Fresh tears sprung from her eyes as she pinched her lips together and nodded. Gage felt like he was missing something.
“Justina, is that all?”
She wiped her eyes.
“Justina.”
“My mama lost her job. She’s been gone too many days.”
“Isn’t it against the law for her employer to do that?”
“She didn’t fill out some form or another. I don’t know. She’s just a janitor. No one will help her and she’s having to spend every moment with Teodor.” Justina cried into her napkin.
Gage leaned back in his chair, taking an expansive breath, eyeing this beautiful creature across from him. This was not some manipulation—she had no clue about the possibility of the money he might make. He watched as she pulled her hair back with both hands, wiping both eyes with her hands as she again forced a smile. Then, with trembling hands, she lit a cigarette and said, “Enough about me. We change the subject, okay?”
“Okay,” Gage answered. And they might as well change the subject because, in the span of only five minutes, he’d just about changed his mind about Navarro’s offer. Although he’d termed the job as a Bolivian Army Ending to Hunter—a phrase the Special Forces had adopted from Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, meaning an unwinnable suicide mission—Gage was confident enough in himself that he could get through the initial month and be flush with cash.
Thirty days, he told himself. Thirty days for a hundred grand.
Gage froze, an idea coming to him.
Does it have to be just thirty days?
“Are you okay?” she asked. “Gage?”
What’s two years?
“Your face is white,” Justina said.
“I’m fine,” he murmured, realizing that the idea he was considering was a good one. One that he would deal with in the morning. He reached his hand across the table, holding Justina’s. “Don’t worry, okay? You’ll be able to help your mother and brother.”
“How?”
“We change the subject, okay?” he said with a wink, mimicking her accent.
* * *
Unable to manage much sleep, Gage finally stood from the bed just before six the next morning. He dressed himself and went downstairs, having a cup of black coffee before taking a walk in the cool Parisian morning. This time, wandering aimlessly, he crossed the Seine, finding himself in the Place des Invalides as the sun rose in the east. Viewing the striking monuments, Gage ran everything through his mind one final time.
Are you sure you want to do this?
Thinking about Justina with tears in her eyes, wanting to care for her mother and brother, was truly all the motivation Gage needed. Though he’d not rationalized it in his mind, Gage Hartline had fallen in love.
But, just to be sure about his decision, he stripped the proposition down to what he felt lay ahead.
Two years of your life…two years naked as the day you were born, with no armament, no spec-ops buddies to call on, no night vision scopes, no exotic high-explosives. It’ll just be you and Cesar, the “scumbag” drug trafficker, against nine-hundred-seventy-nine hard-boiled prisoners, many of them well acquainted with the ancient skill of killing.
A shiny plate-glass window on Rue Fabert displayed Gage’s reflection: six-foot-one and two-hundred pounds, still well-built but with a few facial lines of age. Gage wasn’t surprised when he heard a corner of his mind screaming for the challenge, telling the rest of his psyche that opportunities like this only come along once in a lifetime.
Then, that dueling other corner of his brain started in, the corner every man hates, bringing up all sorts of incarceration unpleasantness—things like shankings, gang rape, riots and, his worst fear, the chance that something could go critically wrong and Gage could wind up in Berga prison for good.
He allowed the two barristers in his brain to make their final arguments as Paris awoke. Once his decision had been finalized, Gage headed back to the north, to the anachronistic phone booth he’d come to know.
As a few clouds arrived from the southwest, Gage stepped into the phone booth and flirted with the notion of calling Colonel Hunter. It was after midnight at Bragg, but he’d woken the colonel up before. And the colonel was so damned good at stripping away the excess of a mission and getting right down to its core.
But Gage was fearful that Hunter would talk him out of it. He’d remind Gage of what a scumbag Cesar was, and would rail on Gage about Cortez Redon’s reputation. He would insist that Gage bring Justina back to the States, and together they could make enough scraps to send back to Poland to help her mother and brother.
Scraps…
“Screw it,” Gage breathed. He dialed the operator, then gave her the new number Navarro had given him, making a collect call in the name of Gregory Harris. There were a few murmurs before the operator clicked off, followed by a clipped greeting from whomever was speaking into the voice modulator.
Gage shifted the phone to his other ear and asked for the boss. There was a delay before Navarro came on the phone, also using the modulator.
“I will accept the job if you’re willing to change several key parameters involving my fee,” Gage said.
“And those changes are?”
“The money you offered is not sufficient,” Gage said. “And, in exchange for you upping my fee, I will go ahead and commit to the full-term, up to two years.”
Navarro took it in stride. “How much?”
“I want twice the monthly amounts you offered me: two-hundred grand for the first month, and a hundred grand for each additional month.”
“That’s a great deal of money.”
“Yes, it is. And if you decline, you will need to find another man.”
“You’ve already asked for this extra week to make your decision, leaving me in a weakened position. One day could be the difference in the life we speak of, and now I don’t have time to find another person.”
“That was never my intention,” Gage said.
“If I double these amounts, and my son departs there in good condition, then I must insist the bonus at the end remains the same,” Navarro said.
“Agreed. But there’s one other condition.”
“And that is?”
“I want more advance money. I want the fee for the first year up front.” Gage let that sink in a moment. “And when I go in, I go in. I will not request to be pulled out while your son is alive. I will stay until the job is done and I will do my very best, but that is the only guarantee I can offer.”
“You’re speaking of a great deal of upfront money.”
“Yes, I am. It’s one-point-three million bucks, meaning one million euro at today’s exchange rate, and it’s not negotiable.”
“You’re quite brazen, Mister Harris,” Navarro remarked.
“You want me to go into a prison of murderers, señor, and you say I’m brazen?”
“If I agree to your conditions, when can you leave?”
“I’m away at the moment but can be back in Catalonia tomorrow. Have your man bring the money to the main train station in Barcelona. Euros, in small bills, please. Tell him to be at Barcelona Sants metro track L-three tomorrow at eight in the morning.”
“When can you leave?”
“I can leave three days from today.”
“I have your word?”
“You do,” Gage said.
“Must I speak of what would transpire if you disappear with my money?”
“I have no illusions about that, señor. And my reputation should give you comfort that I’m a man of my word.”
“Very well. I will speak to my associate,” Navarro said. “I’m pleased.”
“There’s one other thing.”
“Yes?”
“Your associate, the lawyer…I do not trust him.”
“While he’s obviously willing to bend the occasional rule, he and I have worked together for many years.”
“Tell him, from me, if he double-crosses me in any way, I will c
ome for him.”
Navarro was silent for a moment. “Is there something about him I should know?”
“Nothing concrete, no. Call it a hunch.”
“I will tell him.”
“Tomorrow, señor, Barcelona Sants, L-three, eight in the morning.”
“My associate that drove you will be there.”
“Does he know about this?”
“Not fully, no. But he’s my closest ally and can be trusted.”
“Fine, señor. Good day to you.”
Gage’s next call was to Colonel Hunter’s regular mobile phone. As Gage predicted, since it was the middle of the night there, Hunter didn’t answer and Gage left a two-minute message detailing the high-points of the job. “I’m going to send you a copy of the affidavits in their original form.” Gage forced a chuckle and said, “And I don’t want to hear any don’t-bend-over-for-the-soap jokes either, sir. Hartline, out.”
Checking his watch again, Gage exited the phone booth, walking back to the Tuileries Garden. Despite his casual clothes, he promptly did eighty-two military push-ups, breaking the horizontal plane on each one with his upper arms. He jogged through the park, wedging his feet under the legs of a mounted bench as he did more than one hundred sit-ups in the damp grass, touching his elbow to the alternate knee on each one. Then he ran, pushing himself, doing more than the standard quick-time jog. When he was far to the south, he spotted a ticket window awning on a stadium called Charléty. The awning was stout and, after testing his weight, Gage did ten wide-arm pull-ups, touching the back of his neck to the bar and pausing during each repetition. He did four sets of ten.
His muscles sufficiently warmed up, Gage ran for forty more minutes, slowing his pace to a fast jog, timing his run to end near their hotel around ten in the morning. When he went to the hotel room, he didn’t tell Justina the news, only that they needed to head back to Spain. Two hours later they departed Gare d’Austerlitz with matching train tickets to Barcelona.
And Gage had no idea how, or when, he would break the news to Justina. But it had to be done. Soon.
That evening, with no immediate worries over money, Gage sprung for a night at the modern Abba Hotel only a few blocks away from the Barcelona Sants railway station.
He wanted to enjoy his brief time with Justina, and his time as a free man.
While he waited for the best time to tell her.
* * *
Barcelona, Spain
The following morning Gage stood outside the gleaming terminal of the Barcelona Sants railway station. He kept his eyes on the short-term lot and, at precisely 7:48 A.M., was pleased to see Navarro’s top man, Valentin, enter the lot, taking a ticket from the automated attendant. Gage waited while Valentin parked the gleaming white Jaguar XJL Ultimate. The Spaniard exited the vehicle, carrying a satchel and wearing a sport coat, looking like any businessman at the station to catch a train.
After scanning the area for anyone who might be following Valentin, Gage took up a position behind him and walked into the train station. The station was expansive and busier this morning than it had been yesterday evening. Gage continued to scan for surveillance as he followed Valentin to the sprawling underground area containing the short-distance metro tracks. The Spaniard purchased a ticket, went through the turnstile and walked to metro track L-3, just as he was instructed. He looked up at the clock. It was 7:58 A.M. and he was on the Canyelles side of the line.
Gage walked to the automated ticket machine and purchased two T-10 tickets, running a twenty-euro bill into the machine and pocketing his change. He passed through the turnstile and waited fifty feet from Valentin, keeping him in sight the entire time. When 8:00 A.M. came and went, Valentin began to look around. Gage remained behind a crowd of people on the platform. When the train finally arrived, he pushed forward and, just before the train departed, grasped Valentin by the arm and led him onto the packed subway car.
When the doors had squeezed shut, Valentin eyed Gage.
Gage leaned over and spoke Spanish, saying, “Give me your phone.”
“Perdón?”
“You heard me.”
Valentin reached into his jacket and handed Gage a rather cheap phone, which came as no surprise. It was likely disposable and, if Gage were to guess, he and Navarro had a drawer full of them. In fact, they probably used a new one every day or two. Gage unclipped the back cover and removed the battery.
“Any other phones or anything else emitting a signal?”
“No,” Valentin said, frowning.
“Good. Just stare straight ahead and get off when I tell you to.”
They rode the train through several stops. By the time they reached the Vallcarca station, the outbound train was nearly empty. As the doors opened, Gage hitched his head and followed Valentin off. The only other people exiting must have been students because they were all very young, laughing and running with their book bags and matching uniforms. Gage gestured up the long escalator, following Valentin and keeping a watchful eye behind them. Outside, he led Valentin into a grocery, finding a small bathroom in the back. Inside the bathroom, Gage held out his hand for the satchel.
“Shouldn’t we talk first?” Valentin asked.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Gage said, taking the satchel and popping it open. On top of the money was a canister of shaving cream. Gage lifted the canister, frowning.
“Please take that,” Valentin said.
Gage popped the top and squirted some of the shaving cream. He set the canister aside and perused the satchel. Inside were banded stacks of 50 and 100 euro bills. They weren’t brand new, thankfully, with each bill showing telltale wrinkles. Gage reached behind his body and pulled a folded vinyl bag from his waist. He opened the bag, dumping the contents of the satchel in and zipping it. Then he tossed the leather satchel into the trash next to the toilet.
“Follow me.”
Valentin slid the shaving cream into his jacket.
They departed the grocery, crossing the street to an area with trees and a playground. There, Gage instructed Valentin to sit at a checkerboard built from tile on top of a concrete table. Sitting across from him, Gage unzipped the bag and counted the stacks of money while checking each stack for markers.
“I do not understand your constant caution, Mister Hartline,” Valentin said. “We do not aim to cheat you, nor do we want to track you.”
“This caution has kept me alive,” Gage muttered, finishing with his count. The money was all there. He looked up.
Valentin handed Gage an envelope. “This contains your instructions. Señor Navarro told me to tell you that he is counting on you following through with your commitment every day of your incarceration.”
“I understand,” Gage said, folding the envelope and stuffing it into his pocket.
Valentin reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a slim, heat-sealed black plastic bag. “This is the satellite phone and an earpiece—the smallest and lightest available.” Seeing Gage’s look, Valentin said, “The battery is disconnected.” He removed the shaving cream canister and wagged it. “On your second day, this shaving cream canister will be replaced with an identical canister with the phone hidden in its bottom. The bottom can be unscrewed.”
“Who will put it there?”
“Redon has arranged it,” Valentin said, shrugging.
“Who else knows that I’ve been hired by your boss?”
“Only me and Acusador Redon, along with Señor Navarro, of course.”
“When did he tell you?”
“I’m Señor Navarro’s eyes, his ears, his hands…I know everything, whether he knows it or not.”
“Any thoughts for me?”
Valentin moved his eyes side to side before saying, “Cesar, the son, has always been problematic for Señor Navarro.”
“In what way?”
“Cesar left when he was sixteen. Went to the south. Lived on hookers and cocaine until his father stopped feeding him cash, and then he used the Navarro name to be
gin importing drugs from Africa.”
“What else?”
“I know nothing else.”
“What is Cesar like?”
“It’s been many years, Mister Hartline.”
“What was he like?”
Valentin shook his head.
“Just between us,” Gage said.
“Cesar was a little shit and a snake…spoiled, entitled, and very shrewd. Took after his mother.”
“Can I trust him?”
Valentin pointed at the bag on the bench beside Gage. “You’ll have to. I guess that’s what the money is for.”
Gage processed that nugget before saying, “Tell me what you know about Berga.”
Producing a tan Gitane from its blue package, Valentin lit it with a match, puffing thoughtfully. “Berga is not talked about much in Spain, even in the underworld circles. The reason is its small size. They simply haven’t had as many people go through.” He drew on the Gitane, trumpeting his cheeks as the smoke exhausted from a corner of his mouth. “The other reason one doesn’t hear much is due to Berga’s sentences. Most men who go there are sentenced to life—and ‘life’ here in Spain means just that. Very few men exit to tell their tale.” He flicked the ash into a nearby puddle, the ash hissing briefly. “My cousin was there a decade ago. We were very close growing up.”
“What was he in for?”
“He was sent there because he killed his brother-in-law in an argument over money.” Valentin said no more.
“Did he make it out?” Gage asked.
Valentin shook his head.
“Did he die naturally?”
“No.”
“Mind telling me what happened?”
“You’ve heard of Los Leones?”
Gage nodded. “I read up on the prison. They’re a large gang that started there, correct, and have since spread outward?”
“They will be your chief concern. Animals. Vicious. Unpredictable.” Valentin took a steadying breath. “My cousin was discovered on only his fourth morning, alone in his cell.”
“So he was killed?” Gage probed.
A delayed nod.
“Valentin…how was he killed?”
“There were so many injuries to his body, they don’t know which one was fatal,” he answered, staring into an unpleasant place. “His hands were chopped off. He’d been scalped. His entrails were out. Many of his bones were broken.”
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