“Even with a riot, the outer guards will stay at their posts?”
“Yes. They cannot leave unless they’re relieved, no matter what.”
“And they’ve never searched your car?”
“Never.”
“So, to summarize, you meet with El Toro. I pop out somehow and, with luck, I kill him. We create a riot in the main bay, to keep the guards there. Then, you and I drive away with you as my hostage.”
“Essentially, yes.”
“But, in a riot, they’re not going to let you drive out.”
“You’re going to drive,” she said. “You’ll bust us out.”
“Where will you be?”
“I’ll be your hostage.”
He nodded his understanding. Then, slowly, so he didn’t startle her, he brought his hands around, the cuffs attached to only his right wrist.
Her mouth fell open. “How did you do that?”
“I wasn’t completely sure how this meeting was going to go.” As he stood he showed her the straightened piece of metal from the refrigerator with the S-bend at its tip. “Just an old trick. But it demonstrates to you that I’m placing my trust in you. If I’d wanted to, especially with the cameras off, I could have taken you hostage now, and blown off this business of killing El Toro.” He held out his manacled wrist.
De la Mancha unlocked the other handcuff and walked to the door. “We’ve got less than two hours.”
“There’s one other thing.” Gage reached into the sofa cushions and removed the phone, holding it in one hand and the frayed wire in the other.
“That’s the guest phone from my office,” she said quizzically.
“Correct. You never noticed it was gone and I used it last night to call my contact.”
She stared at the phone as her lips parted.
“I told my contact everything, capitana. Everything about this prison, about your involvement, the works. And today, as we speak, my contact is headed to the U.S. consulate.” Gage muddled the details on purpose. “Once there, my contact is going to tell them everything.” He motioned toward the main bay. “So, if you get cold feet, you can send me out to the main bay and, yes, they’ll probably eat me alive. But your little reign here is about to end.” Gage licked his lips, satisfied at her horrified expression. “And Los Leones will lose a million euro, and a prison empire. And they’ll blame you.”
She swallowed a few times before finally speaking, her voice meek and unsure. “You couldn’t have called anyone.”
“Really?” He walked to the wall plate and quickly thumbed off the loose spanner screws. He freed the phone line from inside and quickly twisted each of the corresponding wires together. Then, after tapping the button a few times, he held the phone out to Capitana de la Mancha.
With leaden feet, she trudged over, listening as he held the phone up to her ear.
“Dial tone,” Gage said.
Capitana de la Mancha had to support herself with the door handle.
“It’s called mutually assured destruction,” Gage added. “Keeps everyone honest.”
“I wasn’t going to back out.”
“C’mon…we’re wasting time.” He walked back to the sofa, reaching under and removing what looked like a hobo’s bindle minus the stick. The bindle made a metallic tinkle when moved. “Can you get this back to your office?”
“What is it?” she asked.
“Just some items I scrounged. Can you get to the janitorial supplies, too?”
“Yeah,” she answered. “Why?”
Working on the fly, and with her knowledge of Berga, he quickly formulated a plan.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Señora Moreno placed a heaping breakfast plate in front of Justina. They were in the sitting area, located in the original portion of Moreno’s home, easily denoted by the cabin’s saddle notches at the corners. Señora Moreno sat across from Justina, who was cradling a cup of coffee in her hands. The older woman eyed her houseguest.
“Did the valium I gave you help you sleep?”
Justina, her head somewhat swimmy, nodded and sipped the coffee.
“Do you feel like talking now?”
Another nod.
“My dear, you were hysterical last night. I thought we were going to have to take you to the hospital.”
“I’m okay, really.”
Señora Moreno leaned over the table and squeezed Justina’s knee. “You’ve fresh fruit and eggs there, dear. Eat some, and drink all that coffee—it will help you wake up.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m not going anywhere, dear. And, as you can see out front, Sven has been out there all night. And Amancio is out back. They’ve been there to protect you.” She looked away. “With all you were saying last night, I didn’t really know what else to do.”
Justina peered through one of the windows, able to see half of Sven, one of Señora Moreno’s “property men.” He was sipping from a cup of steaming coffee and in his arm he cradled a long rifle of some sort. She’d seen Sven tinkering around the lake homes, an older gentleman from Sweden with a kind nature. Like Sven, Amancio had to have been in his late sixties. Despite their advanced age, their presence did give Justina a measure of comfort, as did the sunshine coming through the windows. The renewal of a new dawn seemed to always have that effect on her.
Not wanting to dwell on it, but seeing the worry on Señora Moreno’s face, Justina knew that last night, after the call, she’d been an absolute basket case.
Don’t start all that…
Justina sipped the coffee. It was good and strong and black, but not too hot. She gulped the remainder and looked at Señora Moreno. “What time is it?”
“Around eight, dear.”
“I’ve got to leave!”
“Please wait just a moment.”
“I can’t. I’ve got to go.”
“Where are you wanting to go?”
Justina shook her head. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone anything.”
“Dear, last night, after you took that valium, you told me a number of things. Only none of it made any sense.”
“I’ve got to get to the American Consulate in Barcelona,” Justina said, standing and glancing around, feeling the unwelcome mania of the night before rushing back in.
Señora Moreno stood, moving around the small table and hugging the much taller Justina. “First I want you to relax, darling. Shh. Shh,” she murmured. Señora Moreno gently reseated Justina and knelt next to her.
“Last night, you were all over the place, talking about consulates and ambassadors and acusadors and double-crosses.” She used her thumb to wipe away the tears from Justina’s face. “You’ve told me most of Gage’s story, involving Berga Prison. Now, calmly, slowly, and eating a bit of that breakfast, I want you to tell me the rest, and then tell me what Gage said last night.” Señora Moreno’s voice was soothing as she said, “Ten minutes of talking isn’t going to hurt anyone. And, when you’re finished, I will personally drive you to Barcelona this morning, okay?”
Justina pulled in a long breath through her nose. “I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone.”
“I’m not just anyone, I hope.”
Justina smiled. “No, you’re not.”
Señora Moreno handed her a piece of fruit, sliced pomegranate. “More coffee?”
“No, thank you,” Justina said, chewing the fruit. “Okay,” she said, exhaling. “I’ve told you nothing but the truth about Gage. But last night, after I’d gotten home, he called me.”
“From the prison?”
“Yes. He said he only had one minute and, no matter what, I was not to call him back.”
“You’re doing fine, dear,” Señora Moreno encouraged.
“He said he’d been double-crossed by Acusador Redon, from Barcelona.”
“Acusador Redon?”
“Yes.”
A quick shake of her head. “Don’t know him. Please, go on.”
“He said they’re not going to let him go. H
e said he’s being held for ransom.”
“By this Acusador Redon?”
“He didn’t say. But he told me to leave the cabin at that very instant, and to leave most of the money where it could be found, along with one of the pistols. Then he told me to go to the American Consulate General in Barcelona and to tell them everything.”
“How much money is left?”
“It was a million euro. We’ve spent some of it.”
“Hmm,” she frowned. “What else, dear?”
“That was all. We were cut off by an electronic message…something about a calling card.” Justina looked at the clock on the wall. “Señora, we must go. I’m afraid he’s already dead. I just have this horrible feeling…”
Señora Moreno hushed her again. She stepped to the front door, conversing in rapid Catalan with Sven. She came back into the room, her voice soothing. “Sven said not a soul has driven up the road to your cabin. So the money is still there, dear, meaning your Gage is not dead.”
“You can’t possibly know that,” Justina cried.
“I know all about money, dear. If it’s there, he’s alive. And now it’s time for us to make a move.” Señora Moreno walked away, coming back with her iPhone. Her fashionable red reading glasses perched on the bottom of her small nose, she wiped through several pages before making a satisfied sound. She touched the screen, dropped the glasses around her neck, and pressed the phone to her ear, smiling reassuringly at Justina.
“Hello, I’m calling for Jorge.” Listened. “Yes, I’m aware this is his mobile—that’s why I’m calling it,” she snapped, using a tone unlike any Justina had heard from her before. “Well, I don’t care if King Juan Carlos is in the shower with him. You go and tell him Lydia Moreno is on the phone with a dire emergency.” She listened for a moment then winked at Justina.
“Sometimes people need a little push, dear.”
Justina sipped her orange juice, relaxing slightly.
It wasn’t a moment before Señora Moreno had a brief conversation with Jorge, a man Justina would soon learn was one of her Barcelonan attorneys. Justina struggled to follow the Catalan, but most of the focus of the conversation was Acusador Cortez Redon before it ended with a brief discussion about the American Consul General in Barcelona. Finished, Señora Moreno dropped the phone on her chair and stared out the window for a moment. Justina could hear the clicking sound as the lady of the house tapped her teeth with her fingernail. Finally she turned and told Justina to hurry back to the bedroom and to shower quickly.
“There’s no time,” Justina protested.
“There is time. Now go shower, my dear. We’ll make our plan in the car.”
As Justina showered, Señora Moreno made two trips to her Volvo. On the first trip she placed two bottles of water in the cup-holders. On the back seat she placed a small stack of clothes and a case loaded with her finest makeup. On the second trip she came back with only one item, first stopping to show Sven, who nodded. She placed it under the driver’s seat, her Mateo’s beautiful Modele 1892 revolver, fully loaded, touching it afterward to make sure it was securely seated in the folds of the automotive carpet.
Afterward she stood outside the car, eyes up. Clasping her rosary, she stared into the trees, fresh with leaves and pine needles, smiling because, for the first time in years, she felt the zing and zest of imminent danger.
It was pretty damned invigorating.
A thought—actually, an inspiration—came to Señora Moreno. She thought of her assets, so many of them—cabins, homes, lots, buildings, a parking garage in Madrid, a fabric plant in Girona, and millions upon millions of euro in all manner of investment vehicles. It was an empire that Mateo had begun and she’d grown but, now, in the twilight of her life, she could never possibly use it all—and she had no one to leave it to.
“What good is all that wealth doing anyone?” she said aloud.
There was no point in answering herself.
As she wended her way down behind the cabin, into its high basement, and through the two hidden doors, Señora Moreno hummed quiet thanks to Mateo for his prescience. She opened the old safe on the very first try, removing the thick sheaf of linen paper as she eyed the other important documents, stacks of cash and the inviolable instructions for her battery of attorneys in the event she was ever kidnapped.
“Sweet Mateo,” she sang, carrying the sheaf back around the cabin. “You knew that someday these papers would come in handy.”
* * *
The two women sped to Barcelona, taking the E-9, an international road with occasional tolls. It runs from Orleans, France to its terminating point at the Via Augusta in Barcelona. From Berga, in the foothills, the road quickly flattens out on its way to the Mediterranean plain and the surrounding area could easily be mistaken for the wine country north of Santa Barbara, California. Once she’d settled the turbo-charged Volvo S80 in at a blistering pace, Señora Moreno kept her eyes on the road as she spoke to Justina.
“My lawyer said the consul general is worthless if you want quick action. They’ll have to call the embassy, then the embassy will have to call the United States—everyone’s asleep there, you know, and politicians and appointed officials will be more worried about how this affects them than you and your gentleman.”
Justina glanced over at the speedometer, seeing it hovering around the 200 kilometers per hour mark. She buckled her seatbelt. “I’m only doing what Gage told me to do.”
“Well, Gage isn’t from Spain, now, is he?”
“No, but he’s experienced in—Look out! Look out for that truck!”
Señora Moreno eased the wheel to the left as both left side tires tore through dirt and weeds to pass a tractor trailer lolling along in the faster left lane. The underside of the car sounded like it was being struck by bullets from a machine gun. When they’d made the pass, Señora Moreno smoothly centered the car in the left lane and, beaming, looked back at Justina.
“The salesman said this is the safest car on the road, dear.”
Justina scrutinized the dashboard in front of her seat, making sure the Volvo came with dual airbags. “Do you normally drive this fast?”
“No, dear. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever driven this car over a hundred kilometers per hour. I must admit that I find driving this way exhilarating.”
Justina pointed to the turn selector. “Pull on that lever to flash your headlights. Most people will get out of the way and that might prove better than any more passes in the grass.”
As they rapidly closed on a car, Señora Moreno flashed her lights, marveling at how the car quickly moved right. Again she smiled, adjusting her fingers on the wheel. “I feel so free.”
“Señora, you said your lawyer didn’t think the consulate was the best place to go.”
“Yes, dear. He suggested we find another angle that might provide us much greater leverage.”
“And what’s that?”
“I didn’t like his suggestions. Too safe and obvious.”
“But you have an idea?”
“I do, dear. This Ernesto Navarro…there have been countless news stories about him since he was killed. He was worth many millions, dear, and the news outlets seem to think his fortune is well-hidden.”
“How does that help us?”
A blue sign flashed by, displaying Barcelona as only 77 kilometers away. “Before I tell you, in the interest of time, climb into the back. You’ll find my makeup in the case. And I put some of my grand-niece’s summer clothes back there. She’s tall and pretty like you…and dresses like a tramp.”
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Justina asked.
Señora Moreno risked a glance. “Your platform sandals will do, but those jeans and that shirt are too baggy. Back there you’ll find some items that will accentuate your gifts. And once you’re changed, tease your hair out and go heavy on the makeup.”
Justina turned and rummaged through the clothes.
“We want you to appear lujuriosa.�
�
“I don’t think I know that word,” Justina said.
After flashing her lights at another car, Señora Moreno briefly turned. “I think the English word is ‘slutty.’” She motioned with her head. “Go on now. I’ll slow down just a bit, but not too much.” She flashed her lights again. “I’m having too much fun to drive normally.”
Choosing to follow along, Justina climbed through the seats into the back. The clothes, while tight, did fit.
“No brassiere, dear,” Señora Moreno said, looking at Justina in the rear view mirror.
“Are you sure?”
“Quite.”
After resignedly removing her bra, Justina opened the case and went to work on her face. “Make myself lujuriosa,” she mumbled, eyeing herself in the mirror as she applied Vichy foundation to her face.
As Justina worked on her face, Señora Moreno explained her plan.
“You think it will work?”
“I do,” Señora Moreno answered with conviction.
Justina grew silent.
“Dear?”
“Yes?”
“I need to tell you something else.”
“Okay.”
“I left something else for your boyfriend…left it with Sven.”
“You did?”
“Yes. Just in case.”
“What was it?”
“Before I tell you, I want you to promise that you’ll try to understand why I did it.”
Their eyes converged in the rear-view mirror. “I will try to understand.”
“These past few weeks with you have been wonderful.” She adjusted her hands on the wheel. “I truly feel like my Isabel is here with me again.”
“As I’ve said before, I cannot imagine a greater honor than to remind you of her.”
“And it’s because of that…”
The Volvo sped southward as Señora Moreno explained.
Chapter Twenty-Five
As he’d done the day before, Gage waited in the outer office while the big guard stared at him from behind the glass. The pain around Gage’s kidney had worsened, as if there was a pipe clamp around the organ, cinching tighter by the minute. After Capitana de la Mancha’s visit, Gage had relieved himself, doubling over from the pain that seemed to have spread to his bladder. When he’d recovered enough to straighten, he peered into the toilet—his urine was now flecked with blood.
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