Treaty Violation (8 page)

Jessica removed a form from the top drawer, fit it into a clipboard, and began filling it in. She made some check marks and handed it to him. “When do you need the money?”

Nicholas tried to remember the television commercial with sexy Scandinavian women mispronouncing the name of a breakfast cereal. “I’m sorry. Did I say one hundred and twenty thousand? I meant two hundred.”

She appeared to appreciate the humor. Perhaps Dirk had told her what to expect.

“Saturday,” he said and handed her Cesar’s card. “That’s the account number.”

“You must be Tyler’s replacement,” she said.

Nicholas nodded and started filling out the form. The word “replacement” didn’t sit well with him. Her tone had been empathic, but the flirtatious spell was broken. He handed her the completed form.

“Did you know Tyler?” she asked, and then frowned when he nodded. “I knew him only a few weeks,” she added. “He was a nice man. His death was such a shock.”

Nicholas didn’t want to face any painful emotions, but Jessica might have some insights. Then again, if she worked for The Order, he would have to be careful about what he said. Everything was a test. “How was he acting?”

Jessica sighed and rested her elbows on the desk. “I think something was bothering him, even before Helena died. After that, of course, he wasn’t himself.”

“What do you mean?” Nicholas asked.

“A few days after Helena died he came here to arrange his third
wire transfer. He hadn’t shaved and his eyes were bloodshot. I asked what was wrong, but he didn’t want to talk.” She leaned forward with an upraised eyebrow. “I heard a rumor that Cesar Gomez—he’s a drug dealer—might have killed Helena. Tyler was trying to have him arrested. Judging by his mood that day, I’d say he wanted to kill him.”

Nicholas nodded. “You said something was bothering Tyler before Helena’s death. What did you mean?”

“I can only speculate,” she said.

Nicholas didn’t expect anything more, with the caveat that women often offered such caveats before speaking the truth.

“Helena liked to party,” she said. “She also…used cocaine. People talk, you know.”

Nicholas nodded, surprised.

“One night a few months ago she overdosed at a party. No one will discuss it, but I heard she was raped.” She pronounced rape at a cautious whisper.

Nicholas gestured for her to continue.

“More recently, she found out she couldn’t have children.”

“Her being raped caused that?” Nicholas asked. Jessica shrugged. “What does that have to do with Cesar?”

Jessica looked embarrassed for having not stated the obvious. “Helena was raped at Cesar’s penthouse during a party. Not by Cesar himself, mind you,” she added, “but he was the one who gave her the cocaine, or so I heard.”

Nicholas gritted his teeth. Only a coward would give cocaine to a woman. He couldn’t begin to imagine the pain Tyler must have felt. “I had no idea—”

“Jesus Christ!” a man yelled and slammed a door. He loosened his tie and stormed down the hall yelling a medley of four-letter words.

Jessica smiled apologetically. “You’ll have to excuse Nash. He’s our futures trader. The market must have taken another turn for the worse.”

“The markets have been in a nosedive,” Nicholas said. He decided he wanted to see more, especially if The Order was involved. “Perhaps you could give me a tour.”

“Follow me,” she said, using her professional tone again. She walked to the back of the office and gestured to the room the enraged man had left. “That’s Nash’s office. He spends most of the day at the computer watching the markets and placing trades for our clients.” She continued down a short hall. “That’s the bathroom,” she said and pointed to the closed door. The faucet was running. Nash was mumbling expletives. “I think Nash is really upset,” she whispered and turned to the other side of the hall. “This is our conference room. Please,” she added and gestured for him to enter.

Nicholas entered the room, walked around the conference table, and stood before the window. He observed the silent city below as cool air from an air duct showered him. Tyler must have blamed Cesar—for Helena’s cocaine addiction, for her rape, for her infertility, for her death—and decided to kill him.

He turned to see Jessica standing next to the words “Enterprise
Associates” emblazoned on the projection screen.
He
sat in a leather chair and drummed his fingers on the oak table. The Order definitely owned this company: it was running the finances for operation Delphi Justice, and the decor was exquisite. Besides, million-dollar wire transfers and six-figure cash withdrawals weren’t things U.S. government agencies did without lots of paperwork and Congressional oversight.

He focused his attention on Jessica, who was outlining the benefits of owning a Panamanian corporation: anonymity with bearer shares, no taxes on revenue generated outside of Panama, and no financial reporting requirements. Enterprise Associates,
EA
in the company’s parlance, created corporations, trusts, and foundations for people who had reasons to believe their assets were in danger of repossession, or for “tax planning” purposes.
EA
also offered a complete line of offshore mutual funds and a brokerage service.

Nicholas was impressed, with her, that is. He’d worked with many offshore banks and had heard the pitch, but never from an attractive Euro-blonde. This presentation was probably designed for inheritors of wealth who had to be initiated into the arcane craft of wealth preservation. The seasoned members of The Order who met in this conference room not only understood offshore finance, they probably made the rules.

They left the conference room and returned to the reception area. The faucet was still running when they walked past the bathroom.

“Nash must be really upset,” Nicholas whispered and stopped to look inside his office. The computer was big enough to run a small corporation.

Jessica gestured for Nicholas to follow her to the desk.
He slid her chair back and admired her cleavage as she sat.

Jessica held back a smile as she removed a printed piece of paper from the desk drawer, folded it, and stuffed it into an envelope. “They warned me about you.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

Jessica handed him the envelope. “Here are the instructions for wiring the money. Nash will program the computer today. Good day, Mr. Lowe.”

Nicholas tugged the lapels
of his sport coat as he left the El Panama hotel lobby and walked to the casino. He could have used the inside corridor, but he wanted to breathe the night air before the next meeting. A torrential rain had fallen, and the humid air smelled of dust. The words “La Fiesta” flashed in colored lights above the doorway. The security guard opened the door with a smile and wished him well.

Noisy slot machines and intermittent cheers cultivated an I-feel-lucky mood. Waitresses with black bow ties carried trays of drinks. Security guards wandered the narrow aisles with walkie-talkies. The carpet was appropriately gaudy, but the room lacked the spaciousness and thematic decor of a Las Vegas casino.

Money. Nicholas could smell it. Ritzy couples stacked chips on the tables as if they were building blocks. They looked entertained, probably wasting interest earned on interest from the family fortune. A dozen Japanese men smoking and drinking scotch with loosened ties were crowded around a table watching the spinning wheels, bouncing dice, and sliding cards. Money was transferring from one person to the next and back to the casino in the blink of an eye.

Nicholas walked past the noisy slot machines and spotted the buyers, Willie and Daisy Holland, standing near a craps table. They looked just as Tyler had described them: eccentric. Willie, mid-sixties, wore a salmon linen shirt and a tan straw hat. His face was ruddy with a whiskey nose. Daisy, a spicy redhead, mid-fifties, wore a teal dress with a white scarf tied loosely around her neck. A cigarette in a long black holder dangled from her left hand. A waiter handed Willie something on the rocks. Daisy accepted a glass of champagne. Nicholas thought of two words that didn’t describe them: drug dealers.

Nicholas accepted a scotch from a passing waitress and approached the craps table. He lifted his drink to Willie and offered a cordial smile. Willie returned the gesture and nudged Daisy. She lifted her champagne mechanically and puffed her cigarette; after a double take, she appraised his body.

“An exciting game,” Nicholas said.

“My sentiments exactly!” Willie said.

Nicholas gestured to a distant table. “I prefer blackjack.”

“A counter,” Willie said. “I always lose, which
is why I enjoy the excitement of pure chance. Daisy, however,” he said and tapped her arm, “is a blackjack player.”

“I love to count,” she said with a devilish grin and sipped her champagne.

Nicholas nodded, deciphering the counting comment.

“Don’t look so serious, you handsome young man,” she added and pinched his cheek.

Nicholas extended his hand to Willie. “Nicholas Lowe.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Lowe. Willie Holland,” he said with a jovial handshake. “My wife, Daisy.”

“My pleasure,” Nicholas said and kissed her hand, blinded by the three carat diamond. He concluded that Willie and Daisy resembled stand-ins for a Love Boat episode. “I’m a friend of Tyler.” Willie and Daisy looked as if he’d spoken Greek. “Perhaps we could go”—more cheers from the craps table—“somewhere more private.”

Willie gestured to the exit and led the way. They strolled down the inside corridor to the outdoor swimming pool area. The tables under the thatched roof were mostly empty, but a few people drinking at the bar laughed and toasted merrily. Underwater lights illuminated the pool under the starlit sky, a beautiful contrast with the pink hotel. They walked across the concrete deck, still wet from the earlier storm, to a row of two-story cabanas.

“Here we are,” Willie said and opened the door.

Daisy sank her fingernails into Nicholas’ arm as she entered and sat in a chair near the window. Nicholas stood in the middle near the bed and watched Daisy’s reflection in the mirror as Willie set the keys on the dresser. She crossed her legs and fondled her breasts to enhance her exquisite cleavage.

“Anyone care for a drink?” Willie asked as he opened the fridge. He poured a glass of champagne for Daisy and apologized for having drunk all the scotch before the casino excursion. Nicholas accepted a beer.

Nicholas waited for Willie to sit in the chair next to Daisy. “We need to discuss the next deal. I’m here to help you with the arrangements you had with Tyler.”

“I thought we’d made all the necessary arrangements,” Willie said. He looked at Daisy for concurrence.

“Tyler seemed like a thorough man,” Daisy said. “Wasn’t he, Willie? A very thorough man.”

Willie nodded, but he suddenly looked bushed.

“The plan changed,” Nicholas said. Willie and Daisy had to know about Tyler’s death—the story was in the newspaper, and the last shipment hadn’t gone as planned—but he didn’t want to take anything for granted. “I’m afraid I have some bad news.” Daisy held Willie’s hand. “Tyler Broadman was murdered.”

Daisy gasped and closed her eyes. “How tragic.”

“Tragic,” Willie added.

Nicholas cleared his throat. “The last shipment, the one that was supposed to have gone four days ago, was canceled,” he said, hoping to catch them off guard. No response.

Daisy put a cigarette in her holder and smiled. Nicholas lit it and returned to his seat.

“I arranged for another shipment in two days.”

“Saturday, you say?” Willie asked and looked at Daisy.

She nodded curtly, puffed her cigarette, and crossed her legs the other way. “I can’t wait to get out of this dreadful country.”

“It’s not bad,” Willie said and looked at Nicholas with a shrug.

“You love the horny women,” Daisy said and turned to Nicholas
to whisper. “He drags one back here every night, you know.” She looked at Willie. “This godforsaken country is utterly hopeless without the Americans.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Willie said as Daisy rolled her eyes and sipped her champagne. “This is a fun culture. They’ll survive.”

Nicholas watched them, bemused. “I arranged for five hundred kilograms for five million dollars.” Those had been the original terms.

Willie and Daisy nodded.

“I only need to know the drop site and payment method.”

Willie handed Nicholas a small piece of paper with a coordinate written on it. “That location is in the Bahamas. Our men will be there at eleven on Saturday night.”

“Be sure the goods are wrapped well and float,” Daisy added.
“My men won’t be in any mood to catch heavy falling objects.”

“That can be arranged,” Nicholas said, resisting a smile. He could only imagine what Tyler had thought about them. “I’ll talk to my supplier. Regarding payment—”

“Wire transfer only,” Daisy said. “Technology is such a thrill!”

“We need the thrill,” Willie added with less enthusiasm and yawned.

“Wire transfer it is,” Nicholas said. “I suggest we meet at ten on Saturday night, say, at the bar by the swimming pool.”