The Argentine Triangle: A Craig Page Thriller (35 page)

Buenos Aires

I
t was eleven thirty and El Bodegon was filling up. Seated alone in a dark and dingy booth with the single beer he had ordered hours ago, Craig listened to the melancholy tune with despair. It described two lonely people, star-crossed lovers, helpless to deal with powerful forces in the world. The song had been written during the Dirty War and played surreptitiously while it raged.

A flaming redhead in her forties, Craig guessed, with an hourglass figure came over, wanting him to tango with her. She held out a hand and swayed her torso with the rhythm. Craig shook his head, and she drifted away.

He asked the proprietor behind the bar for the umpteenth time whether he had a call for a man named Barry Gorman. The gray-haired man with a thick, bushy beard looked at Craig with a kindly expression and said, “Not yet, but I’m sure she’ll call soon.”

Back in the booth, he glanced at his cell phone one more time. It was fully charged. There were no messages. He willed it to ring, but it remained as silent as a monument in a cemetery.

Distraught and desperate with worry about Gina, he watched the hands of his watch slowly advance toward midnight. Then he made his move.

Using his cell phone to make calls was risky, but he was at the point where he had to take chances. He called Nicole.

“She never came to El Bodegon,” he whispered into the phone. “Did she call you?”

“I haven’t heard a word.”

“Estrada must have gotten suspicious and arrested her. But how could he?” As he said the words, Craig was racking his brain for answers. His plan had been so good. The script perfect. The only possibility was that Schiller had learned his true identity and told Estrada. Bryce had been suspicious, but Bryce would have railed at Betty if he had found out. All that was irrelevant. What mattered now was that Schiller and Estrada had Gina in their clutches and were doing God only knew what with her.

“You won’t want to hear this,” Nicole told Craig, “but Estrada could have persuaded her to tell him everything you’re doing.”

“You can’t be serious. You were there when we worked with her. She was determined to get what we wanted.”

“She’s also young and impressionable. Untrained to do something like this. A genuine patriot. Believes in her country. Estrada was like a father to her. You spent time with him. He’s charismatic.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Craig said the words, but they were lacking conviction. “I’m tired of speculating. I intend to get some answers.”

“What are you going to do?”

“On the chance that somebody might be listening in, he refused to tell her. “Stick by the phone. I’ll call you.”

He paid the proprietor generously for using the booth all evening. Then left El Bodegon.

Out on the street, he raised his hand for a cab. In an instant, three of the little black and yellow cars pulled over. Craig took the second one and told the driver to take him to an intersection two blocks from the Ministry of Defense.

When the cab stopped, he climbed out and looked around nervously. No sign of anyone watching him. He took a long circuitous route to cover the two blocks, satisfying himself there was no surveillance.

The dusky, gray, stone building, in need of a cleaning, looked even more dark and gloomy from the outside. Craig remembered the corner location of Estrada’s office on the third floor. From the street, there were no lights visible in that suite.

Badly in need of a weapon, he was now sorry he hadn’t asked Betty to bring a gun for him when she came out to California.

He opened one of the thick glass double doors and walked inside the dimly lit lobby. A single man was sitting behind the wooden counter—a soldier whom Craig remembered being there the one time he had visited Estrada in the building. The man who had asked for his ID and had been firm but professional in directing him to sign the visitor’s log.

With confidence, he strode up to the reception counter.

“I’m Barry Gorman,” he said. “I’m sure you remember. I was here about ten days ago to meet General Estrada.”

The man nodded mechanically. His face was a blank. Craig couldn’t tell if he remembered.

“The general’s not here,” the soldier said.

That was a start, Craig thought. Now he needed the rest of the information.

“I’m aware of that,” he said calmly. “But General Estrada told me that he would leave a note at the desk authorizing you or whoever was on duty to take me up to his office so I could retrieve some important papers I need for a meeting with him tomorrow.”

The soldier stared at Craig with a bewildered expression, but remained silent. He’ll never take a chance on letting me up, Craig decided.

Peering over the counter, Craig saw that the soldier was seated at a desk with three drawers on each side. “Perhaps someone left the note in one of those drawers,” he said pointing.

The soldier began opening the drawers and searching inside. Intent on what he was doing, he never noticed Craig swiftly cut around the desk and swing up behind him.

Craig took one step forward and looped his right arm around the soldier’s neck. He pressed his powerful right forearm against the man’s throat and yanked back.

As the soldier struggled, Craig kept pressing, choking off the air supply to his body. Gradually, the man’s thrashing subsided.

Craig watched the color drain from his face. His body went limp.
Careful
, he cautioned himself.
Careful. Not too much or you’ll lose him.

He released his hold and the soldier tumbled to the floor.

“Shit, I lost him,” he moaned aloud, furious at himself.

He leaned over and tried mouth to mouth, pumping air back into the man’s lungs. An eyelid fluttered. He was coming back. Barely conscious now, he looked up at Craig with a terrorized expression.

“Listen up,” Craig barked, “you tell me what I want to know and you’ll live. You fuck with me and you’re a dead man.”

The soldier blinked his eyes and Craig took this as acquiescence.

“Where did General Estrada go?” he asked.

“Up north,” came the response in a hoarse whisper.

“To his headquarters at Iguazu?”

“Yes … yes …” was the faint reply.

“What about Schiller?”

“He went with Estrada.”

“And the girl, Gina?”

The man hesitated. Craig saw that he had a knife in a case at his hip. Craig took it out and held the sharp blade close against the soldier’s throat.

“What about the girl?”

“They dragged her with them. She didn’t want to go. She was yelling, ‘Don’t take me.’”

“That bastard, Estrada,” Craig shouted.

No point killing the soldier. He had gotten what he wanted. With the knife in one hand, he dragged the man into a coat closet off the lobby. He stripped off the soldier’s shirt and cut it into strips that he used along with the man’s belt to tie the soldier’s hands and feet. Then he picked up a wooden coat hanger and smashed the guard on the head hard enough to knock him out, but not do any real damage.

Craig took the man’s pistol holstered at his hip, as well as the knife, and left him in the closet with the door tightly closed.

Back at the reception desk, he picked up the soldier’s Uzi, which had been resting on the floor near his feet. He concealed it in an empty shopping bag that had been in the trash bin. Then he walked quickly through the front door.

Out on the street, he stopped and looked in every direction. An eerie silence had settled over the area. No pedestrians. No cars on the road.

He walked two blocks, then ducked behind the corner of a building so he wasn’t visible from the street. From there, he called Nicole.

“You once told me you know where Estrada’s headquarters is at Iguazu. In an old castle, right?”

“Yeah. Why do you want to know?”

“Because I’m going there right now. That’s where Estrada and Schiller are. And they have Gina.”

“Are you crazy? Planes don’t fly at one in the morning. There won’t be anything until seven or eight at the earliest.”

Craig wasn’t deterred. “You must know somebody who flies private planes for rich people. Call him and tell him I want to go now. Money’s no object. With a big payoff, he’ll put off sleeping for a few hours.”

From behind the building, Craig saw a police car advancing slowly down the street from his left to his right.

“Hold on for a minute,” he told Nicole.

The pistol was in his pocket. He gripped it hard. If the car stopped, he’d fire first and ask questions later.

The police car slowed down.

Craig held his breath.

Inexplicably, the police car resumed its normal speed. It must have been a routine patrol.

“I know someone,” Nicole said. “Manuel Rodriguez. He owns his own plane. He flies it for lots of company execs.”

“Then call him. If he won’t do it, find someone else. I’ll wait to hear from you.”

He hung up and stared at his phone. C’mon, Nicole. Come through for me.

She did. Two minutes later, his phone rang.

“Rodriguez wants twenty K US. He’ll take plastic. In an hour he’ll be at Aero Parque Jorge Newbery to fly us up there.”

“Who’s the ‘us’?” he said. “I couldn’t put you at risk like that.”

“Gina will need help, and even someone as brilliant as you won’t be able to do it on your own.”

Her vehemence reminded him of Elizabeth. He had no chance of telling either of them what to do.

“Okay. Okay. I’ll be glad to have you. I’ll find a cab and meet you at the airport.”

“Tell me where you are. I’ll pick you up.”

Rodriguez insisted on receiving a verbal authorization from American Express for his payment before letting Craig and Nicole on the plane.

Once he had that, he moved quickly to fuel up and file a flight plan. Minutes later, the three of them took off.

Inside the Learjet, Craig demanded that Rodriguez leave the door to the cockpit open. Notwithstanding Nicole’s confidence in the pilot, there was something Craig didn’t like about the man. He knew that plenty of danger and risk awaited them in Iguazu, but he wanted to make certain they were able to walk down the stairs of the plane on their arrival.

Iguazu, Argentina

F
rom the castle in Iguazu, Estrada arranged a telephonic hookup with his top generals. “Zero hour is right now,” he said. “I want all of our planes in the air immediately. The initial objective is to knock out the entire southern sector of the Brazilian Air Force on the ground before they have a chance to put their planes into the air. Then exactly one hour from now, I want tank and infantry moving east at all locations. Don’t stop until you reach the sea. Is that clear?”

In unison came the response. “Yes, sir.”

Estrada hung up and turned to Colonel Schiller. “Where’s Gina?”

“The girl’s in a prison cell upstairs,” Schiller said. “I have a soldier guarding her.”

On the flight to Iguazu in a military plane, Schiller had urged Estrada to give him an opportunity to interrogate Gina in his own way. This meant various forms of torture with which Estrada was familiar, but Estrada had rejected the colonel’s proposal, telling him, “Let’s discuss it in Iguazu.”

Now Schiller renewed his request. “If you leave me alone with her for just an hour, I promise she’ll tell me everything she knows about Craig Page and the Americans.”

Estrada glared at the colonel. “Leave her alone.”

Schiller pressed him. “The little bitch betrayed you. I intend to tie her down in a bed and have my way with her. Just to loosen her up. After that, I’ll interrogate her. If she doesn’t talk, I’ll insert a stick, wired to pass an electric current into her vagina. That will change her mind.”

“And what do you hope to gain?”

“Information about how much Craig Page knows about our plans and who he’s working with in Washington. What the Americans are planning to do. Whether Bryce is really with us or playing both sides.”

“You think she’ll know all this?”

“There’s only one way to find out.”

Though furious at Gina’s betrayal, the normally decisive Estrada was torn about what to do. Schiller had a point. It would be an advantage to find out what Craig Page knew and Gina might have that information. After what she had done she wasn’t entitled to mercy.

And yet …

Miguel Galindo had been more than a hero, a friend, and a revered commanding officer for Estrada. Miguel had been a surrogate father for Estrada, who had been an orphan. After the death of Gina’s mother, Miguel had made Estrada promise that if anything happened to him, Estrada would take care of Gina. Following Miguel’s assassination Estrada lumped her together with his own four children. He never treated her differently from any of them.

Estrada couldn’t do it. He turned to Schiller. “Leave Gina alone. She’s irrelevant. It’s too late for the Americans to do anything. By the time they wake up in Washington, all of southeastern Brazil will be in our hands.”

When Schiller didn’t respond, Estrada added, “If you want to focus your intelligent effort, do it on Craig Page.”

Estrada was angry at himself for being deceived by the Barry Gorman cover. After Dunn, he should have been more vigilant. The $10 billion had blinded him. Schiller had warned him that’s what was happening, but he chose to disregard Schiller’s advice, believing he was able to determine for himself whether Barry Gorman was genuine. It was his own fault that he was in this situation.

“When we get our hands on Craig Page,” Estrada said, “we’ll deal harshly with him. We’ll give him no mercy.”