To The Lions - 02 (35 page)

“Sounds
bleak.
 
I think I’d better call in a
marker with my senator friend.”

“There’s
no time,” Gage said.
 
“That’ll take days
and I don’t have days.”

“Are
you suggesting a bust-out?”

“That’s
my only prayer.”

“Finding
operators willing to do that, in hours and not days, is probably impossible
and, if not, would take more money than either of us ever dreamed.”

“I’m
working on a plan,” Gage said, massaging his tired eyes.
 
“There’s a bent-screw here.”

“Guard?”

“The
warden.”

“You’re
kidding.”

“No,
sir.
 
She’s been coerced by this gang,
Los Leones, for years.
 
Got in bed with
them.
 
Took their money.
 
I think I’ve managed to convince her that
she’ll wind up dead if she hangs around.”

“Will
she help?”

“We’re
going to find out soon.”

“How
soon?”

Gage
told him about El Toro’s deadline.

“You’re
in a damned two-out-pickle, ain’t you?
 
What can I do?”

“For
now, not much.
 
Just keep the phone on
you.”

“I’m
sorry about all this, son.
 
As soon as I
heard who the originator was, I shoulda hung up the damned phone.”

“I’m
the dumbass who took the job.”

“Give
me an update ASAP.”

“There’s
one other thing, sir.”

“What’s
that?”

“I
had a satellite phone.
 
Someone traced
it.
 
And Navarro swore it wasn’t anyone
in the Spanish government.”

“When
was this?”

“Two
days ago.
 
That’s what burned
Navarro.
 
Someone had to have major pull
to track that signal, sir.”

“I’ll
look into it.”

After
hanging up, Gage remained on the cold concrete floor, despondent.
 
His kidney felt like a swollen grapefruit,
the area around it radiating heat.
 
Finally he stood, stretching as best as he could manage.
 

Think.

So
many questions came to him.
 
Surely Redon
couldn’t have faked trial paperwork.
 
And
what about the man he was accused of murdering in Melilla?
 
An investigation would expose the fallacies
in all of this.

You’re forgetting something, Gage.
 
All this stuff is true, but unless you can
figure it all out before your nine A.M. meeting with El Toro, worrying over
it’s like pissing in the wind.

He’d
have to trust that Justina would come through.
 
Rather than waste time feeling sorry for himself, he decided to get to
work.
 
First, he disconnected the phone,
reaffixing the wall plate but leaving the screws a tad loose, just in
case.
 
He hid the phone in the cushions
of the sofa before going to the small refrigerator.
 
After unplugging it, he carried it to the
scant light by the door.

The
back was covered in a template-cut sheet of soft, bendable aluminum.
 
Behind that aluminum was the coil, loaded
with refrigerant.

Useful
items.

* * *

Monte
Carlo, Monaco

It
was past two in the morning when Xavier got the call.
 
He was on the launch, nearing his yacht,
planning to take an overnight night cruise to Italy.
 
Tomorrow he would romance the don’s daughter,
hoping the illicit liaison would get his blood moving.
 

The
water, roiled by a passing storm, was choppy, making the launch’s ride loud and
rough.
 
The sky was now clear, the flower
moon casting the water in purple light.
 
Xavier pressed his phone against his head with his finger in his other
ear, barely able to hear his persnickety financial man, Theo Garcia.
 
Xavier told Theo to wait as they reached the
yacht, the pilot taking a line from the captain and sidling to the deck at the
stern.

“Good
evening,” the sleep-frosted Greek captain mumbled to Xavier once he’d climbed
aboard.
 
The captain was wearing his bathrobe
topped by his crooked hat.

“Keep
everything quiet,” Xavier commanded, stepping into the saloon.

“Speak,
Theo.”

“We
have no money at
all
,” Theo said, his
tone accusatory.

“What
are you talking about?”

“I’ve
been telling you for weeks.
 
Our spending
is outpacing our income.
 
When I paid off
the parties involved in the satellite phone, and then you went and blew nearly
a half-million dollars in Monaco, money that the casino took straight from the
bank, and put a huge yacht rental on your bank line of credit, it stripped away
all of our cash and strained what remaining credit we do have.
 
All I’m doing now is fending off bankers.”

“What
about cash from Los Soldados?” Xavier asked, massaging the bridge of his
nose.
 
“That’s surely coming in now.”

“No,
it’s not,” Theo replied, raising his voice.
 
“That could take weeks…months, even.
 
Your lieutenants are pushing, but they’re being pushed back.
 
We’ve got wars in the streets trying to take
over their operations while you’re off playing baccarat!”

“My
Leones are capable, you little shit.
 
They’ll handle it.”

“We
don’t have time.
 
We need cash
now
.”

“Well,
what about Navarro’s cash reserves?
 
Have
you found them?”

“I’ve
been through everything,” Theo snapped.
 
“And
I’ve got accountants combing the records we’ve found.
 
We’re finding nothing.
 
It was probably all in his brain and your
moronic Leones killed him before getting the information.”

“Impossible.
 
Surely there are records of where his money
is.”

“It’s
not impossible, it’s brilliant.
 
And our
organization is a huge mouth to feed.
 
For months we’ve been struggling along, taking in money as fast as we
can spend it.
 
Now we’re dry and, until
we collect from the people who owe us, we have no cash.”

Several
notions struck Xavier at the same time.
 
“Theo, what if I produce a million euro, in cash?
 
Would that get us by?”

Theo
was quiet for a moment.
 
“For a week or
two.
 
Provided our regular income remains
the same, and there are no more unusual or
excessive
expenditures, it would definitely put us back on our feet.”

Xavier
ignored the veiled barb about expenditures.
 
“Regarding Navarro’s cash hoard…do you think Cortez Redon would have any
ideas about it?”

A
sharp laugh.
 
“If I had to guess, I would
imagine he’s spending his every waking moment looking for it.”

Xavier
smiled, because he agreed.
 
“I’ll be in
touch,” he said, thumbing the phone off.
 
He stepped back into the night air, finding the captain leaning against
the rail, his chin bobbing as he tried to stay awake.

Xavier
moved toe-to-toe with the man and demanded to know what the yacht’s top speed
was.

“Well,”
the captain said, smacking his lips, “that depends on a number of factors that
could include—”

Xavier
slapped the captain across the face.
 
The
older man staggered to the rail while his captain’s hat rolled away like a
crooked wagon wheel.
 
His lower lip
trembling, the Greek straightened, his shock outweighed by his
humiliation.
 

“I
asked you what the top speed was,” Xavier demanded in a razor voice.
 
“From right here, right now, to the Spanish
port at Roses.”

Mouth
opening and closing like an oxygen-starved fish, the captain finally managed to
say, “Thirty-two knots on glass.
 
With
the chop, between twenty-five and thirty knots.”

“Very
well,” Xavier said, his tone changing to polite as he flashed his teeth.
 
“See how easy that was?
 
Now, set a speed course and don’t waste a
single second.
 
And I will be awakened
when we are precisely one hour away from Roses.”

“Of
course, señor,” the shaken captain said, dipping his head.

“Go.”

Moments
later, as the yacht roared to life, Xavier pondered what his actions should be
on the morrow.

Do I go to Berga and claim my million?
 
Or do I trust that whore de la Mancha and,
instead, travel to Barcelona, and have a tête-à-tête with Acusador Cortez
Redon?

His
mind awash in a multitude of thoughts, the decision didn’t come to Xavier.
 
Trying to clear his head, he walked
belowships, finding the low-ceilinged crew cabin containing the bunk-style
beds.

With
no consideration at all, he flipped on the harsh overhead light, listening to
the immediate protests from the women until they realized who it was who had
illuminated the room.

The
smell of the sleeping women aroused him, spent as he was.
 
And there, starboard side, second bunk, lay
the object of his desire, her large tits unbound inside her long t-shirt.
 
He held his hand before her, satisfied over
her radiance at once again being chosen.
 
He pulled her lightly and she emerged from the bed, a flash of her pink
underwear providing him further rigidity.

As
the remaining crew whispered frantically behind them, Xavier led her astern,
back to where he’d just dressed down the captain.
 
There, over the same rail the captain had
used for balance, Xavier took the young crewmember, their sounds drowned out by
the churning twin screws making maximum turns to the southwest.

The
copulation didn’t take long.
 
When
finished, it was well into the night.
 
Xavier kissed the girl gently on her lips, telling her to come and sleep
next to him.
 
He instructed her to bring
him a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a bottle of water.
 
Once he’d brushed his teeth at bedside, he asked
her to use a warm washcloth to wash his penis.
 
That done, he climbed under the covers, telling her to shower quietly
and climb in bed with him.

“And
sometime tonight, as I sleep, take me into your mouth but do not wake me.”

Her
face was troubled as she stood before him, nude, holding a towel for her
shower.
 
“Don’t wake you, señor?” she
asked in her cob-rough peasant Spanish.

“Yes,
my dear, don’t wake me.
 
Because a good
blowjob while a man sleeps means a dream of the finest sort.
 
Remember that when you’re someday married
and, if you really want to get to your husband, surprise him with it, but later
do
tell him where you learned the
trick.”

Feeling
magnanimous, Xavier slid under the silken sheets and was asleep in minutes.

That
night, two hours before he was awakened by the petrified Greek captain, Xavier
had the sweetest of dreams.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Bright,
stinging light.
 
And an instant headache.

Gage
squinted, groaning as he came to his feet despite the bowel-watering pain from
his kidney.
 
But, despite his stab wounds
and bruises, getting up fast was his trademark—he would continue to do it as
long as he was able.
 
To him, it wasn’t
unlike the theory of jumping into a cold swimming pool.
 
Why deal with the series of shocks one takes
when slowly entering the water?
 
Might as
well jump right in and get it over with.

After
the phone calls, Gage had “worked” in the relative dark for what he guessed was
at least two more hours, maybe three.
 
He’d then gotten about four hours of sleep and, although he was
fatigued, he was strangely heartened over what might happen on this day.
 
Because, if all went well, he’d be leaving
Berga.
 
And if Justina came through for
him, with the consulate’s help, he might have a chance to clear his name and
leave the country unmolested.
 
Possibly
with the money.

Wearing
only his underwear, he padded around the small apartment, viewing each of the
items he’d worked with, seeing nothing that appeared out of the ordinary.
 
Satisfied, he went back into the bedroom
area, stripping his skivvies and taking a shower behind the waxy curtain.
 
Once dressed, he sat on the covered cushion,
waiting on the prison’s excuse for breakfast.

Perhaps tomorrow I can have a cup
of strong coffee
, he thought in a rare moment of
indulgence.
 
He knew that such hope, even
over small things, can provide a person extra degrees of motivation.

And I will enjoy my coffee with
Justina
.

* * *

Having
driven into Berga through the three gates, breaking what were surely numerous
government rules but not giving a damn—the same way she hadn’t given a damn
since having been given the keys to the place—Capitana de la Mancha eased her
Opel Insignia, the nicest auto she dared own, up the ramp to the same garage
door Gage’s prisoner transport van had entered not even two weeks before.
 
When Guillermo, the normal morning guard,
flipped the switch, the door slid up, allowing her to drive in.
 
She drove across the large warehouse to a
mini-garage of sorts, created by a structure of stacked boxes in the back
corner of the massive room.
 
It was just
past 7:00 A.M.
 
She was almost two hours
earlier than normal.

De
la Mancha’s heels were a tad taller than her usual footware.
 
She was nicely dressed in a dove-grey skirt
suit with a cream blouse.
 
Carrying her
requisite planner and iPad, she smartly walked to her office, managing to
appear composed while her mind raced.

It
raced because last night she’d made a number of plans.
 
Her first call, of course, was to her
mother.
 
Bitch
.
 
After a brief
shouting match, followed by Angelines’ familiar, tired threats to reveal a few
secrets about good old mama, she finally convinced the former
mistress-cum-blackmailer to grab only her essentials, to collect Jordi from the
local fútbol field, and to drive the two of them in her car to Girona, Spain.

“Find
a large car lot somewhere, back the car in, remove your tags, and leave the car
there.
 
Then walk to a hotel that’s
nowhere near the car, and pay cash for a room.
 
Use your old skills, mama, and sweet talk your way into a hotel room
without revealing your identity,” Angelines had said, struggling to be patient.

“Why?”

“Because
we’re leaving.”

“Who
is?”

“The
three of us.”

“Leaving
to go where?”

“Doesn’t
matter where.
 
We’re going far away, and
it’s for good.
 
You, of all people,
should be thrilled to hear this.”

“And
what on earth do I tell Jordi?”

“Just
tell him I will explain everything.
 
And
take his mobile phone away the second you see him.
 
Destroy it.”

“Who’s
financing this?”

“I
am.”

“Where
did you get the money, Angelines?”
 
She
only called her daughter by her full name in times of high stress, or distrust.

“I’ve
been saving.”

“Not
enough to take us away like this.”
 
Her
mother’s tone turned skeptical.
 
“And you
sound scared.
 
Something happened.”

“Never
you mind.”

“Well,”
her mother had said, her voice turning syrupy sly, “how much money are we
talking?”

“It’s
enough, mother.
 
Enough for me to escort
you two away from this place.
 
Enough,
added to my other savings, for me not to have to work for a while.
 
Enough to get to know my son, really know
him, before it’s too late.”

“I
see,” she said coldly.
 
“You want to
spend time with him but not your own mother.”

Typical mama—a rainbow of emotions
in just one conversation
.
 
“I’m taking you with me, aren’t I?”

“Yes,
but you’ve got me removing my plates,” her mother said knowingly.
 
“Meaning you
stole
the money.”

“You
know, mama, whether I did or didn’t, you’re one to talk.
 
All those years I watched papa drinking
himself to death, wailing through nightmares in the middle of the night,
defeated.
 
When I was young, I thought
you were working a night job and his sorrow was from missing you.
 
I had no idea that, all along, you were out blackmailing
local politicians with your pimp boyfriend.”

“I
paid your way through college,” her mother said sharply.

“Yes,
mama, you did.
 
And now I will pay your
way to a new life.”
 

Angelines
had hung up the phone—then completely broken down.
 
She’d had all she could take and she couldn’t
imagine having to spend more than a day with her mother.

In
her weakened state, she’d even pondered leaving Spain all alone.
 
Maybe she could find a way to continue to
send the checks to her mother.
 
Maybe
once she set up the new life she could come back for Jordi.
 
Maybe she’d even be able to—

Her
thoughts had been chopped off by an icy realization:
 
Such a plan would never work.
 
If I
disappear with their money, Los Leones will go directly to mama and Jordi.
 
Go to them and butcher them.

Gulping
her wine, she pushed the conversation from her mind and consulted her iPad,
having already identified where she wanted to go.
 
From Zurich, once her banking was done, they
would make their way to Athens.

Athens,
as her searches revealed, was highly corrupt.
 
She’d found a website devoted to pirating and, for a highly developed
global city, Athens was a favorite for criminals in search of sanctuary.
  
Once she left Berga, going anywhere was a
risk—but staying in Spain, even in hiding, would be far more dangerous.
 
And, once in Athens, Angelines would somehow
have to find new identification for her and her family.
 
The pirating website listed a restaurant in
Kolonaki, reputedly owned by the largest mob in the Athens underworld.
 
One person wrote of it:
 
With enough money, a person can
dine at the restaurant and, after a discreet inquiry, purchase anything they
desire, to include murder, followed by dessert.
 

Then,
with fresh identifications, they would travel to Indonesia.
 
Angelines planned to stay there for at least
a year, getting to know her family again as they planned their new lives.

So,
last night’s work done, on this, an early morning of her most fateful day,
Capitana Angelines de la Mancha flipped on the lights to her office.
 
She stood there, in the hidden rear doorway,
feeling the heavy rise and fall of her chest.

In
that room, still left over from the brutality she’d received yesterday, she
smelled the sour scent of El Toro, distinctly mingled with the sweat of her own
fear.

With
a shaking, aching left hand, she removed her cigarettes and lighter.
 
As she stood in the doorway, the cigarette
calmed her nerves.
 
She smoked it all the
way to the filter, crossing the room and crushing it out.

“Last
day,” she breathed to the empty office.
 
“Last day.”
 

* * *

Gage
Hartline stood as keys jingled in the door.
 
He figured it was the guard coming back to retrieve the food tray.
 
He’d choked down the foul-tasting meal
because he knew the nourishment might serve him well later.
 
But his visitor was not a guard.
 
Instead, Capitana de la Mancha, looking quite
alluring today, and without her trademark lab coat, stood in the doorway.
 
She jangled a pair of handcuffs, twirling her
finger so he might turn around.
 
Gage
obeyed, placing his hands behind him as the cuffs were clicked shut, though not
overly tightly.

“Please,
sit,” she said.
 
He did, on the
protective coverlet, perched forward to keep pressure off his wrists.
 

“I
want you to listen to me before you speak,” she said.
 
“Do you understand?”

“That’s
fine, but what about the cameras in here?”

“They’re
off,” she said dismissively.
 
“The only
guard that has access is the one with my assistant, and he’s not here yet.”

“Understood.”

“I’ve
decided to do as you suggested.
 
And I
think you’re right—it’s the only way you could possibly survive Los
Leones.”
 
Hands clasped behind her back,
she began to pace.
 
“There are two
sizeable problems, however.
 
The first is
the question of how to physically get you out of the prison.”

“The
second?”

“My
involvement.”

“What
do you mean?”

“I
will help you, but it needs to appear that I’m your hostage.”

Gage
was silent.

“That
way, in case you’re caught in the escape, I can deny involvement.”

“Crafty,”
Gage said in a low voice, simultaneously trying to keep the cuffs from
jangling.

“It’s
the
only
way I will participate and,
therefore, your only hope of getting out of here.”

“I
suppose you still want the money?” he asked.

She
snorted.

“All
right, well, how about the million-euro question?
 
How the hell do we get out of here, with you
as my
hostage
?”

“We
have to get all available guards in the main bay.
 
That will leave us with only the warehouse
guard, and the tower guards to deal with.”
 
She crossed her arms.
 
“And El
Toro.”

“What
about El Toro?” Gage asked, focusing on the furtive actions taking place behind
his back.
 
Upper notch until it seats, then slow, strong pressure in the direction
of travel.

“It
was all I could do to buy you the night in this
aposento
.
 
He wanted to meet
with you yesterday, but I was able to hold him off until this morning.”

“Yeah,
I heard about the meeting at nine.”

“How?”

“Your
little pear-shaped guard came in last night and brought me a message from
Mister Toro.
 
I think he ruptured my
kidney with his frigging baton.”

She
closed her eyes and shook her head, mumbling something to herself.

“Regarding
that asshole, El Toro, we need to leave before his deadline.”

“No,”
she said, her voice firm.

“No?”

“Before
we leave here, Hartline, you’re going to kill El Toro for me.”

“What
are you talking about?”

“He’s
the critical link between our actions and Los Leones.
 
With him dead, the resulting confusion in Los
Leones will buy us time.”

“Why
don’t we just leave now?
 
We’ll have a
few hours’ head start.”