I watch him slip into a navy suit and slick back his dark hair. If I didn’t know who Diego was, I might mistake him for a young executive.
He sets down the brush. “Ready to go?”
“Si, señor.”
10
Diego takes me to shopping at the Mall Plaza El Castillo. Even though I only need a few outfits, he insists I buy everything I like. The yacht has been turned into a freight hauler as the interior is stuffed with shopping bags. When I joke with Diego that it will take us a year to remove all of the tags, he reminds me that’s what assistants are for.
He calls them assistants, and while I suppose that’s true, they also act as armed guards. When we’re in public, each is armed with a Beretta 92 FS tucked into their waist, leaving the ARX-160s in the yacht. Their heads constantly shift around like a bunch of paranoids, drawing attention to us.
I don’t get the sense of anything threatening while we’re out. Diego is treated like a beloved politician wherever he goes. People shake his hand; mothers run up to him and ask if their children can be photographed with him. At one store, the owner refuses payment even after we clean out half the store.
By evening, we end up at a local hotspot along the beach with Spanish music blasting all the way to the end of the block. Several patrons rush out to shake Diego’s hand and offer him hugs.
I shouldn’t be so shocked.
I’m coming at this from an American perspective. Back home, guys like Diego are the scum of the earth, flooding the world with addictive substances that corrupt children and threaten society. Here he’s flooding the people with special-works projects that are educating children and sustaining society.
A private booth in the corner of the club is cleared for Diego and me. Drinks are served. The waiter offers a bow and a wide smile to us. We enjoy our drinks until the music shifts to an allegro.
Diego insists I follow him to the dance floor.
“This is a Galeron Llanero song,” Diego shouts over the music. “That means we do a torbellino dance.”
“What’s a torbellino?”
“It means whirlwind. Just watch the others and follow my hands. I’ll guide you.”
The dance is impossible in the mini dress. The other women have on flamenco dresses that allow them to lift the ruffles to each side. Still, I find myself laughing as Diego leads me through each of the dance’s movements. Observers on the side of the dance floor clap to the beat and cheer us on. The men all join hands and begin to twirl as the women dance at the edges, forming a wheel. We break apart into individual pairs again and the dance picks up speed.
“This is the joropo!” Diego shouts. “Hold on!”
Diego taps his feet like a wizard. I can’t keep up. This is Saturday Night Fever Colombian style. I step on his feet and almost take a spill when my legs entangle with his. A small girl that’s no more than six or seven asks if she can cut in. I gladly surrender my spot.
I go back to the table, clapping as I watch.
The girl is tiny, yet she moves faster than I could ever hope to. Diego twirls her around, tapping his feet in a tempest of footwork. He burns up the dance floor, twirling and tapping.
The song finally ends and everyone claps and drums their hands against the tables. Diego proclaims the little girl as being the best dancer in Colombia.
She runs back to her parents with glee.
Diego returns to our table.
“That was very sweet of you,” I say. “She’ll never forget the time when she danced with Diego Martinez.”
He’s still trying to catch his breath. “She will be a star one day. I can always tell.”
“Where did you learn to move like that? It was crazy. You were so fast.”
“I haven’t done that since I was a teenager. When I was running around the streets of Medellin, there were two ways to a girl’s heart: money and dancing. I was a very poor boy so money was out of the question.
“I stole a full-length mirror and practiced everyday in the alleyway. When I got good enough, I went to a club. I was only sixteen, so I had to sneak in. I did the classical joropo dance, but the older boys were better than me.
“However, I had a secret weapon. This was 1983, mind you, and Michael Jackson had just performed the moonwalk for the first time. I loved that move and practiced it until I had blisters on my feet. So when it came time for the last round of the competition, BOOM!” Diego slaps his hands together and slides his feet against the floor. “I did the moonwalk just like Michael and won the only trophy of my life.”
“Can you still do the moonwalk?”
“No, these days I do the moonshuffle.”
I laugh.
Diego leans in close to my ear. “But I have learned other moves. Are you still a proper girl, Ms. Davis?”
His hand slides up my leg. I don’t push it away. There’s no wire on me. Nick and José are far away. No one is watching me except for Diego, and he’s not the man they think he is.
I lean in and kiss him.
His lips are just as I remembered them. When his head moves away, I can barely breathe.
We don’t stay at the dance club for long.
***
After a quick ride across the bay, kissing and grabbing each other the entire way, we enter the bedroom, two silhouettes against the moonlight. He doesn’t rip off my clothes or throw me against the bed. With gentle hands, he lays me against the mattress and pulls the dress over my head.
My nerves tingle and jolt as he kisses my neck. Cheeks flush and my breath quickens so fast I can barely keep up.
With trembling hands, I unbutton his shirt and kiss the wiry hair along his chest. He sheds the rest of his clothing and kisses my stomach, drawing my panties down my thighs and over my feet.
My heart pounds.
None of this makes sense. I only know that I can’t resist him. I’ve gone too far; I’m in too deep. I’ll probably be dead or in prison by next week, but tonight I have Diego Martinez to myself.
He runs his hands through my hair. The touch of his fingers along my scalp alone creates such heightened sensations that I shiver all over.
“I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you standing in the courtyard,” he says. “Stay with me Caroline, and you’ll never be alone or need to feel afraid. I can give you everything you want.”
His head lowers.
He kisses between my legs.
I close my eyes and settle my head against the pillow.
There are no more thoughts—only feelings occurring. I clench the sheets as his tongue moves, igniting euphoric pulses throughout my body. Thighs quake and the energy rises up my spine, spilling out of my throat as I cry out.
Diego crawls on top of me, placing his hands beside my shoulders.
Everything becomes hazy. The world outside fades. The bed is my cosmos, a universe of pleasure and protection. I move with him, shifting my hips, until the spasms overtake me.
Our bodies—glistening with sweat—lie next to one other as his hand runs across my leg. There’s a lingering warm tingle throughout my body and each pass of his hand spreads those feel-good sensations all over.
“You can stay here as long as you like,” he says. “You don’t have to ever leave.”
I laugh. “And what? Be your girlfriend?”
“Call it whatever you like. What’s so crazy about that? Is it so bad here?”
“No.”
“And what do you have waiting for you back home? Loneliness? Reminders of what you once had?”
I don’t answer him right away. I just want to enjoy this feeling—this time together.
“This is crazy,” I say. “You don’t even know me.”
“All the more reason to stay. Think about it, okay?”
“I will. I’ll think about it.”
11
After lunch, Diego tells me he has something planned for me. In typical Diego style, he won’t say what, only that I should change into jeans.
He orders his assistants
to go into town to get food and other supplies. After they leave, he tells me the real reason he sent them away—he wants us to be alone. “If I don’t physically remove them from the compound, they’ll trail us and hide in the woods. While they’re very dedicated, at times it’s like having an over-bearing parent watch over you.”
I go to my room and change.
With the jeans, I have several over-sized pockets. I doubt Diego will say anything incriminating, but I grab the recorder and mic and turn them on. The battery only has a few hours left on it, and I have no way to charge it. I don’t know how well the mic will pick up our conversation in my pocket. Still, it’s worth a try.
I drop it into my front pocket and leave.
When we get outside, I spot a pair of white horses standing on the beach that have been hitched to a dock post like something out of a fairytale.
“Ever ridden a horse on the beach?” he asks.
“No.”
“Have you ever ridden a horse at all?”
“Of course. I did grow up in Georgia.”
“Excellent. It’s not much different. The horses just go a little slower in the sand. They’re Mustangs, so be careful. These aren’t ponies. Keep them at a trotting pace and you’ll be fine.”
Diego begins unhitching the rope.
I run my hand along the horse’s mane, feeling it’s shiny coat. “Are we riding them bareback?”
Diego looks up and sighs. “Those idiots.” He reties the knot. “Give me five minutes. The saddles are in the basement. I’ll be right back.”
Diego sprints up the walkway and back into the house.
I turn my head toward the shed. This is my chance. There’s never going to be a better opportunity than now. If I want my evidence against Diego, I’m sure to find it in that shed. All I have to do is race up the tree and onto the roof. Then it’s down the hatch. There’s no telling what I might find. He probably has a list of every partner and every trade route, a stockpile of weapons and product, and maybe even cash that hasn’t been moved yet.
I could take off through the woods. It wouldn’t take me more than a day or two to get to civilization. I might even be able to steal one of the horses. I have no doubt I can outride Diego. He’d be lucky to get close enough to eat sand.
Yet, I don’t move. All I can think about is the way Diego twisted when we danced and the way he held me in bed and fucked me. A flush overtakes me and it’s not from the hot sand or the piercing sun. My mind wanders to whimsical hopes of Diego and me being together and living far away from all this in some safe reprieve where neither the CIA nor Diego’s rivals can ever bother us.
Paralyzed, I stand next to the horses and wait until Diego comes out the back door, lifting the saddles over his head, smiling.
I force a smile back. I’m no longer a CIA agent, I realize. While I might have crossed only a mental line, it’s one clear enough to be drawn in the very sand I’m standing upon.
I’m now an accomplice.
A fallen agent.
I’m not the first, and I won’t be the last. Double agents are as common as wandering spouses. “Swooned by the great Diego,” they’ll say. “The man no woman could resist.”
Fuck them all. Especially Bailey. I’ve lived my whole life kissing government ass under the banner of protecting and serving. But it’s always been about the thrill, and there’s no greater rush than Diego.
“Didn’t think I’d ever find them,” he says.
Diego tosses the saddles onto the horses and helps me straddle the Mustang.
The horses trot through the sand as waves crash nearby, their sudsy tips passing close to the horses’ hooves.
When the shore ends at a promontory, we turn into the woods. The trail is large enough to ride abreast. Trees limbs reach out above, sheltering us from the sun.
“I need to ask you a favor,” Diego says. “I think you may be the only one who can help me.”
I turn.
Diego’s face is tight, and his eyes point straight ahead. I’ve never seen any apprehension in him before now. I almost surmised that he was incapable of fear.
“What is it?”
“First, I have to tell you some things. I hope my trust in you will prove how much I care for you, Caroline. What I’m about to say could cripple my business and threaten my life.”
He steers the horse so that he’s facing me. We both come to a stop. Pulling a folded-up document out of his shirt pocket, he hands it to me.
“That’s an official order by the Colombian Government to have my wife killed. As you will read, it was done specifically to ruin my reputation in order to end my chance of running for any political position.”
I study the decree. I’ve been trained well enough to detect a real from a fake without any special gadgets. The document Diego has given me is authentic. What I read at the bottom of the page stuns me.
Diego nods. “Your government was in on it, too.”
I don’t believe it. This entire time I’ve been nothing more than a pawn.
I shouldn’t be so surprised. There’s no way the American Government could ever let someone like Diego become president of Colombia. If he did well, it would destroy their caricature of all drug lords being ruthless, inhumane terrorists. For the Colombians, it would mean the end of their corruption and the money that stems from it.
“Obviously, I’m not a coffee producer, Caroline.”
I look up from the document. “Yeah, I figured those weren’t coffee fields we were flying over. So what do you do?”
I want to hear Diego tell me. If he’s really committed to me, he’ll say it. And if not, perhaps I’m wrong about him.
“I grow, cultivate, and distribute cocaine. Two weeks ago, I was the largest producer in the world. Now all that’s being threatened.”
I have him.
Diego has incriminated himself so clearly that no defense attorney would ever be able to get him out of it. Mr. Diego was merely pretending. They were acting. He was joking. None of that will stand up in court after listening to the entire conversation, and certainly not when taken into context with the rest of the recordings I’ve logged.
Diego is mine.
I’ve nabbed the world’s biggest drug dealer without firing a single shot or harming one innocent person. I can now retire and go on 60 Minutes to tell my story. I’ll write a book that will allow me to buy a plantation in Georgia. I’ll become the new face of women’s progress. Little girls will grow up wanting to serve in the CIA.
All that can happen because of one small device sitting in my front pocket. Diego has bet it all on love and lost on the worst hand imaginable.
But only if I call my winnings.
And right now, I’m holding my hand.
“It’s Peña, right?”
Diego nods. “He wants his old routes back, and he’s not asking or buying us out. He’s taking it by brute force.”
“What does any of this have to do with me?”
Diego leans closer and tells me his plan.
12
An elegant dinner is served in a cavernous dining room in the corner of the home.
The recorder is dead now. I’ve hidden it under the bed, still trying to decide what I will do with it. Technically, I haven’t done anything incriminating yet. Even agreeing to Diego’s plan could be argued as playing the undercover role. If I follow through with the plan, all that will change. The line I’ll cross will be a very real one.
Ivan and Carlos are at the dinner, as well, having returned from their debt collecting endeavors.
Diego sits at the head of the table. “How did everything go?”
“Nos dieron nuestro dinero,” Ivan says.
Diego interrupts. “In English. I want Caroline to hear. She’s trusted and has agreed to help us.”
“Very well.” Ivan turns to me. “We got our money. But it wasn’t easy. Peña is making things very difficult for us.”
“How’s that?” Diego asks.
“People
hear he’s coming out of retirement, so they think they don’t have to pay debts.”
“We have to put an end to this,” Carlos says.
“Agreed,” Ivan says. “I think we should negotiate with Peña. We could charge him to use our routes on the condition that he stop meddling in our businesses.”
Carlos laughs. “Are you serious? Negotiate with Peña? Every month he will be asking for more and more until you are working for him. That’s if he doesn’t kill you outright. I’m sure Caroline agrees with me. Americans are not such appeasers. What is it that your Roosevelt said? I think it was, ‘No man can tame a tiger into a kitten by stroking it. There can be no appeasement with ruthlessness.’ Don’t mistake Peña for a kitten.”
“That’s fine for a superpower to say,” Ivan says. “If I had the Colombian army on my payroll, I might agree with you. We have to be realistic.”
“We have other options,” Diego says. “I have an idea that I think will work, but I need to make sure everyone is onboard.”
“What is it?” Ivan asks. “This better not be one of your cowboy schemes, Diego.”
“It will work. Peña likes whores. He uses an exclusive escort agency. I can get Caroline to pose as one of their girls. I’ve spoken to Eduardo, the owner, and he has graciously agreed to help us.”
“How did you manage that?” Ivan asks.
“Everyone has secrets they don’t want out in the open. Eduardo is no different. I’ve paid him quite well, too. I’ve learned that threats alone breed poor and flaky loyalty.”
“And the plan?” Carlos asks.
“Caroline will pose as a new girl. When Peña calls the agency, Caroline will be recommended to him. Peña is a drunk, so after he has gotten good and tipsy, Caroline will offer to fix him a drink and poison it.”
“I like it,” Carlos says.
Ivan rubs his temple. “How do you plan on getting poison into Peña’s compound?”
Reckless Page 9
