Castro Directive (30 page)

The service began, and the minister murmured the expected aphorisms—that death was a new beginning and not the end, and God in His infinite wisdom had chosen to take Felix Ferraro from his friends and family. Such bland confidence would not be Pierce's lot. Fuego was dead, and he was going to find out who was behind it; that was all he felt. The minister, who most likely didn't know Fuego, was making his death sound like justified homicide: God needed his servant elsewhere.

That was about par with the reality of his hypnotic regression. It had the mark of a dream, melding recent events and circumstances in his life into an outrageous fantasy. After it was over, he'd told Redington and Elise that he'd found the experience interesting, but didn't know what it meant, except that he had a fertile imagination.

Redington, naturally, had analyzed it symbolically, suggesting that the cave represented his unconscious mind, and the skull stood for the wisdom and answers he was seeking. "But your search is fettered by the old sorcerer who is symbolic of your feelings about Andrews."

"But what happened in the elevator?"

"You were probably so sure that Andrews would retaliate against you for striking him that you blocked out the incident. When you woke up, you didn't remember what had happened."

"I don't even remember having a sore head, but I must have had at least a lump."

"Again, you didn't want to know about it."

Elise's interpretation was somewhat more esoteric—that the regression could be an actual recollection of a past life. Redington's response to that was a shrug.

"You can call it that if you like." He'd glanced at Pierce. But it's the symbolism—not whether it was or was not an actual past life—that was important. Working for Raymond seemed like it was to your benefit. But the story you told revealed that you know you've been playing right into his hands."

"But there's another message, too, Nick," Elise had said. "You found you're stronger than he is, and that you can overcome him."

He wasn't so sure about that. Nothing in the experience had indicated that the Indian, Atlan, had overcome the sorcerer. And he wasn't so sure that Redington hadn't pressed him into identifying the sorcerer as Andrews. Sure, the eyes did seem to match, but wasn't it possible that his subconscious mind had created what he knew Redington and Elise wanted him to see? This morning he'd played the tape, and listened closely. But he was no wiser. He didn't know; he wasn't ready to pass judgment.

A shrill wail shattered Pierce's ruminations, and he glanced over to see several people pressing around a matronly woman who sat near Tia Juana. Probably Fuego's mother, he thought. She was still weeping softly when, a few minutes later, the minister brought the service to a close.

Pierce remained seated while a clutch of people surrounding the woman passed by. Suddenly Tia Juana was standing next to him. "Take this, Nicholas.
Es para su proteccion."
She pressed something into his hand and moved away. As he stood and joined the flow of people filing out of the chapel, he looked down and saw that she'd handed him a tiny white cloth bag that was tied with a red thread at the top. The bag was light and probably filled with dried herbs.

He dropped it into his coat pocket and looked for Tina. He wanted to tell her how sorry he was about Fuego, but he didn't see her. He'd reached the lobby when he felt a finger poke him in the back. He turned, expecting to see Tina. Instead, he stared at Morris Carver's thick neck. He raised his eyes until he met the detective's stare.

"I want to talk to you. Outside."

Pierce nodded and worked his way through the crowd.

Carver followed him onto the lawn, away from the clusters forming in front of the chapel. Bellinger was close behind him.

Carver loosened the knot in his tie. He looked hot and uncomfortable in his black suit, while Bellinger seemed as at ease as always in the dark blue one he wore. "Did you know that customs has a file on your boss?"

"On who?"

"Andrews."

"No. I didn't."

Carver took out a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. "It's got some interesting stuff about his past. Apparently, he was a fairly big drug dealer back in his college days."

He waited a beat, eyeing Pierce intently. "Funny thing, your name is there, too, as an associate."

"That's bullshit. We were roommates, not associates. I was a college student." Not exactly the full truth, but he was having enough trouble with the present, and wasn't about to launch into ancient history.

"He's just telling you what's in the file," Bellinger said.

He looked at Carver, who'd taken a step closer. "If they knew so much about Ray Andrews, why wasn't he ever arrested?"

"Because, Mr. Pierce, he was working undercover for the feds. Did you know that?"

Pierce moved back as Carver's face loomed inches from his. He saw Tina standing near the front of the church, watching him. "No I didn't know."

"Your old roommate played quite a part in the collapse of the Santa Marta pot business. Made it so rough that the business moved from those Colombian mountains to California almost overnight."

"I don't know anything about it."

"Now you do," Bellinger said and grinned.

Pierce shrugged and glanced past the detectives again.

Tina was no longer in front of the chapel. "So what's that got to do with anything?"

"That's just a prelude, Mr. Pierce. Tropic Air, your boss's airline, is under investigation for the importation of cocaine in its cargo hold."

"What else is new? Cocaine has been smuggled aboard every commercial line that flies to South America."

"Yeah," Carver said, dabbing at his forehead again. "But this time they've found a direct link between Raymond Andrews and a certain corrupt federal prosecutor who happens to be buddies with him."

"What's this got to do with me?"

"Just this: The bad guy is Steve Simms. Recognize that name?"

"What?" Pierce said.

"Yeah, you can imagine the implications," Bellinger said.

That, in fact, was exactly what Pierce was doing. "Then I would guess he was the one Loften hired to set up Andrews. A prosecutor, not a cop."

"Bingo! My guess, too. Loften made a poor choice of partners," Carver said.

"Sorry, Nick." Bellinger grinned. "It wasn't me. I know you were thinking as much."

"My mistake. When are they going to make arrests?" Pierce asked.

"When they think their case is solid, but we're not waiting for customs to move," Carver said. "We've got our own case. We're watching both of them."

"Can't you arrest them?"

"Not yet. Only reason I'm telling you about it is that I owe you one for locking you up. I wasn't convinced by Redington's story until we found a teaching assistant in the Sociology Department on the second floor of the building who identified your picture. He was the one you bumped into on the back stairway, and he knew the exact time when he left his office."

Pierce nodded, relieved, but worried.

"Watch yourself," Carver said, and turned away. Bellinger nodded to him. "We'll get 'em." He joined his partner, and they headed to their car.

Pierce had parked on the other side of the building, and as he moved around the side of the chapel, he saw Tina standing beside his car. He sensed another confrontation in the offing, and that was the last thing he wanted. He didn't need it, not now, not ever.

"I heard you were in jail," she said coolly.

"I didn't do it; I've been cleared."

She shook her dark mane of hair off her shoulder, and her brown eyes met his gaze. Her black dress hugged her hour-glass figure; Pierce found her strangely alluring. He felt the temptation to patch things up and begin the same old cycle one more time. "You just expect me to take your word for it?" she said.

"That and the fact that I was released with no charges filed." He reached into his coat pocket, took out the white bag and held it up. "Juana must believe me. She gave me this for protection."

He smiled, but Tina didn't laugh. She stared at the bag, then shifted her focus to him. "Put it away. And do not make fun of it. If Tia Juana prepared that for you, she must know you are in danger."

He looked at the bag, felt it again, then dropped it back into his pocket. "What's in it?"

"For protection? Probably
ajo, yerbabuena, perejil
." Just common herbs, he thought; garlic, peppermint leaves, and parsley.

"Keep it on you all the time, even if you do not believe."

"Okay. I'll even believe I'll be protected. How's that?"

She nodded. "Nicky, listen, I know you did not kill Fuego. He stopped by the library the day he was killed."

"He did?"

She reached into her purse and took out an envelope. "I did not see him, but he must have dropped this in the book-return slot. It was found there."

The envelope had been torn open and taped closed. Tina's name was written on the front, and suddenly Pierce knew what Fuego meant when he told Leni he was going to check out a book. He was going to the library to deliver the envelope. "What time was that?"

"I got it about an hour after you ripped my phone off the wall. I thought it was from you, and almost threw it away I was so mad." She glared at him as she spoke. "You really embarrassed me with that stunt."

He didn't respond. "Can I see it?"

"If you promise me something."

"What?" He didn't want to make any promises.

"That you won't be mad at me for not turning the letter over to the police. I don't want the police bothering Tia Juana with questions, and I wanted to give it to you in person."

"Yeah." Another one of her carrots.

She handed him the envelope, and he carefully pulled back the tape and slipped out a sheet of paper. He read the note.

TINA—GIVE THIS TO NICK. IT'S IMPORTANT.

Nick—Left a message on your recorder. This is just in case something happens, and it might. I'm being followed. A long time ago, Juana, you know my aunt, the santera, told me to watch out when a dark woman named Mercedes followed me. Never knew until now what she meant. The dark woman is a car. Anyhow, I didn't give up on the Andrews stuff. You know how I am. I kept looking for the connection. Found it, too. You've got to talk to her."

The message ended with a name and address. Pierce refolded the paper and slipped it into the envelope. Now he knew that someone must have broken into his office and erased his messages.

"You ever heard of this woman, Marisol Puente?" he asked Tina.

She shook her head. "I was tempted to go see her myself, but I thought it was better to leave it to you."

He nodded, starting to feel uneasy as she moved closer to him.

"Are we still going to be friends, Nicky? I do not want you mad at me."

"I'm not mad at you."

She reached for his hand, squeezed his fingers. "We worked things out before, you know."

A party of mourners passed by and looked curiously at them. "No, we didn't. We just buried it Tina, and acted like everything was okay. It wasn't. It's not. It's over. We are not getting back together."

Tina dropped his hand. Her eyes went cold and hard; the corners of her mouth plunged. He expected another outburst. She would blast him about his behavior in the library. She would scream about his insensitivity. He looked around to see who would hear her. But she surprised him.

"Suit yourself." Her voice was calm. "I do not need this abuse anymore. You have had your last chance. Don't expect any more help from me." She turned on her heel and walked away.

Well, this was the place to end it, he thought—at a funeral, with both of them dressed in black.

Half an hour later, Pierce stood in the doorway of Elise's office at the University of Miami. There was no mistaking the origin of her focus of study. The office was decorated with colorful woven
huipiles.
Ceramic artifacts lined a shelf, and a circular wooden Mayan calendar, like the one that had been destroyed in her house, hung on the wall.

She was seated at her desk, which looked orderly in comparison to Redington's. She was finished with classes for the quarter, but had told him she still had administrative work to complete. The look on her face said she didn't appreciate being interrupted. But she was in danger; he had to warn her.

"Funeral's over?"

He nodded, closed the door, and quickly explained what Carver had told him. She listened quietly until he was finished. "Of course, I knew Steve was working with the DEA on drug-related cases, but . . ." Her voice wavered as she attempted to maintain her composure, but tears welled in her eyes. Her lower lip quivered.

"Oh, Christ, Nick. The bastard." She looked down, raised a hand to her forehead.

He moved around her desk, wanted to touch her, stroke her hair, something. But he didn't. "I'm sorry."

"God, I've been such an idiot."

So have I. "It's better that you know."

"Of course it is. It's just that I feel like I've been assaulted."