``So, you have come here to do business with my dear cousin, yes?''
His husky voice reminded Danes of that of a fifty year old prosititute
who has spent her life drinking too much whiskey and soking several
fine cuban cigars each day.  Danes steeled himself for the negotiation
process ahead and replied.

``I heard from one of my sources that you have a couple of hundred
bricks of the good stuff in the wrong location.  I can help with
this.''

Marco rolled his eyes.  ``Hah, a trifling matter, the smallest
shipment of the year.  You will take it to a certain cove on the coast
of Mexico.  My comrades at the dock will give you the location.''
Marco spat just before hocking up what seemed to Danes like half of
the contents of a leper colony cess-pit.  He wiped the remains off his
jutting chin leaving a small slime trail though his stubble.

``And what of compensation for this `trifling' service I shall
render?''  asked Danes in the most nonchalant way he could imagine.

``Of course, of course, how does twenty million sound?''

Twenty million!?  That would do to outfit his ship and pay his crew
for a whole year!  An outrageously high price for such a minor
smuggling job.  There must be something deeper going on here.  Danes
was of half a mind to up and leave right here, except that there was
only one way to leave during a Hern\'andez negotiation and it involved
those two delightful fellows standing outside and it ended in a rather
unpleasant manner for one of those present.  I'll let you guess which
one.

He considered the offer for a few seonds so as not to seem over eager
or suspicious.  Government agents were not beyond trying to infiltrate
the Hern\'andez cartel in this manner and Danes didn't want to raise any
suspicions.

``Seems like a pretty penny for such a minor service to your cause
Marco?'' said Danes.

``Ah, right you are Mr McKenzie, I can see you are not an incompetent
like some of the people we get in here offoring us services.  There is
indeed a little something more I would like you to take care of on
your voyage.'' again capping off his performance with a little throat
clearing flourish which would scare even the stubbornest small child
into submission.

``Would you care to enlighten me?'' queried Danes, already getting a
little impatient with the situation, but always mindful not to step
over the line.

``You may have noticed a certain gentleman standing with us in this
little cabin.''  As if anyone could have missed such a thing!  Danes
nodded, almost imperceptibly.  Marco noted this and continued.  ``Do
you recognise this man?''

``I have heard of some of his exploits.''

``Good, then you know what he is capable off.  I suggest you don't do
anything to antagonise him''

``I'll certainly try my best,'' replied Danes, a little tetchy now.

``Ah, Danes, no need for that.  We're all friends here, for now''.  At
this point Marco attempted to let out a little chuckle to go with his
brilliantly witty repost; however, it came out as more of a short,
sharp hack, followed by a long series of strangled wheezes which took
more than a few moments to subside.  Danes was wondering what exactly
would happen if Marco were to just drop dead right in the middle of
the negotiation.  Somehow he didn't think that it would end up going
well for him.  Marco recovered, drawing a long, deep breath.  ``He is
good friends with my dear cousin and he is on a special mission.
There is something he needs to do to complete that mission and you are
going to assist him''

``And if I refuse?'' Danes asked, really more of a rhetorical question
prompted by his having watched too many movies.

``Well, I think you know what happens then,'' Marco said, motioning
slightly with his head in the direction of the two guards outside.
``Of course you won't let us down.  You've served us well in the past
and I trust you will continue to do so in the future.  You are being
well compensated for your efforts.''

There wasn't much for it now of course.  There wasn't anything Danes
could do but agree.  Unless he wanted to be on the bad side of one of
the more powerful drug cartels in the world.  Not a good position for
a drug smuggler to be in.  It wasn't really what he had planned but
the money was very good and the chances that things would go wrong
were not that much higher than a routing smuggling job.  Plus,
Matroska the Prussian, the ledgendary leader of the Satanic Society of
Black-Hat freelancers, on his ship!?  That alone would guarantee him
work for the next six months; not that he needed it with the money
this job would bring in.

He had already decided to do it of course.  The inner debate was just
something that he did when coming to terms with a big decision.
Perhaps he'd spend a few months cruising after this.  No more jobs for
a while.  Just peace, the sea, and of course his high-speed satelite
`nets connection.  Maybe he could get a few weeks work done on some of
his own projects.  Capatalism is so tedious.

``Half now, half when the job is done,'' Danes said.  The negotiation was
over now, just going through the motions.  The disconnection protocol,
both parties knew it well.

``Indeed, I'll wire the money now.  Account number?''

Danes rattled off the number of his Swiss bank account, he knew it by
heart of course.  Marco pulled a small computer -about the same size
of a cigarette packet- out of his pocket and keyed the number in.  It
made a small conformation beep.  A few moments later Danes heard a
similar sound emanate from his own portable PC.  He pulled it out of
his pocket and checked the mesage.  A confirmation.  Ten million euros
transferred into his account, fuck yeah.  Pretty much all big business
transactions are done in euros these days, after the US economy tanked
and took the dollar and almost the whole world economy with it.  Those
weren't a pretty few years.

``Excellent, you have recieved confirmation of the transfer?'' asked
Marco. Danes nodded.  ``Then we are done here.  As I said before,
you'll get the delivery location at the docks.  Usual procedure
there.''  Marco handed Danes a small brown envelope, it was unmarked
except with small stamp.  A cacao plant leaf, the symbol of the
Hern\'andez drug cartel.  ``Your instructions as to Matroska.  Simple
enough, just follow them and we are both happy.''

With that Marco yanked the wires from the battery terminals and the
light flickered out.  It was dark once more in the cabin.  He turned
on his heel and walked through the white rectangle of light which was
the doorway.  A moment later the urchin boy scampered back inside and
half dragged, half carried the battery back outside with him.  For a
few moments the sound of his struggle could be heard, fading away as
he lurched and heaved up the path to the villa.  Danes was alone in
the cabin with the tall, long-faced man; Matroska the Prussian.

The trip back down to the plantation entrance was uneventful.  Danes
had tried to strike up a conversation with his new compadre but to no
avail.  Matroska remaind stony-faced and mute the entire journey.  He
seemed unfazed by the close forest and snagging branches.  Danes
guessed that he'd probably seen much worse than this in his time.  In
short order the trees began to thin out and a few moments later they
emerged, blinking into the sunlight.

They were standing in the small clearing that marked the entrance to
the plantation.  A rough, dirt road terminated here, as did several
other paths leading off somewhere into the jungle.  There was also a
gate, large enough to admit a small truck, guarding the road to the
plantation proper.  The truck wasn't here to pick them up yet, they'd
have to wait.  Sometimes it took an hour, sometimes 5 minutes.  Danes
couldn't really see much of a pattern in it be he suspected it at
least partially depended on how important you were but probably mostly
on the current mood of the truck driver.  Still not one word from
Matroska.  He was just standing off to the edge of the clearing,
staring off aimlessly into space.  He probably had a lot on his mind.
Danes was itching to open the envolope that Marco had given him.
There was alot about this particular job which made him nervous and
he'd like to know a little more about it.  He didn't want to open
anything until he had a little privacy.

They didn't have to wait long, Matroska must be pretty important to,
well, whoever was organising this.  After about ten minutes the sound
of the sputtering ancient truck could be heard in the distance, slowly
growing louder.  A few minutes later and they were trundling down the
winding mountain road on the way to the coast, the kill-9 and
beyond that, Danes knew not what.