Treaty Violation (10 page)

Hernandez looked at Dupree. “Will your men be ready?”

“You bet your ass,” Dupree said and grabbed the bottle of scotch.

Hernandez leaned back and smiled. He would prove them wrong, all those who thought he cared only about his own wealth and power. His motivation for destroying Cesar was personal, no doubt, but eliminating that cancer would make Panama a better place for everyone.

An image of Helena flashed in his mind. Her radiant smile sent a shudder through his body.

“Minister Hernandez?” Dupree said.

Hernandez, startled, looked at Dupree, who was holding the bottle of scotch. “Yes, of course,” he said and accepted another drink.

They raised their glasses again and toasted. For the first time in a long time, he was doing the right thing.

Nicholas Lowe entered the
Radisson hotel reception room and spotted Dylan Dirk near the buffet table. A banner welcomed the guests to the “Economic Summit.” Journalists with camera crews were stopping attendees to ask questions and conduct interviews.

Nicholas accepted a glass of red wine from a passing waiter and strolled along the buffet table toward Dirk. The food line offered more for the senses: a tropical fruit salad, ham and turkey cuts with dinner rolls, chicken wings and meatballs, and finger desserts. A portly chef at the end sliced a large roast under the amber glow of a heat lamp.

“Good evening,” Nicholas said.

“Hey, Nick,” Dirk said and turned to his wife, Ellen. “Honey, look who’s here.”

“Oh my, Nicholas Lowe,” Ellen said and hugged him with a firm kiss on the cheek. Her sandy blonde hair smelled of strawberries, and her black dinner dress revealed her shapely figure. She was in her late forties, but still a head turner. “Gosh, it’s been so long,” she added with a friendly squeeze on the arm. She leaned closer. “I think we were drunk the last time we saw each other.”

“I think you’re right,” Nicholas said, remembering her offer to spend some time alone on the beach with a bottle of champagne during the Christmas party.

“Dylan tells me you’re working in Panama now,” Ellen said with a wink.

Dirk leaned closer to Ellen. “This is an unofficial visit,” he said in a lighthearted tone.

“I’ll give you two some time to talk,” Ellen said. She gave Nicholas another firm hug and whispered in his ear. “Congratulations on your membership.”

Nicholas waved to Ellen. He was surprised Dirk had told her about his membership and that both seemed pleased about it.

Nicholas gestured to the food line and grabbed a plate. “Ellen is in good spirits.”

Dirk grabbed a dinner roll and a slice of ham. “She’s an amazing woman.” He split the roll and dabbed some mustard.

Nicholas reached for the pincers, tested it like a curious lobster, and flipped open the lid of the stainless steel chafing dish. He waited for the steam to clear and retrieved four chicken wings. “Any clues or leads on Tyler’s murder?”

Dirk shook his head and scooped some Swedish meatballs onto his plate. “We have people checking blood samples. All the evidence indicates Nestor killed him.” He tapped the spoon on the edge of the chafing dish, closed the lid, and looked at Nicholas. “Nestor is dead, so we aren’t getting much information from him.”

“I suppose not,” Nicholas said and focused on the fruit salad.

“Is everything ready for tomorrow?” Dirk asked.

“Good to go,” Nicholas said and nodded when the chef offered a slice of roast beef. “The shipment leaves tomorrow,” he added as they
walked to an open corner. “I met the pilots, arranged payment, and coordinated with the buyers. Everything is good to go.”

“You met Cesar?” Dirk asked.

Nicholas didn’t like Dirk’s micromanagement style, but he nodded and ate the fruit before it marinated for too long in the
au jus
.

“Stay focused,” Dirk said. “No matter how you feel about Cesar, we have to run three more shipments with him to raise enough money for the president’s campaign fund.”

“K was clear about my objective,” Nicholas said calmly, indicating he took his orders from a higher power.

Suddenly alert, Dirk pointed. “You see that woman over there talking to Minister Hernandez?”

Nicholas focused on the Latina beauty as he chewed an overcooked chicken wing.

“She’s a journalist—Lina Castillo.” His eyes narrowed as if deep in thought. “I have the sneaking suspicion she wrote the anonymous editorial in
El Tiempo
about the president taking drug money.”

“Why?” Nicholas asked and dropped the chicken wing on his plate.

“I have a good feel for how she writes. She likes to investigate these kinds of stories.” He looked at Nicholas. “I know you’ll be busy with the operation, but I want you to get to know Lina. Find out what she’s up to. If you find anything resembling proof of her allegations, take it. We can’t let her mess up our operation.”

Nicholas looked longingly at the roast beef, set his plate down, and grabbed two glasses of red wine from a passing waiter.

“She wrote a good story about the Panamanian banking industry last week,” Dirk said as Nicholas walked away.

Nicholas paused when he arrived. “Pardon me, aren’t you Lina Castillo? You wrote that exquisite piece on the Panamanian banking industry last week.”

Lina exuded pride. “I’m glad you liked the story.” Pins held up her brown hair. Her intellectual glasses detracted
attention from her figure. Her white business suit balanced professional but practical. She definitely had the sexy librarian look, but Nicholas couldn’t discern whether she was self made or under the patronage of a sugar daddy.

Nicholas clumsily looked for a place to set his extra glass of wine. “Could you hold this?” Lina accepted the glass as he kissed her on the cheek. “My name is Nicholas Lowe. Wow, your story was insightful.” He sought acknowledgment from Hernandez.

“She’s the best,” Hernandez said: “the only journalist I can trust to not misquote me.” Everyone enjoyed the humor. “Is this your first visit to Panama, Mr. Lowe?”

“Not the first or the last,” Nicholas said and shook his hand, intrigued to be speaking with one of Tyler’s best spies. Hernandez acted appropriately smug for a minister: firm handshake, polished manners, and his mind on more important matters.

“Forgive me,” Lina interjected. “This is Minister Hernandez.”

“I recognize you from the newspapers,” Nicholas said. “I know some people in Washington who think very highly of your work.”

Hernandez seemed to appreciate the comment, but he didn’t flinch, probably the result of Tyler’s superb training.

“Panama is great,” Nicholas added. “I’m sorry. The two of you were probably in the middle of something important. I’ll just—”

“I was just leaving,” Hernandez said and checked his watch. “I have to meet with the president.” He extended his hand to Nicholas. “It was a pleasure, Mr. Lowe.” He touched Lina’s shoulder. “Take care,” he added and walked purposefully to the exit.

Nicholas lifted his glass to Lina’s. They toasted. “Here’s to Panama.”

He sipped the wine and gestured to the conference room exit.
They walked to the ledge overlooking the lobby. The crowd noise faded to a buzz.

“Being a journalist must be exciting,” Nicholas said.

Lina shrugged innocently, concealing her pride. “I interview interesting people, like Minister Hernandez. Many stories I write have an impact.”

“I bet,” Nicholas said. “My work is less glamorous: I fix computers.”

“We all need computers.”

She looked comfortable and relaxed, with a revealing hint of professional superiority.

“I heard about Minister Hernandez’s daughter, Helena,” he said, hoping to gain some insights from her reaction. “A real tragedy,” he added.

Lina rested her hands on the ledge and looked down. “She was a good friend.” She stood erect and stepped back, as if shocked out of a nightmare.

“I’m sorry,” Nicholas said. “I didn’t know—”

“No,” she said, “it’s all right. I knew her for many years.”

Lina obviously had normal human emotions. The next test, however, wouldn’t be easy. “I know how you feel. Her fiancé, Tyler Broadman, was a good friend of mine.”

She touched his arm. “I’m so sorry. Tyler was such a dear friend.”

“You and Tyler were friends?” Nicholas asked, intrigued.

“How should I say this,” she said, “he and I dated before he met Helena.” She looked at him cautiously. “He never mentioned me?”

Nicholas jogged his memory and shrugged. “He probably did, but we hadn’t spoken for some time.” He touched her arm. “I’d already made my travel plans before all of this happened. I wanted to come down to see them before the wedding.”

Lina removed a picture from her purse and handed it to Nicholas. “Every year she had a photograph taken of herself.”

Nicholas concealed his admiration. Helena smiled as if possessing the secret of life. His eyes focused on her pearl necklace with a golden heart shaped locket.

As if reading his mind, Lina pointed at the picture. “Tyler gave her the necklace during their engagement party.”

Nicholas flipped the picture to read, “Eternity is the Bliss of Passion,” written in calligraphy. He raised it to his nose to smell the lingering violet scented perfume. He could almost feel her smooth Mediterranean skin, her silky black hair cascading through his fingers, the tide of her blue eyes. He smelled the perfume again and handed the picture to Lina.

“Helena and I were once good friends,” she said, and then forced a smile.

“If you don’t mind my asking, how long did you and Tyler go out?”

“About a year,” she said. “It was off and on at the beginning, but
we were getting serious toward the end, or so I thought. Then he met Helena,” she said and sipped her wine. “They got engaged two months later.”

Nicholas winced empathetically. “Two months?”

Lina shrugged to suggest she could be reasonable about the whole thing. “I guess I just didn’t expect things would turn out that way.”

Lina spotted someone on the other side of the room and handed Nicholas a business card. “I have to talk to someone for a story I’m writing. If you need anything—”

“Perhaps we could have dinner some time?” Nicholas asked. “You know, to talk more about what happened.”

Lina paused, surprised, but seemed to warm up to the idea as she looked at him.

“Or, if you don’t have time—”

“No, I would like that very much,” she said.

“Perfect,” he said.

Lina kissed him on the cheek before walking away.

Nicholas stood on the tarmac and shielded his eyes as the Beech King Air idled and stirred up dust. Elliot and Sammy donned their shades and descended the steps
.

“All right, boys”—Nicholas looked them over—“are you ready?” They nodded enthusiastically. He was satisfied with their appearance: new haircuts, aviator sunglasses, snazzy coats with epaulets, and no signs of a hangover. Every hour was happy hour in Panama, and these two guys never missed a beat, but they had a good reputation and had worked several missions for the CIA in the good old days.

Nicholas unfolded a map and pointed at an
X
. “Your drop site is in the Bahamas. That’s a long flight. Stay alert.”

Elliot nodded and folded the map. Nicholas pulled two satellite phones from his backpack and handed one to Sammy.

“Call me on the hour,” Nicholas said to Sammy and dialed the other phone. It rang.

Sammy answered it. “Hello?”

Nicholas sighed. “It’s me, Sammy.”

Sammy laughed. “Got you loud and clear, boss.”

“Call me when they load the plane and when you’re over the drop zone,” Nicholas instructed. “Call if you have any problems.” He studied Sammy, who looked confused, and pointed at the phone. “I programmed my number—just hit memory and one.”

Sammy pressed the buttons. Nicholas’ phone rang.

Nicholas handed them an envelope. “That’s fifty thousand dollars—forty-five for you and five for extra fuel in Colombia.” They fingered the cash with wide-eyed grins. “Have a good flight. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Elliot and Sammy saluted, ascended the steps, and closed the door. Nicholas removed the wheel blocks and shielded his eyes from the dust as the propellers spit and coughed to full speed. The plane taxied, sped down the runway, took off, and banked northwest over the Pacific Ocean toward Colombia.

Nicholas stood outside the
entrance to Cesar Gomez’s apartment building, a ritzy high rise in Punta Paitilla, an upscale neighborhood overlooking Panama City and the Pacific Ocean. Tropical weather aside, it resembled a posh Midwest enclave: German-engineered cars obeying the speed limit, children wearing private school uniforms, and a well-dressed granny walking a groomed poodle. He winced when he imagined Helena falling to her death, the thud of her body hitting the ground. Strewn violet petals and footprints in the grass near the entrance indicated a mourning site.