December 21, 1997, Greece, Crete Island.
"Scorpion" met the Black Mamba.
The meeting place was an abandoned quarry, five kilometers from the sea. Black Mamba drove a rented Jeep, with only one person by his side.
Scorpion knew that person.
Hendrick.
"Boss."
Scorpion stood beside the Jeep, head down.
Black Mamba got out of the car and walked up to him.
He was thinner, darker, but his eyes hadn't changed. Cold, like a shark.
"The Marseille incident wasn't your fault."
Scorpion raised his head.
Black Mamba looked at him.
"Costa is dead, Samir is dead, the goods are gone, but you're still alive. Being alive is useful."
Scorpion said nothing.
Black Mamba turned and looked at the distant gray-blue sea.
"Greece is a new beginning. Its coastline is longer than Italy's, the police are dumber than France's, and the gangs are poorer than Spain's. Five tons of goods can keep you busy here for a year. A year later, you'll be wealthier than me."
Scorpion waited for more.
