The Tangled Web: an international web of intrigue, murder and romance (17 page)

“So far we haven’t got anywhere. I’ve upped the offer several times, but they won’t budge.”

“I’m sure you’ll come up with a persuasive method of changing their minds,” she said checking her makeup as the cars pulled up in front of the restaurant. At the same time their driver opened their door, the car following theirs pulled up immediately behind them. Two men jumped out swiftly, straightening their jackets as they followed Jorgé and Maria to the entrance. Maria leaned toward Jorgé. “I’m a prisoner of my own making. Isn’t it ironic that all the money in the world can’t buy freedom?” she said in a hushed voice.

They entered the restaurant, Jorgé brushing her waist as his eyes scanned the tables and the owner rushed over to them gushing solicitously, “Senora Echevarría, Senor Rojas, what a great pleasure to see you! Come this way please, I have a table for you.” The two men standing at a respectful distance caught his eye. “And I have a table for the
señores
also,” the manager said with immediate understanding. “
Venga
, please follow me.”

Maria still created a stir wherever she went, as was happening now as she and Jorgé were escorted to their table with barely hidden deference by the owner of the fashionable establishment. Although the source of Maria’s vast fortune was widely known throughout Colombia, her wealth bought her a degree of tolerance, if not complete acceptance. It was rumored Jorgé Caicedo Rojas, her right hand man and business partner was her lover, though no one knew with certainty if there was any truth in it – except for their household staffs whose generous salaries, mixed with an element of fear, made discretion more than worth their while.

Cali’s gossip mill was being treated to a feast as Maria and Jorgé studied their menus, Jorgé leaning close to her to whisper something they could only imagine, she smiling faintly and saying something in return. The two men at a table not too far from theirs, less relaxed in posture, watchful of the comings and goings of the patrons and staff. Maria finally looked up from her menu and with a twisted smile whispered, “Our esteemed island associate will soon be enjoying his last meal.” She clinked her glass against Jorgé’s. “Let’s wish him a final bon appetit.”

TWENTY-FOUR

With summer finally gone and fall already in full swing, the air had a nip to it as Tony Martin, born Antonio Martinez in Bogota, Colombia, headed down 22nd Street in New York City to the tapas place nearby on 10
^th
Avenue. He entered the small Spanish restaurant and took a quick look at the lunch menu scribbled on a blackboard before going in search of the person he was meeting.

Alfonso was already seated, savoring a glass of good Spanish white. Martin pulled out a chair and sat. “
Hola
, Alfonso.
Cómo estás?
It’s been a while.”

“
Si
, been a few years,” Alfonso acknowledged with an impassive face.

A server appeared with two menus and placed them on the table. Before she had a chance to ask, Martin said, “Bring me whatever he’s drinking.” He was anxious to hear what the urgent meeting was about.

“So, what’s going down Alfonso?” Martin asked as she disappeared.

“We need you Tony. We need somebody good.”

The answer came as no surprise. Martin knew Alfonso would only have flown in from Cali for one reason, a big job. The last time Martin had laid eyes on Alfonso, Martin had ended up in Mexico on a mission near to impossible. But he’d got the job done. He knew it was unrealistic, but he had hoped that that was the last of it.

“I was kinda hoping I was off the hook after all these years,” he confided. “I’m getting old for this kind of thing. Just thought I could run my little business in peace until retirement, if you know what I mean.”

Alfonso regarded Martin soberly. “I know what you mean. But guys like us are never off the hook. That will be the day. Besides, they need somebody who knows what they’re doing. These young pups today aren’t the same as pros like you.”

He halted as he saw the server coming with Martin’s drink. When she had taken their orders and disappeared again, he continued in a lowered voice. “This one’s big, Antonio, some chief honcho.”

“Chief honcho of what, a big set-up?”

“Chief honcho of a whole country, my friend.”

It took a few seconds for it to sink in. “Are you shitting me?” Martin said striving to keep his voice low. He gave a disbelieving half laugh. “Come on, man, is this some kind of joke? You can’t be serious!”

“
Es cierto.
”

“Where is this supposed to go down?” Martin asked incredulously.

“Some island in the Caribbean.”

“Listen amigo,” Martin said after a moment of stunned silence, “Enforcement I can deal with, but this is way beyond enforcement. Taking out presidents is not exactly my line of business.”

“Think you need to consider making it your line of business, Tony. Face it, you owe them too much to say no. Nice brownstone in the city, your boy at Princeton, your girl at a private school, cash in the bank. They saved your ass when you were groveling in the gutter. They’re never going to forget that, even if you have.”

It was a barely hidden threat. A pulse throbbed in Martin’s jaw. It was no secret the cartel kept close tabs on the next of kin of certain employees.

“Look at it this way,” Alfonso said leaning forward. “You’ll have your girl’s college tuition paid for and then some. Not that I’m saying it’s going to happen, but if anything goes wrong, you know they’ll take care of your family. As for the contract, it’s the same as any other job, maybe even easier. Things in the islands aren’t like they are here. They’re kinda laid back. It’s just a matter of scoping out the turf and going from there. It’s not like they’re asking you go after the man in the White House, my friend.” He paused to take a sip of wine. “The target’s called the prime minister by the way, not the president.

Martin glowered at him.

“Just so you have your facts straight, Tony.”

“President, prime minister, same thing,” Martin growled. “What time frame are we talking about?”

“Two weeks, three at the outside.”

“That’s not much time to prepare for something that big. What’s the rush?”

“My guess is as good as yours. But a contract like this? I’ll say no more.”

They broke off their conversation as the server came back with their orders. Martin waited until she was again out of earshot to say what was on his mind. “They’re asking me to operate in unknown territory – in an impossible time frame. I have to do my homework if I’m to be effective.
Esto es una locura
.”

Alfonso dug into his croqueta. “Maybe so, but if anybody can swing it, it’s you, Tony.”

Martin swirled a sip of wine around his tongue thinking. He didn’t like being unprepared. He always made sure to be prepared. Even at that, things could go wrong. He remembered a time in Miami when he’d taken out a mid-level trafficker walking from his front door to get the morning paper. The guy had been a relative nothing, yet Martin had to scope out his house for weeks, keeping track of his daily movements. Morning turned out to be the best shot, except it also turned out to be a near disaster. The kid on the bicycle came out of nowhere. Martin had timed it for when the elementary school in the neighborhood had already started, so the kid must have been late for school or something. He’d used a silencer, so the kid didn’t hear anything. But the kid saw the guy fall. He kept on riding as if he was being chased by the devil himself. Martin had fled the scene before anyone discovered the body, but it was a close call. He just hoped the kid hadn’t realized he had witnessed a murder. That would have been bad. Martin’s kid was around the same age at that time. He wouldn’t have wanted his son seeing something like that.

“Try one of these,” Alfonso offered, taking Martin away from his thoughts.

Martin put down his tapa and helped himself to a croqueta. “Got anything I can use?” he asked through a full mouth.

Alfonso shoved a newspaper clipping across the table. “Only this.”

Martin studied the photograph of Erick Freeman and took note of his name. “It’s not much, but guess it’s better than nothing. I’ll check him out on the Net. Got to be stuff about him on the Net. What are the arrangements?”

“We’ll take care of everything – flights, hotel, rental car.”

“Who do I get my documents from?”

“Check with Miguel. He’ll have them ready. He’ll have a credit card for you too. How soon can you leave?”

“Guess Friday. Just understand I’ll probably need to be there for at least two weeks before,” Martin cautioned.

“Your ticket will be open so you can leave and return anytime you want. Know a guy named Smith, a gringo from Miami?”

“Name doesn’t ring a bell. What’s his deal?”

“He used to live on the island. Knows the place well. He’s figured out all the possible scenarios, so that’s some help. Your weapon will be flown in by special delivery.”

“How the hell would they know what I’m comfortable using?” Martin asked irritably.

“Tell me what you want, Tony. Anything you want.”

“There’s a little sniper pistol that will probably do the job – the Thompson-Center Arms Contender. Should be okay, as long as the target isn’t too far away. Know it?”

“You know guns aren’t my thing, Tony. I’m just a management guy.”

“This thing can take down anything from a rabbit to an elephant, depending on the stock configuration,” Martin said, ignoring him. “It’s nice and discreet, but it’s got a three hundred yard range. I figure a pistol is best, in case I have to dump the weapon and run. Don’t want to be scrambling around trying to figure out how to get rid of a weapon when the shit hits the fan. How am I getting the weapon? You expecting me to make the pick up?”

“Smith will get it to you.” Alfonso pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Martin. “Here’s Smith’s cell number. I’ve written down the name of the hotel where he’ll be staying, just in case you need it. He’ll know where you are. I’ll need to get a cell number where he can reach you while you’re there.”

Martin shoved the paper into his shirt pocket. “Alfonso, come clean with me. What the hell is going on? A head of a country is pretty serious stuff, island or no. Every law enforcement agency will be all over this.”

Alfonso wiped his mouth with his napkin. He gave Martin a mirthless smile. “Antonio, want to know what I think? It’s better you don’t know nothing. Trust me when I say that. If you get caught, and pray God that doesn’t happen, you’ll have nothing to tell. Because if you ever talk, hell is better than what you’ll have to face.” He took another bite of his croqueta. “I wish you luck from the bottom of my heart,
amigo
. Let’s hope this is the last time you pay the piper. You’re right, we’re getting too old for this crap.”

TWENTY-FIVE

The house with the beautiful terraced garden seemed unusually quiet for that time of evening as Lauren arrived, entering by way of the unlocked front door. “Is anybody home?” she called as, following the aroma of cooking, she crossed the living area and made straight for the kitchen. She found Sylvia, Margaret Thomas’ culinary genius, cutting up vegetables at the counter.

“Hi, Sylvia, where’s my aunt?” Lauren asked walking over to the stove and quickly removing the lid from a pot that was on the verge of boiling over.

“I’m not sure, Miss Lauren, but I know she’s expecting you for dinner.”

“What’s for dinner?”

“Roast beef and Yorkshire pudding,” Sylvia replied with a quick glance at Lauren.”

Lauren raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Roast beef and Yorkshire pudding? I didn’t know you knew how to make Yorkshire pudding, Sylvia.”

“Just give me a recipe and I can cook anything,” Sylvia chopped away.

“Let me go find my aunt,” Lauren smiled and went in search of Margaret.

She wandered down the passage leading to the bedrooms, wondering where on earth everybody was. As she passed the master bedroom, she heard a shower going. She was about to open the door when, not knowing whether it was Margaret or Rich taking a shower, she decided against it.

Lauren frowned in puzzlement. Strange that neither of them was around when they were expecting her for dinner. Margaret was a stickler for punctuality. Perhaps Margaret was working in her office, Lauren mused as she headed toward the closed door at the end of the passage. She had gone but a few feet when the sound of Margaret’s voice stopped her in her tracks.

 “I agree it’s becoming too dangerous. But I trust our mobiles are safe, at least until tomorrow,” Margaret was telling someone.

Quietly, Lauren drew closer to the door.

“He called from New York today then?” Margaret went on to ask after a long pause.

Lauren now realized Margaret was on the phone. With bated breath, she waited through another lull until Margaret spoke again.

“I know this has nothing to do with anything, but does he happen to know about that suspicion surrounding his brother-in-law’s shipping company?”

Her curiosity now fully piqued, Lauren drew as close as she dared.

This time Margaret said, “That he came from New York for our meeting says a lot about his commitment. I know he’s a very busy man.”

Lauren’s knees weakened. It was Logan Margaret had made reference to. Logan was involved in the very thing Margaret had kept so close to her chest! But no, it was not possible, Lauren argued in disbelief. They did not even know each other. But who else could it be? The person Margaret was talking about lived in New York, had a brother-in-law with a shipping company, and had just been on the island. If a shadow of doubt remained, it was quickly dispelled by her aunt’s next words.

“Yes, I’ll be hearing how London went shortly. I have no reason to believe all didn’t run smoothly at that end, so we can assume we’re set to go. Please communicate that to New York. And give him my best regards, would you?”