To The Lions - 02 (44 page)

Now,
finally in the room, despite the heavy thump of her heart, Justina knew her
actions had to be perfect.
 
Tolerating
one more kiss as he fumbled with the zipper on her tight skirt, she finally
disentangled herself from his hands and, stepping backward, told him to get
undressed.

“Where
are you going?” he panted.

“I’ve
got to do one little thing in the restroom.
 
When I come out, the fun begins,” she said, feigning ecstasy as she
watched him kick off his wee loafers while his hands quickly unbuttoned his
shirt.

Justina
stepped into the restroom and pushed the door shut, pulling out her mobile
phone.
 
Señora Moreno had texted her
several times.
 
Her first message was one
of triumph, informing Justina that Redon had bought the bearer bonds story:
hook, line, and sinker.

Then
Justina read the following message:

It’s your decision J. R fell hard for my angle. Not sure you
should even go thru with plan B with that little perverted weasel. Let me know.

Justina
removed one of Gage’s silver pistols from her bag, eyeing it.
 
The plan had been, obviously, to entrap the
acusador.
 
But, as Señora Moreno had
written, this secondary plan was no longer necessary.
 
Just being near Redon disgusted Justina to
her soul but, since she had him here, she might consider stringing him along
before making an excuse to leave.
 
Then,
if things went awry in Plan A, at least she’d have an open line to him.

Sneering
at her reflection, repulsed by the thought, Justina made the decision to
proceed with caution.
 
Before things got
too physical she would stop.
 
She would
tell Redon that she felt immoral, and that she knew he was married.
 
That way she could send him back to his
office with a set of blue balls and, if Señora Moreno thought it necessary, she
could call him later in the day with the excuse that she changed her mind.

Tucking
the pistol back in her purse, she gripped the door handle.
 
Here we
go.
 
Yuck.
 
Sucking in a great breath, she flung the door
open, turning to the right, looking for the spritely lawyer.

But
there was a problem.

Redon
wasn’t on the bed.

Justina
skittered to a stop, wheeling around, expecting to be tackled.

No
one.

She
moved beyond the simple bed, which was actually two singles pushed together in
the European manner, checking the floor in the blind spot.

Not
there.

She
jerked at the drapes.
 
Yanked open the
closet.

Redon
was nowhere to be found.

Feeling
panicked, she ran back to the door and flipped the hasp to lock it.

Then,
her immediate fear subsiding, she crossed the room and pressed her face to the
glass, peering down three stories to the street and sidewalk.
 
After ten seconds Justina watched as Acusador
Redon emerged from the hotel, hurrying out of sight, headed in the direction of
his office.

Dejected,
Justina trudged back to the bathroom, lifting her phone to call Señora
Moreno.
 
Just as she began dialing the
numbers, the phone beeped.
 
It was a
text.

Just saw acusador. Running scared back to his building. Glad you
blew him off! Come down and we will get ready for Plan A. :)

Tilting
her head back to the ceiling, Justina felt the tension slide away from her body
like wet, heavy clothing.
 
At least she’d
tried.
 
Who knows, maybe her sudden
sexual interest spooked Redon.
 
Although
he was crooked, he certainly wasn’t stupid.
 
He had to know he wasn’t much to look at, and must have come to the
realization that this liaison was too good to be true.
 
Once she’d gone into the bathroom, his
paranoia had probably spiked—and with good reason.

It’s
over now.
  

Justina
stretched, working out the tension from her shoulders and back.
 
She took a long swig from the room’s three-euro
bottle of water, compliments of Cortez Redon’s Visa, and exited the room.

Padding
down the long hallway, Justina considered how magnanimous a person Señora
Moreno was.
 
Here Justina was, a
companion of only a few weeks, and this lady was willing to risk a large chunk
of her fortune just to help her.

Someday, I will find a way to pay
her back.

Life
was positively full of wonderful surprises.

Justina
waited on the elevator, watching as it lingered at another floor.
 
After a full minute, feeling the sudden
craving for a cigarette, she pushed through the steel doorway to the stairwell,
eager to get back to the garage where she’d left the Volvo.

She
had no idea of the welcome she was about to receive.

Chapter Thirty

The
man aiming the rifle at Gage had to have been at least seventy.
 
His eyes were cold and unflinching.
 
He was waiting on Gage’s reply.
 

Calmly
and slowly, Gage replied in Spanish.
 
“I
do not speak Catalan.”

“Who
are you?” the old man asked, his Spanish oddly accented.

“The
woman who lives here, Justina—I’m her boyfriend.
 
We rented this cabin together.”

“Justina’s
boyfriend is in prison.
 
Señora told me
all about it.”

“I
was
in prison.
 
I’m here for my money.”

The
man didn’t respond.
 
Gage looked beyond
him as Angelines adjusted her position, grunting from the pain.
 

“This
one’s shot in the leg,” the other man said.

Gage’s
captor briefly turned his head.
 
He
brought his eyes back to Gage.
 
“Tell me
what happened.”

“My
name is Gage Hartline,” Gage replied.
 
“I
was hired by Ernesto Navarro to protect his son in Berga Prison.
 
He used people in the government to insert
me, and paid me a great deal of money.
 
Once there, I was double-crossed by a host of collaborators and this
morning I escaped with this lady’s help.”
 

The
old man licked his leathery lips, lowering the rifle which was, indeed, a
beautifully maintained M14 with a shiny walnut stock.
 
“And who is this lady?” he asked.

“That’s
the prison’s captain, sir.”

“She
helped you escape, or did you bring her captive?”

“A
little of both, sir.”
 
Gage kept his
hands up despite the fact the gentleman had allowed the M14 to hang down by his
side.
 
“I don’t want to get either of you
in trouble, sir, so if you’re inclined to let us continue with our escape, I’d
appreciate it.
 
But our time is
pressing.
 
The police have a helicopter
and I’m pretty sure the dogs will be on our scent soon, if they aren’t
already.”

The
man narrowed his eyes at Gage.
 
“Where
will you go from here?”

“Don’t
know yet.”

“You’re
sure they’ll bring hounds?”

“Still
the best method, sir.”

There
was a bit of silence in the cabin, marked by the ticking of the mantel
clock.
 

“May
we move?” Gage asked.

“Señora
Moreno, who is our boss by the way, accompanied your girlfriend to Barcelona.”

Gage
closed his eyes and slumped.
 
“Thank
God.
 
Maybe the consul general can get
the ambassador to intervene.”

“They
changed that plan.
 
Didn’t go to the
consulate.”

“What?”
Gage asked, searching each person’s eyes.

“Against
our advice, they went to Barcelona to entrap someone, so they could get a
confession out of him.”

“Who?”

“All
Señora said was that they were going to perform a little magic trick on someone
she called the
acusador
.”

Gage
whipped his head to Angelines.
 
Her eyes
were wide.
 
“Oh,
madre mía!
”

“May
I move?” Gage asked.

“Anywhere
you like.”

Gage
checked the time.
 
“We’ve got about ten
minutes.
 
Do you have a first-aid kit and
do you know where Justina left the keys to the car?”

“You
can use the car if you like,” the man answered, “but I have a better idea.
 
Amancio, while I tell Mister Hartline about
my idea, would you please go fetch the first-aid box?”

As
Amancio took his leave, Sven led Gage across the room, pointing down the
hill.
 
“That, my friend, is your best
ticket out of here.”

Gage
stared at his new transportation, optimism descending upon him.
 

Ask and ye shall receive
.

* * *

Justina’s
platform sandals made the narrow staircase tricky.
 
She still managed the flights of stairs with
good speed, hoping some light physical activity would shuttle the disturbing
memories of that little man’s probing fingers far, far away.
 
She burst through the steel fire door at the
bottom of the stairs, ignoring the simpering smile from the clerk at the
counter.
 
He probably thought she’d just
turned a fast trick.

Especially in this tight getup.

Outside
on the Carrer de Pau Claris, still fighting the craving for a cigarette, she
couldn’t help but take in the beauty of the breathing blooms on the Jacaranda
trees.
 
The flowers made her think of
Paris, and that caused her to wonder how Gage was doing.
 
Surely he was sending for the money in an
effort to pay his way out of Berga—that’s why he’d asked her to leave the
money.

Right?

But
why did he want her to leave one of the pistols?

Please, let him be okay
.

Justina
remembered Señora’s words:
 
“Even if your
Gage tries to escape, they catch people who escape from prison, dear.
 
The best way we can help your man is by
proving he wasn’t supposed to be in prison in the first place.”
 

As
Justina turned to head toward the parking garage, she considered Señora
Moreno’s stance on how to leave things with the acusador:
 
“While you’ll certainly want Redon to have to
pay for what he’s done to Gage, we need to leave him a way out.
 
Believe me, corrupt men like him cooperate
best when they’ve got options.
 
Corner
them, and that’s when they get dangerous.”

Justina
entered the cool shadows of the garage, walking toward the Volvo.
 
As she neared, she could see Señora Moreno’s
darkened profile in the passenger seat.
 

I guess I’m driving
.

When
Justina came around to the driver’s side, she looked through the window.
 
Señora Moreno was leaning back against the
headrest.
 
Her mouth was hanging slack,
like a person sleeping in an upright seat on an airliner.
 
As Justina narrowed her eyes, peering
closely, she could see that Señora Moreno’s neck and mouth were crimson with
blood.

Feeling
her pulse spike as alarms shrieked in her mind, Justina straightened, whirling,
looking around the garage as her hand fumbled for the pistol in her purse.

Just
as her hands gripped the pistol, she heard a quick scrape of footsteps, then
felt a mighty, thudding blow on the crown of her head.

The
last sensation Justina had was her chin striking the concrete.

* * *

Once
Gage and the man called Sven had quickly outlined their plan—a very good plan,
in Gage’s eyes—Amancio arrived back at the cabin with the first aid box,
handing it to Gage.

“Are
you sure you’re willing to do this?” Gage asked Sven.

“What
can they do to me?”

“Put
you in jail,” Gage replied with a firm nod. “Or kill you.”

“Well,
Mister Hartline, I’ve already lived a full life.
 
And with Señora Moreno’s help and influence
on my side, I’m willing to take my chances.”

“Any
other time I might try to talk you out of it, sir, but there’s simply no
time.”
 
Gage rushed Angelines to the only
bathroom in the cabin.
 
Carrying the
large first-aid box, he led her inside and closed the door.

“No
time for modesty.
 
Take off all your
clothes, and I mean everything.”

She
eyed him for a moment before she complied, removing her blouse and bra as he
released the pressure dressing.
 
Gage
heard her let out a small cry but that was all.

“You
okay?” he asked, keeping his eyes diverted as he turned on the shower.

“Just
don’t look at my ass.”

“What?”

“I
hate it.”

He
shook his head, having no clue what she was talking about.

“I
feel lightheaded,” she said, grasping the counter.

“And
you probably will for a while.
 
Trust me,
I’ve had a similar injury before and I know it’s no picnic.”
 
He pointed to the shower.
 
“Put all your clothes beside the toilet in
that corner and get in the shower.
 
We’re
going to have to soap each other’s backs because we have to get every trace of
our current scent off of our bodies.”
 
Glanced at her watch.
 
“We need to
leave here in about three minutes.
 
Get
in
now
.”

Keeping
his eyes on her leg wound as she removed all of her clothes, he viewed both the
entry and exit wound, thankful the wound was as clean as it was.
 
The exit portion was slightly larger and
marked by a few strings of shredded skin and muscle fiber.
 
The deep red of early clotting surrounded
both wounds.
 
The shower would wash much
of the clotting away, but Gage would fix that afterward.

Angelines
stepped into the water.
 
She made a sharp
hissing sound as the water coursed over her leg wound.
 

“That’ll
pass,” Gage said, quickly stripping down and climbing in with her.
 
He grabbed Justina’s shampoo and dumped half
the bottle over Angelines’ head, then his own.
 
“Rub that in good, then take that soap and get it everywhere on your
body, even on your wound.”

Gage
turned the other way, hurriedly soaping his hair, his face, his ears, his
chest, his stomach, legs, feet—every piece of his body he could reach.
 
“You okay?” he asked, working soap under his
arms.

“It
still burns, but, yeah,” came her reply.
 
He then felt her hands on his back, soaping his shoulder blades and the
center of his back, moving downward.
 
Eyes burning, he told her to turn around, following her lead as he
soaped her backside.
 
After sticking his
face and head under the stream of water, Gage took one step out of the shower
and grabbed the mouthwash from the counter, taking a massive mouthful from it
and swishing.
 
He suffered a brief
coughing fit before handing the bottle to Angelines.

“Swish
that around and go so far as to actually drink a little bit,” he said, eyes
watering.
 
As she did, he rinsed himself,
climbing over the tub wall and quickly drying himself.
 
Angelines exited next.
 

“Whatever
you do, do not touch our old clothes.
 
Stay clear of them.”

Angelines’
leg was marked by diluted blood streaming down her leg after the clots had
given way.
 
Gage opened the door and
tugged in the stack of clean clothes, segregating them into two piles.
 
Once she’d dried herself, he ripped open a
bag of clotting powder, just like he’d used in prison, and pushed globs of the
powder into her entry and exit wounds.
 
Again she hissed as she closed her eyes, tilting her head back to the
ceiling.
 
Gage then wrapped her leg with
an elastic bandage and told her to get dressed as fast as she could.

The
woman’s clothes were Justina’s, taken from the bedroom.
 
The shirt was from Eastern Bloc, a t-shirt,
along with a pair of athletic shorts.
 
Señora Moreno’s men had also provided her with a pair of women’s running
shoes, although Gage was pretty sure they weren’t Justina’s based on the
size.
 
As Gage handed the shoes over,
Angelines, sitting on the closed toilet, grabbed Gage’s arms, pulling him to
her as she locked her mouth on his.
 
Instinctively, Gage let it happen for just a moment—one or two
seconds—as her tongue probed his mouth.
 
He pulled back, stunned, knowing nothing else to do but look at her
watch and inform her they had only thirty seconds.

He
donned his own clothes that, thankfully, Justina had laundered and kept for
him: old blue jeans, his favorite black utility shirt, and his running
shoes.
 
With both of them dressed, he
yanked the door open, finding Sven and Amancio standing to the side.

“Are
you sure about this?” Gage asked.

Sven
dangled a set of keys attached to a miniature orange lifebuoy.
 
“She’s already full of fuel.
 
There’s a compass onboard.
 
Just follow the reservoir due east.
 
With the spring rains the dam has been on
full release, and the river is swollen so you shouldn’t have any impassable
areas clear to the Llobregat.”
 
He handed
Gage a cell phone.
 
“Señora Moreno’s
number is first on the speed dial.
 
I’ve
been calling,” he said with a worried shake of his head.