“That is a shame, but a common drawback to life in Africa. Governments come, and governments go. The only thing that’s constant is conflict.”
“A more accurate statement has never been spoken.”
Kotto smiled. “Tell me, Edwin, where have you been hiding? I thought maybe you were getting cold feet about our recent operation.”
“Not at all. I couldn’t be happier with our partnership. The truth is I had some last-minute family business to attend to in London, and I honestly didn’t want to call you from there. I never trust those bloody hotels. You can never tell who’s listening.”
After a few minutes of small talk, Kotto steered the conversation to business. “I was wondering what you thought of the last shipment of snow you received. Was it to your liking?”
“Snow? Is that what we’re calling it now? I like the sound of that.”
“I’m glad. I felt we needed a code name for the merchandise, and I hate the term they use in South America.”
“You’re right. Snow is so much simpler to say than cargo blanco.”
“Exactly. And since both of us speak English, I figured an English word was appropriate.”
“Why not something Nigerian? Couldn’t you come up with something colorful from your native tongue?”
Kotto laughed loudly. He always got a kick out of the white man’s unfamiliarity with Africa. “Edwin, I did come up with a word from my native tongue. English is the official language of Nigeria.”
“Really? I didn’t know that. I’m sorry if I offended you.”
“It’s all right. I’m used to your ignorance by now,” Kotto teased. “But I hope you realize I don’t walk the streets of Lagos in a loincloth while carrying my favorite spear.”
Drake couldn’t tell if his friend was lecturing or joking until he heard Kotto laugh. “Hannibal, I must admit you had me going for a while. I thought I hit a nerve.”
“Not at all. I just thought a moment of levity was in order before we continued our business.”
“Yes, it was rather pleasant. Thank you.”
“So, what did you think of your last shipment of snow? Did it meet the expectations of your buyers?”
“In some ways yes, and in some ways no.”
Kotto frowned. It wasn’t the answer he was hoping for. “What do you think needs to be improved?”
“Honestly, the overall quality. I think my buyers were hoping for something better than the street product that I sold them. They wanted something purer. You know, upper-class snow.”
“Well,” he replied, “the last batch was just a trial run. From what I understand, the next shipment we receive will be the best yet.”
CHAPTER 7
WITH such a diverse group-an equal mix of young and old, male and female-there appeared to be no link between the prisoners of the Plantation. But Harris Jackson knew that wasn’t the case. He knew the reason that these people had been pulled from their lives and brought to this island. He understood why they were being humiliated, abused, and tortured. And he relished the fact that they were stripped of their homes, their possessions, and their pride. All of it made sense, and he was going to enjoy his authority over them for as long as it lasted.
In the flickering firelight, Jackson stared at the seventeen people in front of him and savored how each of them was shaking, literally trembling with fear. God, how he loved that! It made him feel indestructible. “Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Master Jackson, and my job on this island is leader of the guards. When you address me, you shall use the name Master Jackson or sir. Nothing else is acceptable. Nothing else will be tolerated.”
Under his black hood, he smiled. When he’d worked as a lawyer during his short-lived legal career, he loved addressing the jury-trying to get them to listen, hoping to catch their eye, convincing them to believe-and for some reason, his orientation speech made him think back to his days in the courtroom. The days before his disbarment.
“As you can probably tell, none of you were given an opportunity to change your clothes after you received your invitation to the Plantation. Some of you are filthy, and some of you are clean. A few of you are dressed warmly, and others are not.” He stared at Susan Ross, a sixteen-year-old who’d been abducted from a community pool in Florida, and appreciated the way her teenage body looked in her bikini. He made a mental note to pay her a visit later. “In an attempt to make everybody equal, I’d like each of you to disrobe.”
Despite his command, nobody moved. They just stared straight ahead in absolute shock.
Like Holmes before him, Jackson shook his head in disappointment. “What a shame! I assumed that each of you had a pretty good understanding of your situation by now. I figured the Ginsu display from earlier was going to keep you in line for the rest of your visit.” Jackson shrugged his broad shoulders as he walked toward the prisoners. “I guess I was wrong.”
Jackson stopped in front of Susan, his six-foot frame towering above her. “I’m looking for a volunteer,” he roared in the voice of a drill sergeant. “And I think you will do nicely.”
Despite her cries of protest, he lifted her half-naked, 110-pound body over his shoulder and carried her toward the chopping block. Two guards offered to assist him, but he quickly ordered them to stay back. He was enjoying himself far too much to let them share in the fun. When he reached the wooden cube, he set her gently on the ground, then put her in a stranglehold so she couldn’t run away.
“What do you want from me?” she cried through the cloth of her white hood.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” he whispered into her left ear. “And I must admit I’m looking forward to it.” He pushed his groin against the small of her lower back, and she immediately felt his excitement start to grow. “Can you feel how hard I am? That’s because of you, you know. All because of you.”
Susan tried squirming free of his grip, but Jackson was simply too strong for her. As she tried to pull away, he laughed at her feeble attempts.
“Are you done?” he asked in a civil tone.
After one more try, she nodded her head.
“Good, because I’m dying to begin.”
Like a tarantula, Jackson’s black fingers crawled down her nubile flesh, gradually creeping across her firm stomach, then sliding under her bathing suit. “Do you like my magic fingers?” he whispered. “Do you like when I touch you?”
Before she could respond, he lifted her off the ground and forced her to stand on the bloody chopping block. Within seconds, her bare feet were coated with the red fluid that had gushed from Paul Metz’s finger.
“As I told you a moment ago, I would like each of you to take off your clothes. Apparently, you’re not as threatened by me as you were by Master Holmes. Now, because of your ignorance, this young girl has to suffer.”
“Please don’t hurt me,” she sobbed. “I was being good. I didn’t do anything wrong. I was being good.”
With a mischievous smile, he placed his dark hand on the back of her leg and slowly, sexually, stroked her inner thigh. “I know, my dear, but it’s not my doing. You should fault your fellow inmates for ignoring my instructions. They’re more to blame than I.” His hand crept higher and higher on her smooth leg until it stopped on her ass. “Remember, I’m not to blame for this. Bear me no ill will.”
Taking his stiletto from the folds of his cloak, Jackson slowly raised the blade behind the unsuspecting female, inching it toward his target. The sharp steel glistened in the light of the raging fire.
“I want you to kneel for me,” he purred. “And I want you to take your time.”
Without a word of complaint, the girl dropped to her knees. His unblinking eyes followed the curvature of her cheeks on their downward path. When she reached the block, he heard her groan as she sank into the cherry liquid that coated the surface. The sound brought a smile to his lips.
“Now raise your hands above your head, and hold them there.”
She did as she was told, and her movement electrified him-her unquestioning compliance literally made his heart race faster.
“Remember,” he breathed, “no ill will.”
Jackson placed his hand on the girl’s bare back and searched for the perfect spot to make his incision. Once he found it, he lifted the knife to her flesh, tracing the ridges of her spine with the broad side of his cold, metal blade. As he did, he noticed the emergence of goose bumps, not only on her skin but on his as well. Gathering his emotions, Jackson inched the stiletto to the midsection of her back, the spot directly between her shoulder blades, then paused.
This was where the cut would be made.