To The Lions - 02 (56 page)

She
covered her mouth.

“Some
people will do anything for money.”

“How’d
you find out?”

“Colonel
Hunter told me.”

“And
what about Justina?
 
Is she okay?”

“Luckily,
yes.
 
She’s lucky that sicko didn’t O.D.
her, though.”
 
Gage tapped his
Timex.
 
“Unfortunately, I have to leave
in a few minutes.”

She
looked away for a moment before refocusing on Gage.
 
“If there had been no Justina, would you have
had interest in me?”

“Yes.”

“You’re
just saying that.”

“I’m
not.
 
But I don’t think we’d make it
long-term.”

“Why’s
that?”

He
smiled as he patted the back of her hand.
 
“Of the few women I’ve dated for any length of time, none of them were
anything like you.”

She
cocked her eyebrow.
 
“That doesn’t sound
good.”

“You’re
type-A, Angelines.
 
We’d have fun for a
week or two before we killed each other.”

She
smiled with him.
 
“But what a fun week or
two that would be.”

He
nearly responded but instead averted his eyes.

“Where
will you go?” she asked.

“Back
to the States.”

“Why
the rush?”

“My
agreement provides that I will never set foot in Spain again.”

“Right.
 
And you always follow the rules, don’t you?”

A
period of silence ensued.
 
It was the
uninhibited type, when both people had other things to say but they knew there
was no real point in saying them.
 
The
entire time, Angelines continued to massage his hand with hers.

Finally,
Gage said two words.
 
“Cortez Redon.”

He
watched as she nestled her head back into the pillow, eyeing the ceiling as her
nostrils flared.
 
“I’m trying not to
dwell on it.”

“What
happened?”

Her
large eyes flashed to his.
 
“You’ve heard
nothing?”

“I’ve
asked about him a dozen times but they’ve stonewalled me.”

She
nodded.
 
“And they’ve questioned me about
him a number of times but won’t tell me anything.”

“Did
you see him again on the beach?”

She
shook her head.
 
“After you were taken
away, I’d told the policemen about Cortez being handcuffed in the truck and, a
few minutes later, one of the cops came back and said the steering wheel was
gone from the truck.”

“And
you left the bonds in the truck?” he asked.

“Yes.
 
Because he was handcuffed securely.”
 
She shook her head.
 
“You should have killed him when you had a
chance.”

“Thought
you were done with that kind of life.”

“He’s
an exception.”
 
She gave his hand a final
squeeze, letting it go and giving him a little shove.
 
“Go on now; live up to your agreement.”

Gage
stood above her, making a fist.
 
“Be
strong, Angelines.
 
And do it right from
here on out.”

An
impish grin came over her face.
 
“Did you
meet Fabian Molina?”

“My
buddy,” Gage said monotone.

“He’s
my ace in the hole.”

“What
do you mean?”

“I
have a few things on Señor Molina.
 
Very,
very bad things from what I remember.
 
But I haven’t decided, yet, if I want to play the angle.”

“Has
your agreement been finalized?”

Still
grinning, she shook her head.

“Do
I even want to know?” Gage asked.

“No,”
she laughed.
 
“Just know that, if I
decide to make a few calls, there’s a video of him ‘cavorting’ that he will not
want getting out.”

“
Bona sort,
” Gage said, kissing her on
her forehead.

An
hour later, after making numerous promises to Señora Moreno, Gage, Justina and
Colonel Hunter departed Spain on a well-appointed Dassault Falcon 7X.
 

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Grand
Cayman, Cayman Islands - Eight months later

The
incoming guard force arrived through the back of the compound, mustering per
S.O.P. in the maintenance garage.
 
Leaving his own force in place until each station was relieved, Gage
Hartline, limping ever so slightly, came around the corner, walking to the rear
of the garage, away from the guards.
 
Standing there was his counterpart.
 
Gage handed him the small hand radio and the binder containing all
guests, vendors, possible threats and contingency plans.

“Nothing
to report?” the night commander, a former Sayeret Matkal commando—a part of
Israel’s special forces—asked.

Gage
leaned against the Bentley, rubbing the shin of his still-healing left
leg.
 
“Just after we came on this
morning, we had a perimeter motion detector flash on us.
 
Turns out it was a huge bird.
 
She was circling around later and then we saw
her working on a nest in the tallest royal palm beside the home.”

“Great.
 
We may have to adjust the sensitivity if she
keeps landing.”

“Other
than that, nothing out of the ordinary.”

“What’s
his mood today?”

“Didn’t
say too much, but seemed happy about something.”

“The
missus?”

“Same
old tricks.
 
As soon as he left for
meetings in town, she went out to the pool and dropped all her clothes,
parading around for everyone to see before she sunbathed for three straight
hours.
 
Later she asked Trillio if he
could come inside and help her ‘adjust the shower head’.”

“You
didn’t let him?”

Gage
straightened and made sure he hadn’t left a mark on the Bentley.
 
“I called in a plumber, a very obese
plumber.”

Once
the positions had been assumed, Gage handed his counterpart a letter.

“What’s
this?”

“My
resignation,” Gage breathed.
 
“I’m sorry
I couldn’t give a notice.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.
 
My forwarding address is in there, too.
 
Will you pass it on to the boss?”

“Sure
will.”
 
The night commander eyed
Gage.
 
“Where you headed?”

“Someplace
I’ve been waiting to go, to see someone I’ve been waiting to see.”
 
Gage winked.
 
“I’m going to serve someone a very cold dish.”

It
took a moment, but the night commander soon connected the dots.
 
He shook Gage’s hand and wished him luck.

Gage
found his small guard force waiting on him and, together, they walked down the
rear drive.
 
There, in a concealed strong
box, they each deposited their weapons.
 
Outside the gate, Gage bade the group farewell, not telling them that he
was leaving for good.
 

Gage
didn’t like goodbyes.
 

The
group of capable men, happy to be done for the day, ambled down the hill,
toward Bodden Town, where they would collectively catch the 6:15 bus back into
George Town.
 
Gage, however, ascended,
cresting the hill in the exclusive, Beverly Hills-styled enclave, finding
Justina just over the other side in their tiny red Ford.

Sitting
in the passenger seat, he leaned over and kissed her, removing his tie and
tucking it into the pocket of his jacket.
 
Gage wouldn’t wear another tie for some time.

“Good
day?”

“Yes,”
Justina answered.
 
“I spoke to my mother
and my brother is doing very well.
 
They
have him on an experimental medicine and it’s helping.”
 
She smiled.

“Outstanding,”
Gage said, kissing her again.

“How
was your day?”

“Uneventful,
thankfully.
 
With what we’ve got planned,
I couldn’t focus and definitely did not earn my pay.”

“Where
was the aging pop star?”

“He
was in town managing his fortune, or so he told us.
 
Fortunately he didn’t want me to go with
him.”

“And
did
she
take off her clothes?”

Silence.

“Did
she?”

“Yeah,”
Gage breathed.

“
Dziwka
,” Justina snapped.
 
“Did you look?”

“Of
course not.”
 
He pushed Justina’s
sun-bleached blonde hair back, rubbing the backs of his fingers on her
cheek.
 
“How about your day?”

“I
ran this morning.
 
Ran again this
afternoon.”

“If
I ever fully heal up, it’s gonna be hell catching up to you.”
 

“I
had to keep my mind occupied.
 
Like you,
I’m anxious about tonight.
 
This has been
six months of planning and waiting.”

“Waiting
comprises nine-tenths of my job.”
 

“Why
did we wait so long, Gage?”

“I
wanted to heal up.
 
Work for a few
months.
 
Clear my head.”

“And
is it clear?”

He
kissed her for his answer.
 
“You ready?”

“
Tak
,” she answered in her native
tongue.
 
“Oh, and are we eventually going
after that Air Force man that tracked the satellite phone?”

“Yes.”

“Why
not now?”

“Colonel
Hunter will let me know.
 
That asshole’s
still in Spain.”

“Does
the asshole know that you know?”

“He
has no idea.
 
That payback is going to be
dessert.”

“And
tonight is the main course?”

“Are
you positive you want to do this?” he asked.
 
“I could go in alone.”

“Hell
no.”

Gage
ran through the threats, trying to find even one that would give him enough
pause to delay this operation.
 
He
couldn’t.
 
Instead, he slapped the
dashboard and said, “Let’s go do it.”
 

They
drove for about a half-hour, to the area at the north end of the island
informally known as Turtle Beach.
 
They
talked about the operation the entire way.

“What
happens afterward?” she asked.

“It’ll
be a fluid situation.”

“That’s
one of those colloquial-whatevers,” she said, twirling her hand as she couldn’t
find the word.
 
“I have no idea what
‘fluid situation’ means.”

“It
means that we’ll make it up as we go along.”

“Like
you typically do,” she said, smiling.

“Correct.”

Just
like they had planned, they parked in the rear lot of a charming condominium
complex.
 
The condos were similar to
those found in the United States, especially beachside, painted gray and two
stories, the units side by side.
 
There
were lots of slanted angles and accents of shaker shingles.
 
Massive clumps of pampas grass grew at the
walkup to each unit and, across from them, right where he expected it to be,
the nearly new cherry red BMW 335i gleamed in the setting sun.

“What
now?” Justina asked.

Gage
lifted his sleeve, glancing at his Timex.
 
“We wait.
 
And if he doesn’t make
the call, then we wait for another night.”

“Doesn’t
he call every Monday?”

“Yep.”

“Did
you call our friend today?”

“She’s
waiting by her phone.”
 
Gage placed a
special cellular phone of his own on the dash of the Ford.
 
They settled in.

People
came and went.
 
Gage and Justina watched
with amusement as a long-haired couple in their sixties furtively smoked what
must have been at least two joints on their balcony.
 
Then, after night had fallen, the cell phone
finally chirped.
 
Gage opened the
third-party phone he’d paid a small mint for, holding his finger over his mouth
as he listened.
 
After a minute, he
turned off the phone.

“Are
you ready?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“It’ll
be a half-hour.
 
Finish up your getup.”

“Why
do you have to intercept the hooker?”

“I
don’t want her stumbling into what we’ve got planned.”

While
they waited, Justina applied heavy makeup and donned a wig.
 
Thirty-five minutes later, a George Town taxi
appeared, a mini-van.
 
It stopped near
the BMW.

“Stay
here and wait,” Gage commanded.

When
the woman exited the taxi, Gage spoke to her.
 
There was a brief conversation before she walked with him over to the
Ford.

“And
all you have to do is take my money and call another cab,” Gage said.

The
woman, a striking ebony escort, stared at the thick wad of bills in Gage’s
hand.
 
“And this is only because your
girl here wants to hook up with him?” she asked in what sounded like a Jamaican
accent.

Justina
exited, holding her hands over her heart.
 
“I’ve wanted him for so long.”

“Him?”
the escort asked, having obviously come here before.
 
“We are talking about the same man?”

“He’s
the man of my dreams.”

The
escort finally shrugged, snatching the money away.
 
“The longer I live, the less surprised I am
by what people are into.”

Gage
had stepped a few feet away.
 
He ended
his call and said, “I called you a taxi.
 
It’ll be right over there by the entrance in about five minutes.”

The
escort lit a long cigarette, winking at Gage.
 
She tucked the money down into her moon-lit décolletage.
 
“Thank you, sweetie.”

Before
the escort ambled away, Justina asked her for a cigarette, accepting a light
but not inhaling.
 
When they were alone,
Gage cocked an eyebrow at her.
 

“To
help obscure my face,” she said.
 
Justina
slid on her aviator-style sunglasses, strutting up the walkway as Gage entered
the breezeway from the rear of the building, concealing himself just out of
sight.

“I’m
nervous,” she whispered as she stared at the red door.

“Don’t
be,” Gage said.
 
“This will be nothing
but sheer fun.”

After
a final deep breath, Justina rang the doorbell.
 
She held the cigarette to her lips, standing back to give the condo
owner a full view.
 
The bolt shot.
 
As the door opened, the man was already
talking, his voice dripping with disgust.

“…going
to quit using your damned service.
 
I was
very clear about wanting an African woman tonight.”

“Hello,
Cortez,” Justina said, lowering the cigarette and pulling her sunglasses off.

Cortez
Redon, living under the alias of Julian Cirrosa, gaped at her.
 
Though he probably looked vibrant on a normal
day, with his deep tan, an open silk shirt, linen shorts and expensive
flip-flops, right now he was the picture of terror.
 

“My
name is Julian,” he mumbled.

“Don’t
you remember your real name?” she asked, tugging the wig off.

Just
then, Gage stormed around the corner and grabbed Redon by his neck.

The
two men ended up on the sofa with Gage straddling the little man.
 
The barrel of Gage’s pistol, a handsome Ruger
P95, was inside Redon’s mouth.
 
Behind
Gage, Justina locked the door, striding in and sitting demurely across from the
scene.

Gage
eased the pistol out of the Spaniard’s mouth and spoke over his shoulder.
 
“Make the call.”

Justina
dialed a long number on her mobile phone.
 
“Hola, Señora.
 
I know it’s late
there but I assume you’ve been waiting up for us.”
 
She listened for a moment, smiling.
 
“Yes, we’re inside and little Cortez is here,
right here in front of me.
 
Do you have a
message for him?”
 
She nodded.
 
“Let me put you on speaker.”
 
Justina touched the screen of her phone.