04.5 The Wolf Pack

The grass was green and the leaves too, greener than green. Tony Yunis was tied to a chair and placed in the morning sun. Blindfold removed. A patch of lawn with trees around under a very blue sky. Armed guards posed in the distance. Then he saw a car moving slowly up the driveway. He could only see one half of the bonnet and headlight, silver plated and a brilliant blue. It stopped, an S-Class Mercedes-Benz. Chauffeur got out and opened the rear door. A Schutzstaffel in black outfit and peak cap stepped out. A red armband on his sleeve kicked Yunis in the gut – The Wolf Pack.

This officer advanced holding a swank with a golden wolf on one end of the cane. Two junior officers followed.

“Good Morning! Mr Yunis,” he reached, “My name is Lobo Gris. I did not come to ask what you want and who you are. We know you work for the CIA.”

Tony Yunis interrupted, “I do not work for anybody. I am freelance.”

“Freelance!” he ridiculed, “You can fake it, forge a passport, travel in a different name or enter mysteriously but don’t lie to me. You have a larger-than-life profile on you. There is no escape.

“I am here to tell what I want you to do. Your friend is dead. Borys Jasinski is dead,” he disclosed, “Aren’t you interested to know how he died?”

“You killed him!” uttered Yunis giving a jerk on his shoulder.

“Yes, it did. He took a bullet in his back while trying to escape with you.”

“Oh shit! You want me to take the body! I will not do it!” exclaimed Yunis.

“If you want your life. Otherwise, you too take a bullet in the back. And we’ll return the bodies to the concerned emissaries.”

“You come up with sick ideas.”

Lobo Gris waved and a guard brought a flat briefcase.

“Open!” Lobo Gris continued, “You find here a hundred thousand beautiful American dollars. No scratch, no forgery, no laundering. In hundred-dollar bills. This and the body, you take them on a vessel and cross the River Plate to Colonia where you came from.” It contained ten straps packed in clear plastic.

“I cannot cross the sea,” cried Yunis, “I am not a navigator.”

“Fifty kilometres due east. You can see the skyline on a sunny day like this. You’ll see the ferries a kilometre at sea. Besides, there is no way you will miss Uruguay.”

“What if I disagree?”

“Mr Yunis, this a very generous offer. If you can’t make it, you can still save the money in waterproof packing. If you head course that way, you save your skin. If you turn back, your ship will sink.”

“I don’t have an option, do I?”

“No.”

“And you expect me to tell them that he died while trying to escape?”

“Is there any other explanation?”

“Oh crap! I bet he has already taken the bullet,” supposed Tony Yunis.

“Are you going to take it or leave it!”

“Of course, I will take it.”

“Good,” nodded Lobo Gris.

“Where am I?”

“Don’t bother about that.” He waved to the guards, “Show him to the boat!”

Tony Yunis was untied and taken to the seaside through the verdure. A motorised boat of mahogany wood was moored along the pier. The body was already in it covered with a tarp. He climbed on and the guards passed him the briefcase. They gave instruction how to head course – follow the pilot.

Half an hour out at sea, he had no fear. The horizon clear to catch the Uruguayan skyline. He was thinking how to carry the case into the country. Sink it in water!