Bloodline (31 page)

Chapter Sixty

Alexander Landry was just pulling the Infiniti Q45 out of the above-ground parking lot when there was a rap on the passenger's window. He jerked around, his hand automatically going for his service revolver. Cathy Maxwell's face was looking through the glass at him. He rolled down the window.

“Christ. You scared me,” he said.

“Sorry,” she said casually. “Where are you going?”

“Just going for a drive to clear my head,” he said. “Want to come?” His shooting hand relaxed and rested on the gear shift.

“Why not,” Cathy said, waiting at the door, and when Landry hit the automatic door locks, she jumped into the passenger seat and snapped her seat belt in place.

They drove through greater Rochester without speaking. When they reached the southern edge of the city, Landry took the secondary road leading to the hamlet of Honeoye Falls. The road was narrow, without shoulders or lights, and twisted dangerously through the undulating hills. An occasional farm slipped past, but mostly the road was a deserted band of asphalt connecting unknown points. Other than the vehicle's headlights, the faint points of stars and a full moon provided the only light. Landry kept the SUV at just over the posted speed limit.

They drove on. A road sign indicating a side road was briefly illuminated in the headlights and Landry slowed the vehicle. He turned sharply to the right onto the gravel road, the deep grooves in the tires throwing rocks against the undercarriage. He drove a hundred feet or so, then stopped and turned off the engine.

“What's going on, Alexander?” Cathy asked.

“I've got to take a leak,” he said, pocketing the keys and sliding out of the driver's seat. “Be right back.” He disappeared into the thick underbrush.

Landry was just zipping up when he heard a twig snap behind him. He spun, his hand going for his gun. “Who's there?” he asked the darkness.

“Who do you think?” Cathy Maxwell answered, moving closer, so she was visible. Her pistol was leveled at his chest. “Take your gun out with two fingers and throw it to your right,” she said. Her tone of voice left no doubt that she would pull the trigger if he did anything but what she said.

“What the hell are you doing, Cathy? What's going on?” He complied with her demand as he spoke.

“You really are thick, Alexander,” she answered, moving to within ten feet of her partner. Enough distance that he couldn't reach her before she fired, and close enough that he stood no chance of escaping into the maze of trees and shrubs.

He glanced at the gun. The safety was off, and her finger was wrapped tightly around the trigger. “You?” he asked incredulously. “You of all people, Cathy? He killed your parents.”

She laughed, her icy bark cutting through the cool night air like a razor. “You know what amazes me, Alexander? That no one, not one person, took the time to have a close look at the whole thing. If they had, what really happened would have been obvious.”

“Why don't you tell me, Cathy. I'm genuinely interested.”

She smiled. He was buying time, but it didn't matter. The outcome of this confrontation was without doubt. “Pablo was in La Catedral prison when my parents were murdered. Everyone assumed he was responsible, that he had sent his
sicarios
to Boston to do it. But that's the beautiful thing about assumptions, they're often wrong.”

“What actually happened?” Alexander asked.

“Fernando Galeano and Gerardo Moncada ordered the hit, and their brothers, Mario Galeano and William Moncada were the killers. They couldn't get to me so they butchered my parents.” Her face was contorted with rage. “The bastards were going to get away with murder, Alexander. They were too well insulated by the cartel for us to get to them. I needed another way.”

“So you went to Pablo.”

“I saw it as my only option. Pablo or the Ochoa brothers were the only ones who could get close enough to the Moncada and Galeano families to exact revenge. I did what I had to.”

“But you killed one of his men in front of thirty onlookers.”

“He didn't care. In fact, when I snapped that guy's neck, it told him what kind of person I was. For some reason, he took a liking to me. It's what happened after that that no one knows about. Pablo cleared the room. He and I were alone. He knew why I was there. He offered me Moncada's and Galeano's heads in return for my allegiance. I didn't even think twice. I wanted the bastards who had killed my parents more than anything in the world. Cementing a pact with Pablo seemed a fair price to pay.”

“Was it?” Alexander asked, his voice filled with disgust.

“Yes. Pablo is a murderer and a drug dealer. But he keeps his word. He's kept up his end of our business arrangement over the past thirteen years. And in all that time he never asked me to give up a single DEA or CIA agent. In return, I've kept quiet about his new life.”

“You knew all along that Pablo was still alive?” Alexander asked.

“Of course. I helped him escape from Centra Spike more times than you could possibly imagine. Centra Spike and Delta would have had him numerous times if he hadn't been warned in advance. It was part of the deal. Then he came to me in the summer of 1993 and told me he wanted to disappear. I told him the only way he could hope to get the Americans off his ass was to die. He and I set it up. It went off without a hitch. But you already know all that. Pablo was dead and the cartel finally collapsed. We all went home. I hitched up with Darren and got on with my life. Of course, it wasn't Pablo who died in that tiny courtyard.”

Landry was truly puzzled. “But you called Darren from the restaurant and told him to get out of the house, that you were worried about Pablo coming for your kids.”

She laughed again, a sinister sound that carried through the chilly night air. “For a high-ranking DEA agent, you really are stupid, Alexander. Darren moved the kids in case Eugene actually got to Pablo and my involvement in this somehow leaked out. We have a house in a country without an extradition treaty with the States. He took the kids there. I can run if I have to.”

“You sick bitch,” Landry said.

Her body trembled with rage. “You brought this on yourself, Alexander. All I needed was the vehicle to get to Pablo's house. But you had to pick just that time to go for a drive. Now look at the mess we're in.”

“How does it end?” he asked quietly.

“You die,” she said, pulling the trigger. The first bullet smashed into his breastbone and deflected enough to miss his heart, but the second and third bullets found their mark. They bored through flesh and muscle and tore his heart apart. Landry dropped to the forest floor, blood pouring from the gaping wounds.

“I noticed you didn't wear your Kevlar vest tonight,” Cathy whispered, as she watched him bleed out on the ground. She waited ten minutes, until the blood was beginning to congeal. Then she left.

It was time to visit Pablo.

Chapter Sixty-one

Pedro stole through the house in his socks, holding his shoes. He reached one of the side doors leading to the garden and slipped on his Nikes. Using the ornamental shrubs and eucalyptus as cover, he ran from tree to tree until he reached the cover of the mango grove, fifty feet from the house. He waited for a minute, listening for the guards, then whispered.

“Julie, it's Pedro. I'm coming to you. Don't say a word.”

He moved through the trees to where he had spotted the women from the window. Julie and Shiara were crouched behind the shrubs, amazement painted on both their faces. He put his finger up to his mouth, and shook his head.

“Follow me. We'll try to make the gardener's shed.” He sliced through the trees with a natural agility, the women close behind. They were forced to wait quietly a few times as groups of guards marched past, intent on checking another part of the estate. They were getting close to the shed when Pedro moved out from his cover just as a guard rounded the corner.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” he asked, as he recognized Pedro.

“Javier wants everyone looking for the women,” Pedro said. “Me included.”

The guard relaxed his grip on his weapon. “You see anything?”

“Nope. I was just looking through those trees, but all I saw was a couple of toucans.”

“Okay.” The man continued down the path, and Pedro motioned for the women to follow. They were close to the shed, just one more open expanse of grass near the rear wall. The guards patrolling the perimeter and searching for the escaped women were scarcer here, and Pedro figured their chances were good. He waited until the moon disappeared behind a cloud and then whispered, “Let's go.” The three of them sprinted the eighty feet to the trees that delineated the shed area. They reached the thicket safely. Pedro pointed to the small building tucked against the wall.

They dashed inside. “Oh my God, Pedro,” Julie cried, hugging her friend close. “How on earth…?”

“I've been in the house for a few days,” He swept Shiara into his arms too, and held them both close. “But I didn't know where Rastano was keeping you.”

“We were in a room in the basement,” Shiara said.

“How did you escape?” Pedro asked, grinning at the teenager. He was overcome with happiness to see them alive and well.

“Through an air-conditioning duct. It wasn't easy.”

“I'm sure it wasn't,” Pedro said. He steered them to the back of the shed and rigged up the tools and machines so they could hide behind them. Then he retrieved his guns. He checked the breach in the H & K and took off the safety. He tucked the pistol in his belt. “How are your hands?”

“Okay. No infection,” Julie said. “Pedro, where is Eugene?”

“Last time I spoke with him he was in Rochester, New York. He said he was close to finding Pablo.”

“Well, maybe he won't have to. We may be able to get out of here on our own.” Julie wiped her brow and asked, “Where are we, Pedro?”

“At Rastano's estate in San Salvador.”

“We're in the city? If we get over the walls we should be safe.”

“Maybe,” Pedro said. “But he's got cameras covering the entire fence line. If we go over someone will see us and they'll know exactly where we are. I think we're better to stay here for a while. Collect our thoughts. Let the guards finish their search.”

Tears formed in Shiara's eyes. “They were going to kill us tomorrow, Pedro,” she said.

“Yes, I know. So does Eugene. He knows he's on a tight schedule.”

“Do you think he'll find Pablo and get what they want?”

Pedro nodded. “I think so. I know he's close.”

Chapter Sixty-two

Roland Arnett.

Eugene stared at the name and the address. If the truth were known about Mr. Arnett, it would make the front page of almost every newspaper in the world.

Pablo Escobar. Alive.

He studied the tourist map the taxi driver had given him. Pablo lived on a quiet cul-de-sac fronting onto Conesus Lake, a popular location for second homes for some of Rochester's more elite families. According to the blurb on the map, Conesus Lake was an excellent place to spend a million dollars on a getaway house. Eugene was sure Pablo's house would fit right in. He looked out into the blackness beyond the car window, and thought back to a couple of weeks ago when he'd lived simply on the shores of Margarita with Julie and Shiara, safe and happy. So much had happened, so many twists and turns. He shifted slightly and felt the cold metal of the Glock pushing into his back. And here was yet another twist. Now Eugene was hunting the killer.

Cathy Maxwell's involvement had come as complete surprise. A total shock. She had been Pablo's eyes and ears inside the DEA for all these years. Pablo hadn't killed her parents, Moncada and Galeano had. She had gone to La Catedral to enlist Pablo's help in tracking down the killers and exacting justice. The date that she visited the prison confirmed it. He knew that she would be coming after him now. She had to. Her secret was compromised.

How the evening would play out he had no idea. But one thing was certain: he had to secure the release of Julie and Shiara. Ultimately whether his women lived or died was up to Pablo. But he had done his part; he had set out to find Pablo and he had succeeded. He knew in his heart that Roland Arnett was the supposedly dead Colombian, and that soon they would meet face to face. The cab began to slow. The time had arrived. His driver pulled into a paved access road and crept up to the gate, which opened as he approached. The trees thinned, then opened up to reveal a single-story house with a steeply pitched roof and gables. The house was awash in light that flooded from the windows and exterior globes. His driver slowed to a gentle stop by the front door. Eugene paid him, got out, and watched the car disappear down the drive. He looked up and saw a man standing in the door. As he came to within a few feet, he recognized the face as one he knew from when he was young.

“Hello, Miguel,” he said, extending his hand.

The other man accepted the hand, and said, “You remember my name after all these years, Eugenio. I'm surprised.”

“Same name as my son,” Eugene said. “And that afternoon we spent on the dirt bikes at Nápoles is still a vivid memory.”

“You're here to see Mr. Arnett.”

“Please.”

“Any weapons?”

Eugene smiled. Some things never changed. He reached behind his back, and extracted the Glock from his belt. He handed it to Miguel, who slipped it under his coat. Miguel pointed to the interior of the house, then led him through a grand foyer to a massive room overlooking the lake. A fire crackled in the hearth. One other person was in the room. He sat on the couch, near the roaring fire.

“Hello, Eugenio,” Pablo said. He did not move from his place or offer his hand.

“Pablo,” Eugene said, amazed by the change in the man whose pictures he had seen back in the early ‘90s. Here was a trim and clean-shaven man. His skin was pale, and he looked just like an American who lived in the northern states.

“Come in, please, and sit down. Near the fire is good. It is so cold, even in the spring.” Pablo spoke unaccented English.

Eugene sat on the end of the couch, opposite Pablo, and facing him. Miguel sat in a leather chair, a few yards away. Now that he was here, Eugene did not know what to do or say, and he spent a few moments looking around the room. It was very American with open-beam ceilings and cream-colored walls. The fireplace was river rock and burned real wood, not gas and fire logs like so many of the new ones. The furniture was all light beige leather and the tables were maple with glass tops.

Pablo broke the silence. “So you were given an impossible task by Javier Rastano, yet you managed to succeed. I'm impressed, Eugenio. But I have to pay a price for your success.” Pablo motioned to Miguel, who poured two glasses of Crown Royal. “I won't be safe here any longer. I will have to move.”

Eugene didn't care that this man was impressed, or whether Pablo had to move. He hadn't arrived at this point in his journey to hear praise or to give sympathy.

“Your success is unfortunate for me. You've found me and now others will find me. I will have to leave this place, Eugenio. I don't like the climate, but I've had a satisfying life here for a lot of years. It's not my choice to go into hiding, to make a whole new life for myself somewhere else. You've forced this on me.”

Eugene was incensed by Pablo's indifference to his plight. “I haven't forced anything on you. You and the Rastanos have forced this on me. I'm just a pawn, Pablo. As are my wife and daughter in this terrible game you play with other people's lives.”

“You're in my house now, Eugenio. You're not in a position to get angry.”

Eugene mellowed in his tone of voice, but not his choice of words. “I don't know you, Pablo. But I do know that what happens to my family is entirely up to you. We live or die on what you decide. But I will not kiss your ass, Pablo. So let's just finish this game. You've got a number Javier Rastano wants. I need that number.”

“I know all this, Eugenio. And the game, as you call it, is almost finished. I've done what I had to do to stop the news of my survival from going any further. The team you were working with, they're all dead. You and Cathy Maxwell are the only ones left.”

“Dead? What are you talking about? What's happened to them?”

Miguel answered. “Senator Crandle killed them.”

“How do you know this?” Eugene asked.

Pablo waved his hand as if brushing off an inconsequential bug and said, “Crandle has been getting out of hand lately. The power he has in Washington has gone to his head. He was going to be caught sooner or later, and then he'd search out a deal to save his skin. Which wouldn't have been good for the Rastano family or for me.” Pablo shook his head. “Miguel was at the hotel to remove Senator Crandle. He just didn't get there quickly enough to save young Garcia. So Crandle's dead. I was going to take care of him at some point anyway. This just happened to become an opportune time. The prick was Mario Rastano's boy, nothing more.”

“Yeah, I figured that out. Crandle was feeding Mario Rastano information as far back as the early ‘80s. But it was the raid on the lab where Fernando Garcia was killed that really tied the two at the hip.”

“You should go into the investigation business, Eugenio. You've figured it all out.”

“Not the ending, Pablo. The ending is up to you.”

Except for the crackling fire, the room was quiet.

The doorbell rang. Miguel got up and left the room. They waited in silence, then Cathy Maxwell entered the room, Miguel right behind her. She saw Eugene. She stopped, reached her right hand inside her coat and came out with a pistol. She aimed it directly at Eugene.

“You son-of-a-bitch,” she said. “You've ruined everything.”

“Cathy. Put the gun away.” Pablo spoke calmly.

She held the gun outstretched for another few seconds, then holstered it and sat down. No one disobeyed Pablo. “What are you going to do about him?” she asked Pablo.

“I haven't decided.” Pablo let his eyes wander from Eugene to where she sat. “What happened to Landry?”

“I had to kill him. And that's going to bring a lot of heat down on me. I'm going to have to leave the country.”

“Landry's dead. Reid, Garcia and Crandle are dead. There's going to be a lot of heat, a lot of questions. And not just for you.”

Maxwell looked hard at Pablo. “What happened to the others?”

“Crandle killed Reid and Garcia, and Miguel killed Crandle. There are just too many people who know I'm alive and where I live. Christ, Eugenio, I wish you were a little dumber.” He paused and took a sip of whiskey. “Miguel, take care of our problem.”

Miguel rose, a gun in his hand. He walked toward Eugene until he was midway between him and a smug looking Cathy Maxwell. “Sorry,” he said, then spun and fired one bullet into Cathy Maxwell's brain. The back of her skull exploded and brain and skull fragments spattered against the chair and the wall.

“What the hell…” Eugene's breath was coming in short gasps. He thought he was going to faint.

“Ordinarily, I wouldn't ruin a perfectly good chair,” Pablo said to Eugene. “But we're leaving tonight, so it doesn't matter.” He walked over to where Cathy Maxwell's body lay and stared at her dead eyes.

“I had to make a decision, Eugenio,” Pablo said. “At first, I was going to kill you if you got close. But in the end, I suppose you can say that blood is thicker than water. But not in the way you think. I have no hold over Cathy Maxwell. Like the senator, she would have talked to save her skin. But you, Eugenio, you have a family. You won't talk.” He paused and his face grew serious. “But you still have a problem, Eugenio.”

“Julie and Shiara.”

“Javier Rastano will kill them, you know that.”

“Yes.”

Pablo scratched the back of his neck. “What's the value of a life, Eugenio? Is it a billion dollars? That seems a little steep.”

“I suppose it depends on the life. I think Julie and Shiara are worth it.”

Pablo managed a small smile. “Of course you do. But you're being rather subjective here, Eugenio.”

“This is a hell of an opportunity to get some serious karma on your side, Pablo. A billion dollars for two lives buys a lot of absolution.”

Pablo was silent for the better part of a minute. Somewhere in the room, a clock ticked. The sound was deafening. “All right, cousin. You played the game well. You deserve a chance to save your wife and daughter.” He picked up a pen from the desk and wrote something on a piece of paper. He handed it to Eugene. On the paper, in blue ink, were ten digits.

The numbers swam in front of Eugene's eyes. He couldn't focus. He and his family had gone through hell. For this. For a number. Finally, he pocketed it and said, “Thanks, Pablo.”

“It's okay.”

Eugene glanced about. “I need to use a telephone.”

Pablo shook his head. “No way. Javier Rastano is a snake, Eugenio. He will take the code, verify it, then kill your family. You have to see him face-to-face and negotiate the release of Julie and Shiara.”

Eugene stared at Pablo. “I'm in Rochester, for Christ's sake. There's no way to get to San Salvador in time. Crandle's plane is the only way I could possibly get there, and it'll be grounded once they find all the bodies at the hotel.”

“But mine won't,” Pablo said. “Okomono owns a corporate Gulfstream. It's useless to me now. You may as well use it. I'll call the airport and have the pilot file a flight plan for San Salvador. We have to leave tonight as well, but not by plane. That method leaves a trail.”

“And now you disappear again?” Eugene asked.

“Yes. In fact,” Pablo said, pouring another drink, “it will be nice to get back to some decent weather. But please, Eugenio, don't come looking for me again.”

“Not a chance,” he said, shaking Pablo's hand. Miguel fished Eugene's Glock from inside his suit jacket and handed it over, grip first.

Eugene took one last look at Cathy Maxwell's body, then left Pablo's house with a set of car keys, directions to the executive hangar at the Rochester airport, and a ten-digit code in his pocket. It was almost three in the morning in Rochester, making it after midnight in San Salvador. Saturday morning.

The deadline had arrived.

As he drove through the dark back roads toward Rochester, he had a final thought, an idea that might help his position when it came time to negotiate for the release of his family. He needed to make one more phone call, but he could do that from the plane.

Then it would be time to meet Javier Rastano.