Treaty Violation (19 page)

Lina started the shower. Nicholas dressed quickly and rummaged through the dresser, the bookshelf, and the closet, where he found a folder under a pile of jeans. The contents surprised him. The pages had specific names: Gomez, Mendoza, and the offshore company Enterprise Associates. Fortunately, there was nothing on the documents linking the financial transactions to the
CIA
. The documents must have come from Enterprise Associates at the World Trade Center. Lina had sufficient proof all right: wire transfers connecting all three parties. This evidence would torpedo operation Delphi Justice. If she learned the identity of Enterprise Associates, all hell would break lose.

Nicholas dialed Dirk’s cell phone number and told him to meet him downtown—
ASAP
.

“Lina,” he said, “I have to go. I’ll call you later.”

The shower curtain slid along the steel rod. “Is something wrong? Where are you going?”

“A computer emergency, sorry,” he said. “I’ll call you later.”

He imagined Lina standing under the warm water without a negative thought in her mind as he tucked the folder under his arm and left the apartment.

Nicholas parked outside El Pavo
Real, an English pub in the banking district between Via España and Calle
50
. Dirk was leaning against the driver’s door of his maroon Mercedes puffing a cigarette to orange brilliance. Nicholas grabbed the folder and stepped outside. The old eighties thrill returned as he waved the folder and walked briskly toward Dirk. Music escaped from the bar when the front door opened, but the dead end street was quiet, and the evening air had dropped to the pleasant low seventies.

“You got the documents?” Dirk asked curtly.

Nicholas nodded—
Nice to see you, too
—and handed him the folder. “I took them from her apartment only a few minutes ago.”

Dirk inspected them and smiled as he nodded. He tossed his cigarette to the street and crushed it under his tasseled loafer with a twisting motion. “How did you manage that?”

“The old-fashioned way,” Nicholas said.

Dirk arched his eyebrows, impressed.

“We’re going to have one upset Latina on our hands, though,” he added.

“Why?” Dirk asked.

“She sent the story to the press tonight,” Nicholas said. “Headline story tomorrow morning.”

Dirk groaned. “We’ll have to do damage control. The good news is she can’t trace Enterprise Associates to us. Without this proof, however,” he said, indicating the folder, “she’ll be in big trouble—libel, perhaps jail.”

“I know,” Nicholas said.

“Good work, Nick,” Dirk said and slapped his left shoulder, just above the wound.

Nicholas closed his eyes and held his stomach.

“What’s wrong?” Dirk asked.

“Long
story.” He took a deep breath. “As I said, she’ll be pissed.”

“What can she do?” Dirk asked. “She can’t prove you took these documents.”

“Yes, well,” Nicholas said, “hell hath no fury.”

Dirk acknowledged his point. “We would be in deep shit if she exposed these documents. These are the financial records from Tyler’s two deals.”

“That’s what concerns me,” Nicholas said.
“How did she get these documents?”

Dirk shrugged. “I have no idea, but I plan to find out. By the way, what’s the status of your next shipment?”

Nicholas was surprised Dirk had glossed over the point, but was eager to tell him the good news. “I’m running the deception plan,” he said. “I told Cesar the shipment would depart at the same time and place as the last one, but I hired a boat captain to pick up the goods in Colombia and bring them back to a pilot in Puerto Obaldia—”

“Puerto Obaldia!” Dirk exclaimed and looked around cautiously. “I heard about the attack. Were you there?”

Nicholas pointed at the wound. “Caught in the crossfire.”

Dirk winced.

Nicholas continued: “I saw an old friend, Charlie.”

Dirk chuckled. Charlie was legendary.

“Turns out he’s running guns to the leftist guerrillas in Colombia, the guns we moved years ago. Anyway, the Colombian paramilitary found out and attacked him to sever his logistics line. Luckily, we won that battle.”

“How did you devise this plan?” Dirk asked.

“Our friend at the operations center, Captain Price, briefed me on their weaknesses.”

Dirk stood as tall as nature would allow, signaling the discussion was complete. “Good work,” he said. “You’re ready for tomorrow—Cesar, the money, the buyers?”

Nicholas remembered a loose end and gestured to the bar. “I have to verify with Captain Price that they’re tipped off for the wrong shipment tomorrow.”

“You’re meeting him here?” Dirk pointed at the El Pavo Real. Nicholas nodded, and they shook hands. He opened his car door and paused. “I’m impressed with your progress, Nick. K made the right decision sending you down here. Your membership will be well deserved.”

“Thanks,” Nicholas said, surprised.

Dirk looked pleased and relieved when he sat in his car. He set the folder on the passenger seat, slapped it, and gave a thumbs-up before driving away.

Nicholas couldn’t put his finger on it, but something wasn’t adding up with Dirk and the documents from Enterprise Associates. Dirk was the one who said he thought Lina had written the anonymous editorial and speculated she might have proof.
How did he know?
He’d misjudged the events in El Salvador, though, and he didn’t want to jeopardize his membership with The Order if Dirk had a reasonable explanation.

Getting back to business, he entered the quaint mustard-colored foyer of El Pavo Real. The charming hostess responded politely to his “
Hola
” with fluent English.

“Three dollars, please,” she said and handed him a ticket.

The cover charge was for the live band and included one free drink—
cerveza Panama
or a mixed drink with
Seco
, Panama’s own poison. As the band started an instrument check, he walked through the purple dining room to the green billiard room decorated with hanging Budweiser lights above two pool tables. Four
GI
s playing pool at the first table were making moves on the local talent. Tony Price was sitting at the far end of the bar by the open table.

“You play pool, Tony?” Nicholas asked.

“Hey, Nicholas,” Price said and shook his hand, dangerously close to another slap on the wound. “Can I buy you a beer?”

Nicholas handed him his drink ticket and racked the balls.

“
Dos cervezas, por favor
,” Price said to the bartender.

Impressive accent
, Nicholas thought and grabbed a cue to break. A
solid rolled into the corner pocket. He moved to the next shot. “I was wondering if you could do me a favor,” he said and shot again, missing the side pocket.

“What do you need?” Price asked. He grabbed the drinks as the band began a rendition of “Satisfaction.”

Nicholas accepted the beer and toasted.

“You remember our discussion the other night?” he asked.

Price nodded and set his beer down. He lined up a shot and rolled a stripe into the corner pocket.

“I’m more involved in this line of work than I originally led you to believe,” Nicholas said and sipped his beer. “I’m involved in an important operation that could have a connection with one of the cases you’re working. Do you think you could help us?”

“Us?” Price asked nonchalantly and missed the next shot.

Good answer
, Nicholas thought—casual, yet attuned to the subtlety. He approached the table. “Have you ever considered working as a civilian?” He conjectured that Price was smart enough to know he was referring to the
CIA
or some other civilian spy agency. His arm ached as he reached over the table, but he knocked another solid into the far corner pocket and looked back for a response.

“I’ve thought about it,” Price said, nodding. “Are you hiring?”

“We’re always looking for adventurous people,” Nicholas said and
moved to the next shot. “I know some people back at headquarters. I could put in a good word.”

Price nodded. “That would be great. What do I do?” he asked confidently, and then missed after shooting hastily.

“Give me a copy of your resume,”
he said. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

Price took a healthy sip of his beer. “How can I help?”

Nicholas scrutinized the area before leaning over to shoot. “A source tipped us off about a drug shipment tomorrow, but we think he’s talking to other people.”

“Maybe he’s the same guy who told us,” Price said. “Why would that matter?”

Nicholas shot a ball firmly into the corner pocket. “We pay him to talk to us, but he might be taking money from more than one U.S. agency. We protect our sources with code names, so the left hand doesn’t always know what the right hand is doing.” He lined up another shot and leaned over, sliding the cue across the soft skin between his index finger and thumb. “He’s the only person with information about the shipment tomorrow. If he—” He stood and looked at Price. “Are you sure you don’t mind doing this?”

Price shook his head. “No problem. If I can help, I will.”

Nicholas bit his lip, his Oscar-winning rendition of indecision. “I
need you to inquire about any tippers for tomorrow night. Our source tells us a shipment is leaving from the same place and time as the last one. If you have the same information, it means our guy is talking to more than one agency.”

“I work tomorrow night,” Price said. “I’m sure they’ll tell me.” He grabbed his cell phone and walked outside to make the call.

While he was gone, Nicholas eyed two stunning Latinas wearing black cocktail dresses near the bar. It didn’t take a genius to figure out they were looking for some fun.

“Satisfaction,” they sang provocatively, stirring their drinks.

Nicholas raised his glass and smiled.

Price returned presently and nodded. “You were right. Same place and time.”

“Damn,” Nicholas said for effect and clapped Price on the shoulder. “I really appreciate this. If I were you, I’d find that plane tomorrow. It’s a sure thing. If anything changes, I’ll call.”

“I’ll put all my assets on it,” Price said.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have to make a call,” Nicholas said and gestured to the two knockouts at the bar. “Order those two ladies a drink. I’ll be right back.”

Nicholas stepped outside and called Cesar. “Nicholas here,” he said and checked his watch. “About the shipment tomorrow, I have a last minute change of plans. Are you ready to copy some information?”

Staff Sergeant Collins stood as Captain Price entered
the operations floor. “We have a new tipper, sir. A boat going from Colombia to a plane waiting in Puerto Obaldia—”

“I’ll be with you in a minute,” Price said with a raised finger and
gestured to Bruce Devlin, the U.S. Customs Service representative. “Are the
P
-
3
s over Colombia yet? I got word yesterday of a shipment departing from the same place and time as the last one.”

Devlin nodded. “Our planes are over Colombia now, but we have a new tipper,” he said and gestured to Collins.

“I don’t care about a boat heading for Panama,” Price said. “Key West can worry about that.” He pivoted on his left heel, surprised to see Colonel Vasquez, the Colombian liaison officer. Normally, Price had to rub the answering machine three times to conjure his presence. “Good evening, sir. If the
A
-
37
s launch from Barranquilla now, they can destroy the aircraft before it takes off.”

“We have reports that guerrillas are planning an attack,” Vasquez said and dialed a number on the phone. “We can’t launch our aircraft,” he added and began speaking Spanish quietly into the mouthpiece.

Price frowned. He wasn’t sure what a land attack had to do with launching airplanes, but he would listen to the rationale before making a decision.

“Sir, as I said,” Collins repeated, “we have a new tipper.”

“I heard you,” Price said. The intelligence guys were batting about five percent the past year; their credibility was wanting. He picked up the radio. “Key West, do you have any assets looking for this surface vessel going to Panama?”

“Negative,” the man on the radio said. “If your assets aren’t available, we’ll launch our alert aircraft…Also, be advised, we’re attempting to pre-position a Coast Guard vessel near the drop sight in the Bahamas.”

“Good copy,” Price said and set down the radio. “Can someone tell me why we should divert our assets from a known tipper to fly a mission for Key West, especially if they have an aircraft on alert ready to look for the vessel?”