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THE SOFT UNDERBELLY
Thriller Suspense
BY CARLISLE RICHARDSON

Blurb

A murdered customs worker accused of stealing imported goods; collusion between competing politicians to overthrow the sitting Prime Minister; an international weapons trafficking syndicate one step ahead of British authorities; and a mysterious expat living on a small Caribbean island.

In what used to be a tropical paradise, police officer Gerald Brookes and MI6 agent Fiona Sawyer race against time to connect these seemingly isolated dots. But for the mastermind of these acts, there is a far more nefarious revenge plot in play. A grand design that would lead to an assassination and the resumption of a decades-old international conflict.

THE SOFT UNDERBELLY
Thriller Suspense
BY CARLISLE RICHARDSON

Excerpt

She would understand.

He walked past the remnants of homes that were built more than a century before. They had been abandoned for so long that they had become part of the terrain. He thought briefly about the history of the place. This was the area spared for the former slaves to inhabit following the Emancipation Proclamation. It was uninviting, desolate, and near barren, save for the acacia trees and shrubs. The historians had deduced that the area had been selected for the newly freed persons precisely because agricultural productivity would be slim. They would have to maintain contact with their former oppressors if they wanted to survive. Stories abounded of the great suffering that persisted. Tales of robberies, disappearances, and murders infiltrated the psyche of the inhabitants to the point that they were convinced the area was cursed, that anyone venturing there risked being cursed themselves.

The howling winds screamed, and Simon hugged his body. He was terrified, and he wondered if his fear was due to the yarns he had heard as a child about the area, or his apprehension of the night’s mission

He inhaled, expecting the crisp night air to be fresh with the aroma of the moist foliage, but instead there was a faint stench growing stronger as he moved through the bush. He stumbled over a rock and fell headfirst, scratching himself. He yelped in pain and recoiled in horror when he saw the decomposing carcass of a bull, just inches from his face. The stench was at its peak there. He struggled to move away, retching as he scrambled to stand up. The bile settled in his throat, and he ran through the bush until the air cleared. He hunched over, gasping for air, wishing he was home. Why, oh why, had he got involved in this?

He straightened up. The acacia trees swayed in the breeze, casting shadows. The cold chill on his neck returned as his imagination and  conscience wreaked havoc in his mind, making him believe that the trees were actual people. Perhaps they were the forces of nature warning him to deviate from this path. But it was too late. He dared not cross Del Vasto.

Finally, in the distance, he saw the silhouette of a warehouse. The surrounding area had been cleared of all trees and bushes, and it stood on the top of an incline, a lone shadow in the dark.

He swallowed the lump in his throat.

Just a simple thing, he had been told by Mr Del Vasto’s assistant. Pick up the package from the freight before it’s processed in customs and put it in your backpack. Nobody will notice. Bring it to us on Sunday night. Easy ten thousand dollars.

He could begin his university dream with that sort of money. Why did it all feel so wrong?

He approached two figures outside the warehouse. “Mr Lincoln,” Simon said, recognising him as he got closer. He looked at the other man and froze. His stomach tightened. The foreboding he had felt earlier returned in a flash. Finally, he forced words out in a whisper. “Please. I won’t tell.”

He knew the other man only as ‘Phantom’. Hollow, dead eyes. Black lips from smoking since childhood. A rasping voice from a ruptured voice box in the gang war. A known hitman.

Simon tried to remember the prayers he used to garble through on mornings in Sunday school, but he had never truly cared at the time, and his mind now drew a blank.

“Tell who what, eh?” Mr Lincoln asked. “What you gonna tell? Just give us the package then go your way.”

Simon fumbled in his backpack and pulled out a small box. He dropped it nervously, bent to retrieve it, and dropped it again. He slowly got on his knees and reached for the box again, but his middle finger was stabbed by a twig. He stifled a yelp as the pain seared through his finger. Maybe the pain was exaggerated, brought on by the dread he felt. He tried to remain calm, and this gave him the strength to grasp the box firmly. While on his knees, he handed it over to Mr Lincoln’s outstretched hand.

“Can I leave now?” he pleaded, standing, and backing away slowly, the words barely escaping his throat, which felt so tight it hurt. “I promise I’ll be quiet about the package.”

He was met with cold stares, and he knew it was over. He was at the place cursed with untold suffering of his ancestors, and now he was destined to join the ranks of the wretched.

If he could just make it back into the bush, he might have a chance. It was dark enough to evade them there.

Simon turned and sprinted away. His heart pounded, and he could feel the blood flowing through the veins of his temples. His lungs were on fire as he pumped his arms with all the might he could muster. All thoughts of his face getting scratched by the needles of the acacia trees had disappeared, as survival was now his only instinct. He was almost there.

He did not get twenty feet from the duo before he heard the click of the gun. Simon’s last thoughts as a bullet hit the back of his head were of his mother and Gina. He hoped they would forgive him. It had all been for them.

About Author Carlisle Richardson…

Links to Carlisle’s websites, blogs, books, #ad, etc.:

Amazon: The Soft Underbelly Carlisle Richardson

Linkedin
https://www.linkedin.com/in/carlisle-richardson/

Facebook
https://www.facebook.com/carlisle.richardson.7

Instagram
https://www.instagram.com/carlislerichardson7/