A Touch of Malice (13 page)

Santoro liked the financial benefit, but was still leery of the political downside to the photo’s release. “Is the brother still alive?”

“Yes, and it is important he stay that way, so please do not undermine my authority by telling my men to kill the president’s brother.”

Santoro felt a surge of embarrassment. He glanced at the soldiers watching the event unfold. “I do not think I like your tone right now, Pablo.”

“Mr. President, it is imperative you understand something,” Moreno said. He waved his sunglasses at the group of soldiers watching over them. “These men are here for your protection as much as mine. If the FARC ever heard of our arrangement, they will come after you. They control most of the southern part of the country where our new coca fields are being planted as we speak. I need you alive.”

Somehow Santoro zeroed in on the last sentence. Pablo Moreno needed him alive. This one phrase gave Santoro a sense of overwhelming pride, to be needed so badly by such an important man.

“I see,” Santoro said with a genuine smile. “Twenty-five million dollars?”

“Twenty-five million dollars,” Moreno reassured him. “When he comes to visit tomorrow he will want to meet with you first, but we need you to be the instrument of introduction. We will have a car waiting at your office. Once your meeting with him has concluded, I will call you on your cell phone. You will hand the phone to the president and I will speak with him. I will instruct him how to exit the building without being followed.”

“But Pablo,” Santoro said, “certainly the president will have the complex surrounded.”

Moreno was already nodding. “Yes, yes, of course, but he will want to save his brother’s life. I have a feeling he’ll take more chances than is necessary. The Americans will be protecting your building from intruders getting in. They will not be prepared for someone trying to sneak out.”

Santoro pointed to the ceiling. “And they will rule the sky with spy devices.”

Moreno raised his hand. “Please, Mr. President, you must understand, these Americans believe we are all ignorant simpletons who do not use strategy as a weapon. I would like to think I am a little bit smarter than they suspect.” Moreno looked around the room with impunity. “We will be bringing multiple identical cars and only one will have the American president. It will go exactly as we planned.”

Santoro had to admit, he was impressed. His allegiance with Moreno was probably the best decision he had ever made. He smiled, careful to hold back a little bit of his enthusiasm. Showing the man that he has grown in his ability to maintain his demeanor.

“Do not worry,” Moreno added. “Once the president has the money wired to my account, I will have both of them killed.”

“You will kill the President of the United States?”

“Yes.” Moreno grinned. “This is our backyard. I know President Merrick is stalling. That is why he set up the meeting for tomorrow instead of earlier. He is attempting a rescue mission. A mission that will fail.”

“But, Pablo, if the American president is killed while in Colombia, it will bring sanctions and scrutiny we will not want.”

Moreno had a paternal look on his face. “Yes, my friend. However, on the way to our meeting, the president’s car will be ambushed by men dressed as FARC guerillas. There will be a shooting. The president will not survive this terrorist attack. You will then announce a message from the FARC taking responsibility for the assassination. The new American president will then offer support to fight the FARC. Our common enemy will now become America’s enemy. Do you see how this all works?”

Santoro thought of reasons why this would not work, but couldn’t. He held out his hand and smiled when Moreno returned the handshake. “It is a pleasure to be your partner,” Santoro said.

Chapter 16

The FBI had borrowed a small room in Miami International Airport’s Homeland Security office where Nick and Matt were briefed on their trip by several local agents. They’d also changed into light fabrics and were given instructions on how to use special equipment Stevie Gilpin had prepared for them.

Now they sat at an open seating area left by a vacant gate in front of a large window overlooking the runway. They were waiting for an FBI staff person to bring the appropriate vaccinations and duffle bags full of gear. Sitting in the empty section of seats next to them were three Navy SEALs with their gear all assembled meticulously beside them. Two were busy texting on their phones while the third stared out the window at the planes passing by.

Matt was struggling with a sloppy hamburger while Nick ate a premade turkey sandwich from a nearby kiosk which was probably made the day before.

Nick watched Matt strangle his burger with both hands while shredded lettuce and beef juice leaked out onto the carpeted floor between his legs.

“You realize how bad that is for you?” Nick said. “That’s like two thousand calories all by itself.”

Matt didn’t appear to hear the comment, he went on unabated.

“And that drink,” Nick added, pointing to the oversized cup of Pepsi.

Matt placed the lump of meat and bread onto the open wrapper in his lap and wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “I figure I’m going to enjoy my last meal.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” Nick said, eyeing his wilted sandwich.

They’d spent the last two hours of the flight on a direct video conference with the team of department heads assembled in Walt’s office. The prospect was certainly gloomy. They’d spent more time discussing dangerous jungle creatures than locating the president’s brother. Although Walt was trying to keep them alive, he managed to sound more like a concerned parent than the head of antiterrorism for the FBI.

Nick’s phone vibrated. He looked down at the text message from Julie and instantly smiled. There was a picture of Thomas standing up in his pajamas, arms outstretched, with a gigantic smile. The caption read: “He wants a big hug.”

The minute he read the caption, Nick began to feel the emotion swell inside of him. He needed to take a couple of deep breaths to gather himself. The exuberance in his son’s eyes was so captivating, he wanted to run back to the plane and immediately rush home.

“Look at that innocence,” Nick said, almost choking on the words as he handed Matt the phone.

Matt saw the picture and grinned. “Beautiful.”

When Nick got his phone back, he went over into the corner of the gating area right up against the window and dialed home.

“Hi, sweetie,” Julie answered.

In the background Nick could hear his son whining for his mother’s attention. Nick broke out into a severe smile.

“How’s my team doing?” Nick asked.

“Oh, we’re hanging in there. How about you two? Are you on the way to South America yet?”

“I miss you,” Nick said.

“I miss you too.”

“No, I mean I really miss you. Both of you. I’m not . . .” he covered his eyes and tried to choose his words properly. He put the phone by his side for a second and took a couple of deep breaths.

“Nick?”

“I’m fine. I just dropped my drink.” Nick found the courage to fight off his bout with PTSD which was trying to crawl up his guts and shatter his willpower.

“Honey, they’re saying the president is going down there tomorrow. Something is really wrong, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, baby, something is really wrong. But it’s nothing we can’t fix.”

“You’re such a bad liar.”

“Yeah, but I’m your bad liar.”

Nick was feeling better now just hearing his wife’s voice.

“Want to talk with him?” she asked.

“Of course.”

A moment later Nick could hear his son breathing into the phone.

“Thomas,” Nick said. “Thomas, it’s Da Da.”

“Mama.”

“No. Da Da.”

“Mama.”

Julie took the phone and said, “Don’t worry. He’ll get there, Dad.”

He wanted to say, “Yeah, but will I be there for it?” Instead, he said, “I’ve got to go. I just wanted to say, I love you.”

“Love you too.”

When he turned, he saw two men walking toward their empty gate. One was tall and thick and walked with a quiet confidence, like a jaguar on the prowl. The other was Nick’s cousin Tommy gimping along with a tired expression and a Starbuck’s coffee in his left hand and a purple toothpick peeking out the side of his mouth,

Matt saw them first. He quickly licked his fingers, wiped them on his pants and stood to greet the two men. He shook Tommy’s hand, then was pulled into a bear hug before breaking away and eyeing the large Russian. Nick was right behind them now.

“You really want to do this?” Matt asked the Russian.

The Russian eyed him with suspicion, maybe not sure where the question was leading. “It will be much better for you if I do.”

“All right,” Nick said, coming beside Matt and fist bumping his cousin. He looked at Anton Kalinikov with a neutral expression. “You do understand the arrangement, right?’

“Yes,” the Russian assassin said. “I receive five million dollars.”

Nick glared at Tommy. “Five million?”

“What?” Tommy shrugged. “You said to offer whatever I thought would secure a guide for the trip. That’s what I did.”

Nick resumed his conversation with Kalinikov. “What I was speaking about was the immunity you will receive. No matter what the circumstances, you will not be charged with anything from the American government.”

“I see,” the large man said. “However, that will not help me down in South America.”

“No, it won’t.” Nick glanced at Kalinikov’s duffel bag. “What’s in there?”

“My gear.”

“You have weapons?”

Kalinikov dropped his bag and examined the two agents while Tommy took a seat and crossed his legs.

“I’m ready for a nap,” Tommy said, working the toothpick with his tongue.

Kalinikov folded his arms across his chest, “I did not bring any weapons. I figured you would have plenty of that. What I brought was gear that will keep us alive. Your government might not care about your well-being, but I am not ready to join a suicide mission.”

Neither Nick nor Matt had anything to say so Kalinikov kept going. As if he could translate their suspicious glares, Kalinikov gestured to Tommy and looked at Nick. “He is very smart, your cousin. If someone like him could find me, then others could too. That is the reason I am doing this. If I survive this risky maneuver, I want your government to offer my family complete twenty-four-hour protection. I will not live the rest of my life with a pistol in my hand.”

Nick didn’t even bother to glare at Tommy for this one. “We can do that.”

Matt was still standing at attention, eyeing the Russian as if inviting him to engage in a war of words.

Kalinikov met the agent’s gaze. “The last time we met, you were lying on the ground. Wounded. I could have killed you, but I did not.”

Matt’s intense stare softened. He said nothing.

Kalinikov was about to continue, but Nick interceded.

“I think we need to focus less on our past and more on why we’re here,” Nick said.

“Agreed,” Kalinikov said, then looked at Matt.

Matt stood rigid for a moment, then finally relaxed his stance. “Agreed.”

Kalinikov then set his attention on the three SEALs. He looked underwhelmed with their presence.

“What?” Nick asked. “Not enough SEALs?”

Kalinikov looked away and lowered his voice. “Too many.”

“Too many?” Matt said. “These are the finest soldiers in the world.”

“I know,” Kalinikov said. “That is the problem. They are too aggressive for—”

“That’s enough,” Nick said. “We’re not debating the value of SEALs out here.” He pointed to the jetway leading to the DOJ plane waiting for them. “Let’s get on board. We have plenty to discuss while waiting for our stuff.”

The SEALs gathered their bags and took the lead as always. First in. Last out.

As Nick passed in front of Tommy, he dropped a large manila envelope into his cousin’s lap. “You know what to do?”

Tommy frowned. “You kidding?”

“He is not coming with us?” Kalinikov said, a look of concern on his face.

“He’s coming,” Nick said. “He’s going ahead of us and trying to get some intel. Maybe make our job a little easier.”

Kalinikov seemed to assess the news. He half-shrugged. “You must know what you are doing.”

Nick wanted to tell him how little they knew and how much risk they were taking, but he was speaking to a master assassin with decades of experience. The man knew how dangerous short notice operations were, so he didn’t even try to mask the truth.

“We’ll see,” Nick said.

Chapter 17

President Merrick stood behind the podium in the Rose Garden and gripped the side of the structure with both hands in a firm and confident manner. Every president who’d ever given a speech was coached to do two things: stand tall and grasp the podium with an aggressive hold. The very best at this was former Secretary of State Colin Powell, who at six-foot-two towered over the raised platform with a fierce grip and spoke down to the reporters from a lofty angle which automatically assured him of a sense of authority.

Now, Merrick stood tall and greeted the throng of reporters with a terse smile. Sam Fisk stood beside him with his hands clasped together, making eye contact with the reporters and acknowledging them with a quick nod.

It was overcast and breezy as Merrick began with his traditional greeting. “Good afternoon. As you know my brother Trent has been missing in the jungle of southern Colombia for the past couple of days. I’ve already spoken with his wife and we are currently attempting to piece together as much information as possible to decipher exactly where he might have been before we lost contact with him. Trent is a very independent soul. He was in the Amazon Rainforest to film a documentary about the plight of the native Indians who’d been losing their homeland to cartels who were tearing down precious forest land to grow more cocaine plants.”

Merrick took a bottle of water from the shelf under the podium, unscrewed the cap and took a long drink. You would have to have known Merrick as long as Fisk did to recognize the signs of stress. To the casual observer, he appeared to be taking the situation with his brother with great poise. But Fisk could see his eyes occasionally wandering off into the horizon, or his foot constantly tapping to an unknown beat.