stairs to ground level, weapon drawn. He demanded information from his radio. His guards reported no one in the area, the staff of the Tower had been confined to the ground floor.

  Archer was moving swiftly, the local Howler monkeys had started to wail, then a rumble of thunder in the distance increased their volume. The approaching storm and the vocal monkeys covered the increased noise as Archer rushed through the undergrowth, leaf litter and twigs scattered in his wake. He found the trail at the bottom of Semaphore Hill, going left to retrieve his motorbike. He drew his HK 23. Smith had ventured onto the road, and he had no time to navigate around him. The suppressor masked the sound of a double tap to the head. The large torturer dropped to the ground fifty feet away, parts of his skull blown onto the road behind him. Having policed his brass, Archer grabbed him and rolled him in the shrubs at the side of the road, no time to clean up. Smith did not deserve the respect.