To The Lions - 02 (13 page)

Money in your pockets
,
Gage thought.

“…I
developed a plan that is not only tenable, it’s also perfectly legal.”

Gage
waited and, when Redon didn’t speak, he said, “And that is?”

Redon
smiled triumphantly.
 
“Inserting you as a
paid undercover agent of this government under the guise of a narcotics
investigation.”

There
was a bout of verbal silence.
 
Down
below, waves could be heard lolling westward, building, building, then finally
crashing into the rocks.
 
Birds skittered
about in the trees above, going on about this or that.
 
Gage could feel Navarro’s eyes lasering his
face from the right.
 
He turned to the
man, watching as he removed his Dunhills from the thick robe, taking one out
and tapping the filter end on his lighter.
 
After a half a minute he lit the cigarette, blowing white smoke into the
air.

“Mister
Hartline?” Redon asked.

Gage
moistened his lips, surprised at the words that emerged from his own mouth as
he said, “That changes things, but only slightly.”

Optimism
descended upon the Spanish duo.
 
“Why
only slightly?” Redon asked, showing a toothy smile that Gage could easily
envision being wielded against unsuspecting juries.
 
“This is a good plan and gives us great
latitude.”

“Be
that as it may,” Gage said, “since you trust no one in that prison, can you
imagine what will happen if I’m somehow exposed as an undercover narc?
 
I might as well have a bulls-eye tattooed on
my forehead.”

Gage
quickly moved on.
 
“And, as I’ve already
told Señor Navarro, my skills don’t seamlessly transition to a prison.
 
I’m trained in open tactics.
 
I specialize in weapons, military technology,
reconnaissance and surprise to gain the advantage over opponents.
 
Most of all, I prefer nonviolent
resolutions.”
 
Poking a finger into his own
chest, Gage finished by saying, “I’m over forty years of age.
 
While I’m confident in taking care of myself
in most situations, I don’t have any illusions about fending off a dozen prisoners
who are dead-set on killing me...or worse.”

“Two
people know about this, Mister Hartline,” Navarro said solemnly.
 
“Myself and Redon.
 
Even Valentin doesn’t know what we’re meeting
about.”

“It’s
an excellent plan and worth the associated risk,” Redon added.
 
“The sort of money you’ve been offered is
unheard of.”

Gage
leaned forward.
 
“Since we’re all being
open, I feel compelled to bring something else up.
 
It’s sensitive.”

“As
you said, this is a time to be direct,” Navarro said, smoke escaping his mouth
as he talked.

Gage
aimed a finger at Redon.
 
“You are an
agent of the government and Señor Navarro is a known head of an organized crime
syndicate.
 
The very fact that you’re in
bed with him prevents me from trusting you whatsoever.”

Redon’s
tanned face and neck reddened.
 
He
pressed his lips tightly together as his eyes blazed.
 
A shiver went through his petite body.
 
Finally, when the boiler could hold the
pressure no longer, he stood and began shouting at Gage in Spanish,
gesticulating as he spoke, pounding his narrow chest with one hand while the
other pointed to Gage, to Navarro, to the heavens and, oddly enough, to the
sea.
 
Gage made his own face placid as he
leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he watched the little man’s tirade
without affectation.

Navarro
glared at Redon.

Valentin
appeared briefly, a cigarette dangling from his mouth as he peeked out the
window.

Even
the two dogs walked to the door, cocking their heads at the outburst.

No
one intervened and, when Redon had yelled himself out, he looked spent and
without a clue of what to do next.
 
He turned
to Navarro who motioned him to sit.

Switching
to English, Redon said, “This American prick insulted my name.”

“Well,
if you can’t get over it, then let’s me and you take a walk down to the beach
and settle things like men,” Gage said with a warm smile.

Redon
turned his eyes downward.

Thought so
.

“Mister
Hartline is correct in his reservations,” Navarro said.
 
“What he said is the truth.
 
And, Cortez, do not have such an outburst in
my home
ever
again.”

Redon
looked at Navarro as if he’d been slapped.
 
“I’m sorry, señor, but for this…this
jodido
American to have the gall to—”

“Get
on with it,” Navarro said, cutting Redon off.

The
small lawyer wiped his hands on his slacks and regained his composure.
 
“These are the facts.
 
Knowledge of this operation is confined to
this group.
 
I have gone to great lengths
to create your identity in our justice system.
 
I have manufactured an undercover package that will insert you into the
prison under the guise of the crime of murder in the second degree.”

“Murder
is a respected crime in Berga,” Navarro interjected, crushing out his
cigarette.
 

Redon
continued.
 
“To provide redundancy, in
the unlikely event something was to happen to me, I’ve created a package of
affidavits certifying you as an undercover agent.
 
You’ll get a copy and will want to place it
somewhere safe.
 
In the event of an
emergency, this information can be shown to our government, or yours through
your state department, and will provide you with a safe and expedient exit from
Berga Prisión.”

Navarro
leaned forward.
 
“We can stay here and
talk all night, Mister Hartline.
 
The
job, admittedly, is perilous and will certainly be difficult every day you’re
there.”
 
He rested his hand on Gage’s
knee.
 
“I know you said your skills
aren’t a seamless transition to this situation…but whose are?
 
Prisons, this one especially, are gladiator
arenas devoid of sanity and absent of reason.”
 
Navarro’s sun-spotted hand tightened on Gage’s leg.
 
“My son is all I have.
 
He is not perfect, nor am I.
 
I’ve offered you significant compensation for
attempting this and now I ask you…I
beg
you, señor…please go to Berga for thirty days and, while you’re there, consider
staying for the balance of time.”

Gage
listened to Navarro, pondering everything he’d said, nodding thoughtfully
afterward.
 
“Might we discuss the entire
process in more detail, item by item, including what you know of the day-to-day
activity in the prison?”

“Of
course.”

The
three men talked for another hour before moving inside as the Mediterranean
chill swept over the coast.
 
They covered
everything from Gage’s background story to the “crime” he committed, and to the
amnesty he would receive if he were to be accused of a crime while in
prison.
 
They spoke about Navarro’s son,
Cesar, and the people he claimed were his enemies in the prison.
 
Navarro told Gage, according to Cesar, the
primary threat was from a rival Spanish crime syndicate known as
Los Leones
.

“Cesar
will gladly fill you in on exactly who the aggressors are, Señor Hartline,”
Navarro said.
 
“Los Leones have been
nothing more than an irritating insect for decades.
 
But, perhaps due to my age and my softening
demeanor, they’ve made huge strides in the last years.”
 
He leaned back, growing misty.
 
“I’ve made significant efforts at
legitimizing my empire, Mister Hartline.
 
No, I haven’t completely stopped my criminal activity, but I’ve ceased
all violent operations.”

“You
sell drugs, don’t you?” Gage asked unapologetically.

Navarro
shrugged.
 
“People will get drugs, Mister
Hartline, whether or not I sell them.
 
I
realize such justification doesn’t sit well with some people.
 
But it’s my belief.”
 

They
spoke further about life inside Berga Prison.
 
Nearly three hours after arriving, when Gage had been briefed on
everything he could imagine, Señor Navarro showed Gage a leather briefcase
containing the euro equivalent of one hundred thousand dollars.
 
The bills were in small denominations and were
all well used.
 
Navarro promised that
they were clean and unmarked.
 

“This
money is all yours as soon as you agree to the first thirty days.”
 
Navarro closed the briefcase and set it
aside.

Redon,
his tone and mood chilly, walked Gage through the insertion package along with
the signed affidavits, bearing the stamps and seals of the country of Spain and
the autonomous region of Catalonia.
 
“You
can have a copy once you agree to go.”

“When
would you like an answer?” Gage asked Señor Navarro.

“Tomorrow.”

“Then
my answer is already no.”

Navarro
frowned.
 
“How long do you need?”

“I
want a week,” Gage said.
 
“And, even with
a week, I’m almost certain I will
not
take this job.
 
If you need to find
another man, I will understand.”

Gage
noticed Redon shake his head at Navarro.
 
The old mobster ignored the acusador’s advice as he said, “I wouldn’t
normally give such time, Mister Hartline, but I like you.
 
A week you want, and a week you shall
have.
 
Please answer me
before
the deadline has passed.”

“You
have my word that I will,” Gage said, shaking hands with him.

“Valentin
will take you back to your car.”

Gage
ignored Cortez Redon and walked away, finding Valentin at the front door.
 
They chatted idly on the short drive to Gage’s
rental car.
 
Once there, Valentin warned about
the nighttime hazard of red deer on the rural roads of Catalonia.

Finally
alone and motoring southward, Gage felt the thump of his own pulse as he
thought about Ernesto Navarro’s audacious proposition.

Could I handle myself in a Spanish
prison?

Gage’s
mild intrigue mortified him.

It must be the onset of middle age
,
he thought, smiling to himself as he drove.

As
rapidly as the excitement from the unknown struck him, it was washed away as he
realized who awaited him in Tossa.

Justina…

* * *

Once
the car had disappeared over the ridge of the driveway, Navarro and Redon
retired to the sunken drawing room, taking crystal snifters of Gran Duque
d’Alba brandy by the crackling fire.
 
Navarro smoked pensively, staring into the flames, holding the snifter
off the arm of the chair.

Redon
spoke up.
 
“Again, Señor Navarro, please
accept my apologies for the outburst earlier.
 
But I do not like that man.”

Navarro
smoked.

There
was a lengthy period of silence.
 
Finally,
Redon broke it.
 
“Señor?”

Navarro
turned eyes to him.

“Señor,
why did you insist that we not tell Hartline about the others?”

The
mobster’s mouth straightened.
 
He didn’t
reply.

“I
guess you knew there was nothing to be gained,” Redon reasoned.
 
“If this Hartline knew that the previous
three men all died gruesome deaths in that prison, he’d have run the other way
screaming.”

“I’m
not so sure,” Navarro said.
 
He sipped
his brandy, his voice velvety.
 
“Regardless,
he will learn in good enough time.”

“Won’t
he ask for his release when he learns?”

“I
don’t think so,” Navarro answered.

“And
the Berga guard you had hired?”

Navarro
shook his head.

“I
see,” Redon said.

The
guard had taken nearly twenty thousand euro through an intermediary.
 
He’d agreed to protect Cesar, and to smuggle
occasional items in.
 
But it wasn’t long
before Navarro learned that the guard was actually working behind his back for
Los Leones.