*
‘I do not think we should be docking at this port,’ said Titov, the new captain of the Zopez. ‘It is very dangerous. And I am not talking about currents or reefs.’
Mas was glad to hear the concern in her voice. It sounded just about right. She had made a down payment on the crew’s services that she had hoped was enough to keep them interested in their work while still retaining enough money in the pot to keep them interested in success - and it took a lot to keep her interested in a lousy job like this. She had learnt early on in her life within the harsh Congolese badlands that it was the lower, weaker creatures in the food chain that relied so much upon camouflage and deception for their survival. In so called civilisation, there weren’t many creatures able to evolve beyond that point. Jungles were better than banks to try. But the problem was jungles were getting smaller and towns like San Paul were getting larger.
Mas gazed out across the port, less than a kilometre away now. A few lights had already come on, even though the night was still an hour away. The boats moored to the piers remained inactive. Illegal fishing was best done at night when the fish were biting and the police were not. For many of the boats, old and rusty, it seemed like the piers were holding them up; the houses lining the foreshore weren’t in much better shape, their fronts filthy and dilapidated. Mas, however, was not fooled by appearances: there was profit enough in illegal fishing and no doubt beyond the closed doors and shuttered windows there would be good living and the weapons to protect it.
‘Dock there,’ said Mas, pointing to a free berth at the end of one of the piers.
Titov hesitated. ‘If we are simply here for provisions, there are other ports in Guatemala that I’d recommend over this one. The cops here are particularly hard on strangers; they have to be, for they have been paid off so handsomely by the locals.’
‘I am meeting someone here so there is no going around it. But I am happy for you to stay aboard.’
‘You had better take your bird then. You might find there is some unfriendly pointing your way in this town.’
Mas nodded. ‘I will take my eagle.’
Titov hurried from their position at the port side bow to take control of the bridge. Mas meanwhile set about climbing the vessels lookout tower, which, owing to the boat’s illicit line of work, was particularly high. It provided an expansive view over the town and she took it in with a hunter’s eye. The town did not occupy a large area of land and yet all the dwellings were squashed together as though engaged in a competition to push each other over. Beyond the town was grassland for as far as the eye could see - a buffer from the killer fireflies, which once had terrorised these parts. It left Mas feeling uncomfortably exposed, for there was no cover of trees should something go wrong. She gazed down at the boat beneath her and found no comfort there either. The Zopez was an old, creaking cargo boat that had been lucky to make it through the black market without being sold for scrap. At least the missile she had set up on the lookout tower platform packed a punch. Mas tested the missile launcher’s purchase on the platform and once satisfied held out her arm and Zelda promptly landed upon it.
‘Where have you been?’ Mas queried, feeding her some worms from out of her pocket. ‘I suppose as soon as we are in sight of land, you are up circling the sky, looking for prey. In this town I do not think you will be disappointed.’