The Trade (A Hans Larsson Novel Book 2) by Chris Thrall Read Free Book Online Page B

Silvestre, the islands’ very own treasure
hunter.
    “But the senhor, he look different to the
one on the televisão,” the driver queried.
    “Oh.” Penny shrugged but chose not to
elucidate, for coordinating the media around the search, the team from the
Concern purposely concealed Hans’ and Jessica’s identities. “We don’t want our special
operative’s picture flashed around the world,” Muttley had said. “It’s a life
raft or a drifting yacht we want to draw attention to, not the faces of the
people inside.”
    “And . . . no is lucky today?” the
driver asked softly.
    “No, no luck,” Penny muttered, gazing out
over the ocean she had spent a lifetime upon but not feeling the usual longing
to return.
    She wished there was something she could do to relieve Hans’
agony, compartmentalizing her own grief for his sake. With Jessica’s body still
missing, closure was impossible, and even if they had recovered her today, Hans’
mental state was a serious worry.
    Arriving at the Grande Verde, Penny fished in her daypack
for her pocketbook, but the driver refused payment. After unloading the scuba
kit, he shook their hands, offering condolences while bowing his head.
    Penny sat down on the suite’s vast leather couch and put her
arm around Hans. “What now, honey?”
    “I don’t know. It feels wrong to go home.” Hans massaged his
eye sockets, then turned to her, seeking direction.
    “Then we don’t,” Penny said promptly. “Let’s take a trip.
Anywhere, but let’s get off this island.”
    “I know it’s crazy, but do you mind if we stay awhile? I
just . . .” Hans couldn’t explain his feelings.
    “Hans, take all the time you need. But let’s get out of the
hotel tonight. I hear the seafood’s top-notch down at the front, and I’m
paying.”

- 17 -
    A fter
a shower and a change of clothes, Hans and Penny drank a few beers in the room
and then went down to the lobby, where Branca had one of the hotel’s cars ready
to take them downtown. Their driver was Paulo, a young mestizo, who had driven Penny
to the Grande Verde the night Future disappeared.
    As Paulo drove out of the hotel’s grounds, he pushed a
button on the satnav set into the Mercedes’ center console, and a Portuguese
soap opera replaced the electronic map on the screen. The young man had no
problem keeping half an eye on the TV show as he sped along the ocean road,
weaving with ease around vehicles in their path. Hans and Penny looked at each
other and smiled, so amused at Paulo’s relaxed driving style they failed to
notice the taxicab that had tailed them from the hotel.
    Paulo dropped them at Mindelo’s beachfront by a row of
open-air restaurants lining the promenade. They opted for Casa Frutos do Mar
and seated themselves at the only table not taken by locals and tourists
indulging in the exotic food fare on offer.
    “Wow, this is nice,” said Penny, taking in the view over the
brightly painted fishing boats beached above the high-tide mark on the
postcard-yellow sand. “Perfect place to watch the sun set.”
    “And have a liddle drink.” Hans mimicked their dear departed
Dutch friend Marcel, making Penny smile, then caught the waiter’s attention.
    A bottle of red wine arrived, and Hans filled their glasses.
    “What are you going to order?” Penny asked, scanning the
menu.
    “I’m not sure. You’d think after a month in a life raft I’d
be sick of fish.”
    “Oh, Hans! I’m so sorry.” Clutching a hand to her mouth, Penny
looked mortified. “When I suggested seafood, I didn’t think. We can go
somewhere else.”
    “Don’t be silly. This is a slightly better setting than
what I’m used to – the restaurant doesn’t bob up and down, and the food won’t try
to escape.”
    Penny smiled but fell silent, staring at her wine.
    “You’re wondering what it was like being adrift,” Hans
tendered.
    “If you don’t want to talk about it—”
    “No, it’s fine. I just don’t know where to