by Jeff Buick
“Really,” Brand said.
“The back portion of the cave was awash in treasure. Gold. More gold than he had ever seen in his life. He resealed the cave and returned the next day with a flashlight. What he had thought to be a good size cache of Zapotec treasure was more than that. It was the mother lode. Now he had a problem. Getting it out. The Mexican government is extremely protective of its heritage, especially when it comes to valuable artifacts at ancient ruins. He left it sitting for a bit while he tried to figure out what to do. It was about a month later when he mentioned it to me. We both went back and had a look. He was right. He needed help getting the stuff out of there. I had an idea.”
“What was that?” Brand asked.
“I knew a gringo who worked for the Central Intelligence Agency. His name was Brian. I met him in Mexico City when he was asking questions about illegal drugs in the neighborhood where I live. I don’t like drugs or the men who sell them, so I agreed to help him. We got to know each other a bit. I asked him if he’d meet with my friend. He said yes. He traveled to Oaxaca City and listened to what my friend had to say. Brian said that the CIA wouldn’t be able to help him. It was too risky, and there was no upside to the operation, as they would have to give the artifacts to the Mexican government. The meeting was a total failure. What was worse, someone must have overheard, because the next night my friend was found murdered just outside Oaxaca City. Whoever killed him tortured him first.”
“Whoever killed your friend never found the treasure?”
“No. It’s still there.”
“What did this Brian fellow do?”
Ricardo looked puzzled. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since. Why?”
Brand studied the man intently. “He’s dead.”
Ricardo swallowed. “I didn’t know.”
Brand finished his beer and motioned to the waiter. When the man arrived, he ordered coffee. “Please continue.”
“I wanted to get at the treasure, but I had the same problem my friend did. Trying to get it out was difficult, but attempting to sell it afterward was next to impossible. The gold would be worth a lot if the pieces were melted down, but only a small fraction of what they would be worth intact. I needed someone in the government. Someone in a position of authority. A man who could pave the way for removing the treasure and then ensuring I could sell it. It took quite a while, but I finally found such a man.”
“Who is it?”
“His name is Manuel Sanchez. He’s the Director of Antiquities in Mexico City. He agreed to help me get the treasure out by simply being there. If anything went wrong, he would take care of the guards. That would cost me five hundred thousand American dollars. Then he would take the list I gave him once I had cataloged the treasure and add that to the known inventory on the government’s books. With the pieces already entered into inventory, I could resell them. That would cost me ten percent of whatever I managed to get on the open market.”
“A lucrative deal for Senor Sanchez.”
Ricardo shrugged. “Without him it was impossible. Even if I could get the treasure out of the cave, I’d have nowhere to sell it.”
“Okay, you had the guy on the hook. What happened?”
“I didn’t have the half million. I needed a backer to front the money. I found one—an American who was ready to front the half million. Things looked good. Sanchez insisted the transfer of funds occur at the site.”
“At Monte Alban?” Brand asked.
“Yes. That’s when this stupid asshole who had promised the up-front money backed out. He got scared. The thought of being on top of a Mexican mountain in the middle of the night with me and Sanchez was too much. He was worried for his health. The idiot. If we wanted to steal his money we certainly wouldn’t do it on a remote mountain at night. God, I just got to wonder about the level of stupidity some people carry around with them.” He stopped, then said, “Sorry, I get a little pissed off when I think about it.”
“Why the rush?”
“Sanchez is running out of patience. He knows what he’s doing is extremely risky and unless we get it done soon, he’s going to announce the discovery and take credit for finding it.”
“Why would he do that?” Brand asked. “He’s potentially giving up millions of dollars.”
“Perhaps. His position as Director of Antiquities would be secure for the rest of his life. He would get some sort of stipend from the government for his discovery. Senor Sanchez wouldn’t be hurting too badly. He’s in a win-win situation.”
“What’s the deadline?”
“January second. January third, tops. He’s not prepared to wait any longer.”
“That’s only two or three days from now, counting today,” Brand said. He was quiet, thoughtful. “What is my role in all this, Ricardo?”
“You provide the money.”
“The five hundred thousand dollars.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“By electronic transfer to Sanchez’s bank account.”
“Where’s his account?”
Ricardo shrugged. “I have no idea.”
Silence descended on the table. No one spoke as Edward Brand toyed with his coffee cup. Finally, he said, “What do you think would happen to you if you were trying to rip me off?”
Ricardo stared at Brand. “What? What do you mean?”
“What I mean is that if you’re setting me up to steal a half million dollars of my money, then you had better think very seriously of leaving here while you still can.”
Ricardo’s eyes flashed anger. “Are you calling me a thief?” he said. His voice had changed. It was curt, almost vicious.
Brand remained relaxed. “Just letting you know that I will kill you if you try to steal from me.”
“I am an honest man,” Ricardo said.
“Honest?” Brand laughed. “You’re taking Mexican artifacts out of a tomb on a protected archeological site. I don’t think you’re quite as honest as you make out to be, Ricardo.”
Ricardo stared at Brand, his jaw firmly set. Then the edges of his lips curled slightly. He smiled. His voice returned to normal. “No, perhaps not. Please don’t tell my mother.” He finished his coffee and set the cup on the table.
Brand returned the smile. “Okay, Ricardo. Just so long as you understand what will happen if you try something stupid.”
“You’ve made your point.”
“What’s in it for me? What percentage do I take out of this?”
“Ten percent of whatever I can sell the treasure for.”
Brand laughed. He laughed out loud and Carlos snickered, although he wasn’t sure why his boss had found the remark so amusing.
“No chance,” Brand said when he had stopped. “Fifty percent.”
“No fucking way,” Ricardo said. “Not a chance in hell. This is my deal. I’m the one who knows where this treasure is and I’ve got Sanchez in my back pocket. You expect to take half of everything by providing a little up-front money. No way.”
“Then make me an offer.”
“Twenty percent. Final offer. You want more, I let the deal go sideways.”
“Thirty.”
“You’re not listening,” Ricardo said, leaning over the table. “Twenty is my top offer. Even that is too much.”
Brand grinned. He turned to Carlos. “I think I like this guy.” He looked back to Ricardo. “Twenty-five. That’s my final offer.”
Ricardo and Brand stared into each other’s eyes. This time Ricardo wasn’t looking away. This time he was challenging the American. This was Mexico, and in Mexico machismo ruled. The weak died broke, and they usually died early. Neither man flinched for the better part of a minute.
“Twenty-five,” Ricardo hissed between his teeth. “You warned me not to steal from you. Now I’m warning you. Don’t fuck with me.”
“Fair enough,” Brand said, extending his hand.
They shook.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Taylor was in
the secluded garden at the hotel when the call came through on her cell phone. It was Ricardo. He spoke quickly and kept his voice low. Although he didn’t say it, she sensed he had little time to talk.
“We’re on our way from Puerto Vallarta. Brand is chartering a Learjet for the flight. We’ll be in Oaxaca City sometime tomorrow. New Year’s Day.”
“You did it,” Taylor said excitedly. “Good work, Ricardo.”
“Thanks. He’s a scary guy. Came right out and told me he’d kill me if I tried to rip him off.”
“That must have been a bit unsettling.”
“What was unsettling is that I believe him. I think he’d do it.”
“Don’t give him a chance,” Taylor said. “I take it there was no sign of Alan.”
“None, thank God. But until we’re out of Puerto Vallarta it could still happen. That’s weighing on me as well. I’ve got to go. I’ll call you again when we get to Oaxaca City. Just stay out of sight after tonight. Brand will recognize you from a block away just by seeing your hair. Not a lot of redheads in Mexico.”
“Okay.” She hung up.
One potential disaster was out of the way. Had Alan been present for the meeting, things would have gone very wrong, very quickly. Taylor could only imagine the scene—Ricardo feigning shock at seeing Alan, asking what he was doing there. Alan telling Brand that he knew Ricardo—and worse yet, that Ricardo knew Taylor. Brand taking the most obvious course of action. Breaking off the meeting and sending someone to take care of Ricardo. She put the thought out of her mind—it hadn’t happened. Not yet at least.
The fact that Edward Brand was chartering a Lear wasn’t the best news. Not unexpected, but worrisome. She knew the reason. On a domestic flight there was no chance of bringing a gun. On a Lear there was every chance of bringing one. Brand wanted to be armed. She didn’t blame him. He had no idea what he was walking into. He probably would have balked if they had insisted the money transfer be in cash. And that worked well for them. They didn’t want cash. The half million was nothing. It was the next transfer out of Brand’s account that counted. She wondered how much he was sitting on. She was pretty sure it was substantial. Very substantial. Certainly worth all the work.
Taylor paid her bill for the tea and salad, and left the quiet garden. Noise from the street percolated in as she neared the front of the hotel. New Year’s Eve revelers off to an early start. It wasn’t even nine o’clock, and the city was starting to come to life. A sense of loneliness overwhelmed her as she walked down the short hallway to her room. It had been many years since she had celebrated the birth of a new year by herself. In fact, she couldn’t remember any time in her life when she hadn’t been with friends or family as the calendar switched over. She unlocked the door and let herself into the empty room.
Taylor drew a bath and settled into the hot water. It was soothing to both her body and mind. She wasn’t a woman to feel stress, but right now the tension was rising, and she was beginning to wonder whether they could pull this off. Edward Brand was no fool. He was intelligent and would be suspicious of everything until he was off that mountain with the treasure. That, of course, would never happen. Alan posed a distinct threat. Kelly and Ricardo were right, they should probably back off until Alan was out of the picture. But that meant letting Brand go. All the planning. All for naught.
No way.
She ducked her head under the water, her long hair swaying gently with the ripples. She slicked it back and squeezed until most of the excess water was gone, then climbed out of the tub and towel dried. There was a full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door, and she looked at her reflection. Nowhere to hide the extra pounds or the stretch marks when the clothes were off. She had neither. Her body was taut and lean, her long legs the reason many men glanced back when they passed her on the street. She slipped on the terry housecoat the hotel provided and padded back into the bedroom.
She placed a quick call to Adolfo’s room. He answered immediately. “Adolfo, it’s Taylor. I need you to pick up something for me.”
“Yes. What?”
“Do you know what walkie-talkies are?”
“Yes, I know this. For two people to talk. Push the button, then let it go.”
“Exactly. Could you find a pair and purchase them. I’ll pay you whatever they cost. Make sure they have new batteries.”
“Sí, I will do.”
“Thanks.”
“De nada.”
Taylor replaced the phone in the cradle. They needed a way to communicate while at Monte Alban. If Adolfo taped down his talk button, she could hear the conversation and know exactly when to light the fire and distract the guards. It was crude, but it didn’t have to be sophisticated to work. That’s all that mattered—whether it worked or not. She switched her thoughts to Kelly Kramer. His story about the CIA being involved in Monte Alban must have made the grade. She checked the time and dialed his number. He was still at the office and picked up on the third ring.
“Hi,” she said. “How are things in Washington?”
“Cold. It’s miserable here. I think it’s about eight degrees outside right now. There’s snow everywhere. I can’t remember a nastier winter.”
“Well, it’s nice down here. Sixty-five and holding.”
“No kidding. It’s Mexico. Is everything okay?”
“Perfect. Couldn’t be better, in fact. Adolfo and I got the treasure in place. No problems that we couldn’t handle. He’s good, Kelly. He thinks quick on his feet. If anyone can sell Edward Brand that he’s a corrupt government employee, it’s Adolfo. It appears that Brent Hawkins swallowed your story about the CIA operative and then sold Brand on it.”
“Good. Did Ricardo meet with them yet?”
“This afternoon. They’re flying into Oaxaca City tomorrow.” She paused, then added, “I think we should try to be ready to go on the second.”
“Twenty-four to thirty hours after they arrive. That’s fast, Taylor. Maybe too fast.”
“I’m worried about Alan. If he shows up, he’ll blow Ricardo’s cover. Then it’s over. Ricardo’s dead. Brand made no bones about it—Ricardo tries to rip him off and he’s a dead man. I didn’t get him involved in this to get him killed.”
“Of course not. I’m ready from this end. I’ve got what I need to intercept the satellite call, and I’ve even isolated a decoding program in case he’s encrypted his account number. The chances of that are minimal, but I’m just being careful. I don’t want to be scrambling around trying to find a computer program when I’ve only got seconds to spare.”
“You’ll do fine,” Taylor said. She lay on the bed, her wet hair on the pillow. “There’s nothing else to do. I think that the longer we wait, the more we’re inviting problems. Brand will be here tomorrow. We give him a day to settle in, then run the con the next night. That’s January second. I think that’s our timetable.”
“Okay, Taylor, you’re the one with your finger on the pulse. I’ll be wired on caffeine and wide awake by ten at night on the second. Any time after that is fine.” There was a break, then he said, “Hey, Happy New Year.”
“Yeah, you too.” Taylor took a deep breath. “We’re going to do this, Kelly.”
“Absolutely.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
At Aeropuerto Internacional Gustavo Díaz Ordáz in Puerto Vallarta, the private jets melded into the takeoff queue with the same priority as the commercial airliners. At eleven minutes after noon, Edward Brand’s chartered Learjet was fifth in the queue, but he refused to give the pilots permission to enter the line. The co-pilot left the cockpit and ventured back into the cabin. He did not look happy.
“Sir, the tower is demanding we move into the queue. We have to leave now.”
“Tell the tower we’ll take a later spot. I’m not ready yet.” There was no mistaking the authority in Brand’s voice.
“Mr. Brand, we were supposed to depart Puerto Vallarta over an hour ago. We’ve already shifted our position three times. The pil
ot will not do it again.”
“I’m paying you,” Brand shot back. “You’ll wait if I tell you to.”
“No, sir. I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way. You chartered this plane to Oaxaca City, departing ten-thirty-seven. We booked a return flight with a paying customer based on that departure time. We can’t bump our spot in the queue again. I’m sorry.” He turned and headed toward the cabin.
Brand cursed and glanced out the window. Where the hell was Alan Bestwick? He had called Alan the previous evening and told him to be at the airport for ten-thirty. Alan had been partially inebriated, but forgetting a flight the next day? That was totally out of character. Where the hell was he?
“What’s wrong?” Carlos asked. He was sitting in one of the plush leather chairs, a very satisfied look on his face. This was his first flight in a private jet.
“I’m waiting for someone,” Brand snapped back. The plane wasn’t moving yet, and he scanned the outside of the private terminal for Alan. Nothing. He glanced back inside the plane. Ricardo was reading a magazine, totally engrossed in the article. The man hadn’t even noticed they weren’t moving. Damn it. Once he decided on something, he wanted it to happen. And he had decided last night that having Alan along to Oaxaca City was a good idea. He was moving into unknown waters with only one other person he could trust. Two allies were far better than one. He knew the decision would cost him some money, but he was willing to take the hit. Safety in numbers.
He took another look out the small oval window. Heat waves rising from the black asphalt distorted the view, but what he was seeing was pretty clear. No Alan Bestwick. He felt a tiny shudder as the chocks were removed from the wheels and the pilots revved the engines slightly. Time was running out.
Ricardo Allende kept his eyes focused on the page. Keep them moving, line after line, pretend to read the text. Brand was watching. He had no idea what the article was about. None whatsoever. Not one word had sunk in except for what Edward Brand had said. I’m waiting for someone. Christ, he didn’t have to have an IQ above that of a tree frog to know who Brand was waiting for.
