To The Lions - 02 (18 page)

Navarro
took it in stride.
 
“How much?”

“I
want twice the monthly amounts you offered me: two-hundred grand for the first
month, and a hundred grand for each additional month.”

“That’s
a great deal of money.”

“Yes,
it is.
 
And if you decline, you will need
to find another man.”

“You’ve
already asked for this extra week to make your decision, leaving me in a
weakened position.
 
One day could be the
difference in the life we speak of, and now I don’t have time to find another
person.”

“That
was never my intention,” Gage said.
 

“If
I double these amounts, and my son departs there in good condition, then I must
insist the bonus at the end remains the same,” Navarro said.

“Agreed.
 
But there’s one other condition.”

“And
that is?”

“I
want more advance money.
 
I want the fee
for the first year up front.”
 
Gage let
that sink in a moment.
 
“And when I go
in, I go in.
 
I will not request to be
pulled out while your son is alive.
 
I
will stay until the job is done and I will do my very best, but that is the
only
guarantee I can offer.”

“You’re
speaking of a great deal of upfront money.”

“Yes,
I am.
 
It’s one-point-three million
bucks, meaning one million euro at today’s exchange rate, and it’s not
negotiable.”

“You’re
quite brazen, Mister Harris,” Navarro remarked.

“You
want me to go into a prison of murderers, señor, and you say I’m brazen?”

“If
I agree to your conditions, when can you leave?”

“I’m
away at the moment but can be back in Catalonia tomorrow.
 
Have your man bring the money to the main
train station in Barcelona.
 
Euros, in
small bills, please.
 
Tell him to be at Barcelona
Sants metro track L-three tomorrow at eight in the morning.”

“
When
can you leave?”

“I
can leave three days from today.”

“I
have your word?”

“You
do,” Gage said.

“Must
I speak of what would transpire if you disappear with my money?”

“I
have no illusions about that, señor.
 
And
my reputation should give you comfort that I’m a man of my word.”

“Very
well.
 
I will speak to my associate,”
Navarro said.
 
“I’m pleased.”

“There’s
one other thing.”

“Yes?”

“Your
associate, the lawyer…I do not trust him.”

“While
he’s obviously willing to bend the occasional rule, he and I have worked
together for many years.”

“Tell
him, from me, if he double-crosses me in any way, I
will
come for him.”

Navarro
was silent for a moment.
 
“Is there
something about him I should know?”

“Nothing
concrete, no.
 
Call it a hunch.”

“I
will tell him.”

“Tomorrow,
señor, Barcelona Sants, L-three, eight in the morning.”

“My
associate that drove you will be there.”

“Does
he know about this?”

“Not
fully, no.
 
But he’s my closest ally and can
be trusted.”

“Fine,
señor.
 
Good day to you.”

Gage’s
next call was to Colonel Hunter’s regular mobile phone.
 
As Gage predicted, since it was the middle of
the night there, Hunter didn’t answer and Gage left a two-minute message
detailing the high-points of the job.
 
“I’m going to send you a copy of the affidavits in their original form.”
 
Gage forced a chuckle and said, “And I don’t
want to hear any don’t-bend-over-for-the-soap jokes either, sir.
 
Hartline, out.”

Checking
his watch again, Gage exited the phone booth, walking back to the Tuileries
Garden.
 
Despite his casual clothes, he
promptly did eighty-two military push-ups, breaking the horizontal plane on
each one with his upper arms.
 
He jogged through
the park, wedging his feet under the legs of a mounted bench as he did more
than one hundred sit-ups in the damp grass, touching his elbow to the alternate
knee on each one.
 
Then he ran, pushing himself,
doing more than the standard quick-time jog.
 
When he was far to the south, he spotted a ticket window awning on a
stadium called Charléty.
 
The awning was
stout and, after testing his weight, Gage did ten wide-arm pull-ups, touching
the back of his neck to the bar and pausing during each repetition.
 
He did four sets of ten.

His
muscles sufficiently warmed up, Gage ran for forty more minutes, slowing his
pace to a fast jog, timing his run to end near their hotel around ten in the
morning.
 
When he went to the hotel room,
he didn’t tell Justina the news, only that they needed to head back to Spain.
 
Two hours later they departed Gare
d’Austerlitz with matching train tickets to Barcelona.

And
Gage had no idea how, or when, he would break the news to Justina.
 
But it had to be done.
 
Soon.

That
evening, with no immediate worries over money, Gage sprung for a night at the
modern Abba Hotel only a few blocks away from the Barcelona Sants railway
station.

He
wanted to enjoy his brief time with Justina, and his time as a free man.
 

While
he waited for the best time to tell her.

* * *

Barcelona,
Spain

The
following morning Gage stood outside the gleaming terminal of the Barcelona
Sants railway station.
 
He kept his eyes
on the short-term lot and, at precisely 7:48 A.M., was pleased to see Navarro’s
top man, Valentin, enter the lot, taking a ticket from the automated
attendant.
 
Gage waited while Valentin
parked the gleaming white Jaguar XJL Ultimate.
 
The Spaniard exited the vehicle, carrying a satchel and wearing a sport
coat, looking like any businessman at the station to catch a train.

After
scanning the area for anyone who might be following Valentin, Gage took up a
position behind him and walked into the train station.
 
The station was expansive and busier this
morning than it had been yesterday evening.
 
Gage continued to scan for surveillance as he followed Valentin to the
sprawling underground area containing the short-distance metro tracks.
 
The Spaniard purchased a ticket, went through
the turnstile and walked to metro track L-3, just as he was instructed.
 
He looked up at the clock.
 
It was 7:58 A.M. and he was on the Canyelles
side of the line.

Gage
walked to the automated ticket machine and purchased two T-10 tickets, running
a twenty-euro bill into the machine and pocketing his change.
 
He passed through the turnstile and waited
fifty feet from Valentin, keeping him in sight the entire time.
 
When 8:00 A.M. came and went, Valentin began
to look around.
 
Gage remained behind a
crowd of people on the platform.
 
When
the train finally arrived, he pushed forward and, just before the train
departed, grasped Valentin by the arm and led him onto the packed subway car.

When
the doors had squeezed shut, Valentin eyed Gage.

Gage
leaned over and spoke Spanish, saying, “Give me your phone.”

“Perdón?”

“You
heard me.”

Valentin
reached into his jacket and handed Gage a rather cheap phone, which came as no
surprise.
 
It was likely disposable and,
if Gage were to guess, he and Navarro had a drawer full of them.
 
In fact, they probably used a new one every
day or two.
 
Gage unclipped the back
cover and removed the battery.

“Any
other phones or anything else emitting a signal?”

“No,”
Valentin said, frowning.

“Good.
 
Just stare straight ahead and get off when I
tell you to.”

They
rode the train through several stops.
 
By
the time they reached the Vallcarca station, the outbound train was nearly
empty.
 
As the doors opened, Gage hitched
his head and followed Valentin off.
 
The
only other people exiting must have been students because they were all very
young, laughing and running with their book bags and matching uniforms.
 
Gage gestured up the long escalator, following
Valentin and keeping a watchful eye behind them.
 
Outside, he led Valentin into a grocery,
finding a small bathroom in the back.
 
Inside
the bathroom, Gage held out his hand for the satchel.

“Shouldn’t
we talk first?” Valentin asked.

“I’m
not going anywhere,” Gage said, taking the satchel and popping it open.
 
On top of the money was a canister of shaving
cream.
 
Gage lifted the canister,
frowning.

“Please
take that,” Valentin said.

Gage
popped the top and squirted some of the shaving cream.
 
He set the canister aside and perused the
satchel.
 
Inside were banded stacks of 50
and 100 euro bills.
 
They weren’t brand
new, thankfully, with each bill showing telltale wrinkles.
 
Gage reached behind his body and pulled a
folded vinyl bag from his waist.
 
He
opened the bag, dumping the contents of the satchel in and zipping it.
 
Then he tossed the leather satchel into the
trash next to the toilet.

“Follow
me.”

Valentin
slid the shaving cream into his jacket.

They
departed the grocery, crossing the street to an area with trees and a
playground.
 
There, Gage instructed
Valentin to sit at a checkerboard built from tile on top of a concrete
table.
 
Sitting across from him, Gage
unzipped the bag and counted the stacks of money while checking each stack for
markers.

“I
do not understand your constant caution, Mister Hartline,” Valentin said.
 
“We do not aim to cheat you, nor do we want
to track you.”

“This
caution has kept me alive,” Gage muttered, finishing with his count.
 
The money was all there.
 
He looked up.

Valentin
handed Gage an envelope.
 
“This contains
your instructions.
 
Señor Navarro told me
to tell you that he is counting on you following through with your commitment
every day of your incarceration.”

“I
understand,” Gage said, folding the envelope and stuffing it into his pocket.
 

Valentin
reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a slim, heat-sealed black plastic
bag.
 
“This is the satellite phone and an
earpiece—the smallest and lightest available.”
 
Seeing Gage’s look, Valentin said, “The battery is disconnected.”
 
He removed the shaving cream canister and
wagged it.
 
“On your second day, this
shaving cream canister will be replaced with an identical canister with the
phone hidden in its bottom.
 
The bottom
can be unscrewed.”

“Who
will put it there?”

“Redon
has arranged it,” Valentin said, shrugging.

“Who
else knows that I’ve been hired by your boss?”

“Only
me and Acusador Redon, along with Señor Navarro, of course.”

“When
did he tell you?”
 

“I’m
Señor Navarro’s eyes, his ears, his hands…I know everything, whether he knows
it or not.”
 

“Any
thoughts for me?”

Valentin
moved his eyes side to side before saying, “Cesar, the son, has
always
been problematic for Señor
Navarro.”

“In
what way?”

“Cesar
left when he was sixteen.
 
Went to the
south.
 
Lived on hookers and cocaine
until his father stopped feeding him cash, and then he used the Navarro name to
begin importing drugs from Africa.”

“What
else?”

“I
know nothing else.”

“What
is Cesar like?”

“It’s
been many years, Mister Hartline.”

“What
was
he like?”

Valentin
shook his head.

“Just
between us,” Gage said.