Truth or Dare

by Fern Michaels

  “Our boy just arrived,” Snowden added. “It’s just the way Senora Santos said. The man is truly a creature of habit.”

  Both men watched and waited. Mezaluma looked up and snapped his fingers, the signal that Senora Santos was to bring his first glass of sangria. Both men were stunned at how calm she was, how her hands were totally steady, with no tremors at all.

  When Senora Santos returned to the kitchen, she whispered, “I truly hope this is the last time I will ever have to serve that evil creature.” Both men assured her that they would make her wish come true.

  “By now, the whole town knows not to interfere. When you leave here with him, no one will accost you, and if they do it is for . . . display only. No harm will come to either of you. This I promise.” Both men nodded at the woman’s bravery.

  Snowden and Callahan waited for another snap of the fingers. Time for the tamales and another glass of the man’s favorite beverage.

  “My agents should be at Senor Mezaluma’s house by now,” Callahan said as he looked at his watch.

  “His movements are sluggish,” Snowden whispered from his position on the kitchen side of the curtain that separated the eating area from the kitchen. “I don’t even think he’s chewing, just swallowing and washing it down with the sangria. Oops, looks like he’s done, he’s snapping his fingers.”

  “Yes, senor,” Senora Santos said as she bustled through the doorway. “Are you not well, senor? You did not finish your lunch. Do you want your coffee now?”

  Snowden and Callahan were both surprised at how gruff and guttural the man’s voice sounded when he spoke. “I am well, have no fear. I will pass on the coffee and go home now. The padre’s short sermon made me tired.” Senora Santos scampered back to her kitchen.

  Snowden came up to the table from the left and Callahan from the right. Both men reached down at the same time to lift Mezaluma from his chair. He started to sputter indignantly, but his heart wasn’t in it. “Who are you? Take your hands off me.”

  “We’re your new best friends. If we take our hands off you, you will fall flat on your face. We’re simply helping you along. Or would you like us to call someone to take you home?”

  “My phone isn’t working,” Mezaluma said, slurring his words. “The damn thing never works.”

  “We’ll take you home?” Callahan said.

  “Why?”

  “Weren’t you listening? Because we are your new best friends, and you have no one else to call because your phone isn’t working,” Snowden said.

  “Where is the airport where you keep your plane?” Callahan asked.

  “Why do you want to know that?”

  “Because we are going to fly you home. Tell us how to get there,” Snowden said, cheerfulness ringing in his voice.

  “A taxi. The driver knows where it is. Fly me home?” Mezaluma stopped in his tracks and eyed both men suspiciously. “No.” His knees buckled just as a rickety taxi stopped in the middle of the road. Both men shoved Mezaluma into the backseat, where he fell over in a fat lump.

  “Take us to his airfield. You know who he is, right?” Callahan barked.

  “Si, senor, I know where it is. I thank all the gods in heaven that you are taking him away. It is not far, a mile or so. There is a pilot there who is very loyal to . . . to that devil. Be very careful, senor.”

  Mezaluma started to snore in the backseat as the rusty old taxi chugged down the rutted road. “There, just ahead, is the airfield. What do you want me to do?”

  “Take us as close as you can, so we don’t have to drag him too far. Where is the pilot, do you know?”

  “He will come out to greet you. This is as far as I am permitted to go. I have been here before many times, so I know this. Plus, I am the only taxi in town.”

  Snowden reached into his pocket and withdrew a wad of U.S. money. He handed it over to the taxi driver.

  “If this money is for my silence, keep it. I will not breathe a word of this to anyone. I am doing this for free.”

  Snowden nodded but insisted the taxi driver take the money. In the end, he did, with a wide smile just as a man emerged from a small shack off to the left of the plane and helicopter. He let loose with a long stream of Spanish that the driver returned in kind.

  “He said we cannot come here; we must go back because he did not get a call we were coming. I told him the cell phones are not working and that Senor Mezaluma is asleep in the backseat and to help you put him on the plane. He says he will not do that.”

  “Really!” Callahan drawled. He walked six short steps to the pilot and hit him square in the jaw. He dropped to the ground and went still. To the driver, he said, “Vamoose. We can take it from here. We’ll tie him up and put him in the shack. Tell someone to cut him loose in six or seven hours. Not a minute before. Comprende?”

  “Si. Si.”

  It took every bit of muscle both men had to drag the drugged man in the backseat out of the taxi. They let him fall to the ground. They then dragged the surly pilot, not caring if he got road burn on his body, over to the shack. They pushed him in, duct-taped him with tape from Callahan’s backpack, and shut the door. They sprinted back across the rutted tarmac to where Mezaluma was still out cold.

  “Man, would you look at that!” Callahan said, pointing to the helicopter. “I’d give my eye teeth for one of those babies. It’s a Black Hawk. Where in the hell did that guy get one of those? And it’s new!” he said, his voice betraying his outrage.

  “You want one of those?” Snowden asked.

  “I’d kill for one of those. Even I, with all my government and military connections, can’t get one.”

  “So let’s take it instead of the plane, assuming you can fly it. When we get to your place, we leave it behind and take one of your planes to D.C. That works for me.”

  “Just like that, we steal a Black Hawk?”

  “Yeah, just like that. Who is going to complain? Not that guy in the shack—it happened on his watch, and besides, no one in this jerkwater town cares about the man’s helicopter. You can fly it, right?”

  “I can fly anything that has wings. Okay, let’s get this guy aboard and hit the clouds. We shouldn’t have any trouble getting clearance from here since he’s who he is. I’ll call a guy I know on the U.S. side letting him know I’m the pilot of this rig. Haven’t you figured out yet that it’s not what you know, it’s who you know?”

  Snowden laughed as he helped pull, drag, and push the overweight devil onto the helicopter. When they had him secure, Callahan checked everything, and within minutes, they were airborne. He set the Black Hawk down fifteen minutes later on U.S. soil. The two men high-fived one another as they eyed the sleeping man strapped into his seat.

  “We have at least another fifteen minutes for my people to get here to transport him to my plane. Then I want to park this baby in my space. Snowden, are you sure I can keep this bird?”

  “Sure as I’m standing here. The paperwork is on you, though. I do know a few . . . forgers who can help you through the process.” Snowden cackled at his own wit.

  “Probably the same ones I know,” Callahan said gleefully.

  While they waited, they tried to reach Callahan’s agents, but there was no response. Snowden looked worried. “My people do not fail. If they aren’t answering their sat phones, that means they are otherwise occupied. I had no idea you Brits were such worrywarts.”

  “And I had no idea you Americans are such cocky sons of bitches.”

  “Trust me, okay, my people will deliver. By the time we’re ready to head to D.C., we’ll know what they know and the information will be in Sir Charles’s hands.”

  Back in the Tijuana neighborhood, where Beteo Mezaluma resided with his beautiful wife and pretty little daughter, things were going well, indeed. Elena Mezaluma was showing Patty and Susy where her husband kept his records. “He does not trust computers. He writes everything down. All his devil work is chronicled in these four ledgers. What else do you need from me or need
me to do?”

  Susy explained about her daughter and the dress-up outfits she wanted the little girl to try on so they could take pictures. Patty pulled out a long blond wig made especially for young cancer victims and explained in detail what she wanted and hoped to gain with her and her daughter’s cooperation. Elena reluctantly agreed.

  “What’s going to happen to us now?” Elena asked fearfully.

  “Nothing. Other than you are free of him. You can stay in this house, or you can return to your family. Everything here now belongs to you. You also inherit whichever aircraft my confederates did not take, so I’d sell that first thing before someone confiscates it,” Susy said as she neatly aligned all the costumes she’d brought for the little girl. “I got these at a shop that makes costumes for little girls who enter beauty pageants. I’ll leave them with you so your daughter and her friends can play dress-up. Fetch your daughter, please; we’re in a bit of a hurry.”

  * * *

  Five hours later, when Duke Callahan shut down his private plane, all the information his operatives had gathered was in Sir Charles’s hands, and his team was safely back in the Chula Vista office, congratulating themselves on a job well done. All of them knew there would be a generous bonus in their next paycheck because Duke Callahan was a generous, fair-minded boss.

  “There’s our ride,” Snowden said.

  “Where?” Callahan said, straining to see through the foggy glass. “Ah, the ambulance!”

  “That devil is going to wake up in about twenty minutes. We need to be on our way out to the farm. The ambulance will follow, with siren screaming, and we’ll be going a hundred miles an hour. Be prepared.”

  “I gotta say, Snowden, I like your style. You can come work for me anytime.”

  “How about you come work for me?” Snowden shot back.

  “You can’t afford me.” Callahan grinned.

  “You sure about that?” Snowden inquired slyly.

  “Where’s our ride?” Callahan asked as four of Snowden’s men loaded the gurney into the back of the ambulance. “What about the paperwork?”

  “All taken care of. Our ride is over there,” Snowden said, pointing to a sleek silver Maserati.

  * * *

  The messenger from Quick Fast Service entered the Sofitel hotel right on schedule. In his right hand he carried an elegant embossed envelope. He was dressed impeccably, in a crisp blue company uniform. He walked over to the registration desk and said, “Can you please tell me who is in charge of the Messrs. Karas? I want to deliver this envelope to him or her, as the case may be.”

  The clerk pointed to the far side of the lobby. “I believe it is the man seated in the burgundy chair nearest the elevator. If it isn’t he, I’m sure he can tell you who it is,” she said politely.

  The messenger made his way to the burgundy chair and said, “Excuse me, sir. The clerk at the desk said you are in charge of security for the Messrs. Karas. I have a letter here from Countess Anna de Silva. I was told to deliver it and to wait fifteen minutes for a response. Can you please deliver it? I’ll wait over there on the gray chair. I cannot wait longer than fifteen minutes. We need to be clear on that, sir.”

  The man, whose name was Adolpho, reached for the envelope, sniffed it, shook it, and nodded. He walked over to the elevator and pressed the button that would take him to the floor where the Karas brothers were. After leaving the elevator, he didn’t bother to knock but simply opened the door and walked into a lavish suite of rooms. Ryland looked up from where he was sitting, annoyed that the symphony he was listening to was being interrupted.

  His head of security handed over the envelope. “The messenger said that his instructions were to wait fifteen minutes and leave if you don’t respond. What do you want me to do?”

  Roland held up his hand, which meant wait.

  “What is it?” Roland asked.

  “A luncheon invitation for tomorrow at the countess’s country estate. There’s a map giving directions. Quick, Roland, call our benefactor and find out what he wants us to do.”

  “It went to voice mail.”

  “Keep trying. I’m not sure we should be making this decision on our own, and the clock is ticking,” Ryland said, his eyes on his Rolex watch.

  “Still no answer. It’s not unusual. Just say yes, and if we have to cancel, then we cancel. Assuming we are able to reach our benefactor. He still isn’t answering. Go with yes.”

  Ryland looked down at the invitation and bit down on his lower lip. This was a coup of sorts. Yes, it was short notice, but the countess was known for being eccentric. Finally, with five minutes to spare, he nodded to the security man and said, “Tell the messenger we will be delighted to attend tomorrow’s luncheon.”

  The security man left the room and literally ran down the hall to the stairway, which he took because the elevator was too slow. He took the steps three at a time. He made it to the lobby just as the messenger was getting out of his chair and preparing to leave. Breathless, he said, “The Messrs. Karas will be delighted to attend the countess’s luncheon tomorrow.”

  The messenger simply nodded and left the hotel. The moment he was outside, he called Maggie and said, “He said yes, and they will be delighted to attend.” He could not keep himself from laughing at Maggie’s whoop of joy.

  Maggie clicked on her phone, and before Charles could even say hello, she announced, “It’s a go. They will attend. Anything going on that I missed?”

  “Not a thing, dear.”

  “Okay, then, Ted and I are on our way back to the farm. See ya.”

  * * *

  It was a hair-raising ride out to Pinewood, one Duke Callahan said he would never forget. Nor would he forget the people he met, the two strange dogs whom he later swore knew what he was thinking before he knew it himself, the dungeons, the war room, and the cell where Beteo Mezaluma now slept and the Triad from China that stared at him stone faced.

  “A package arrived by . . . mysterious means about fifteen minutes before you arrived. It’s addressed to you, Mr. Callahan. I think it was flown here by a military jet. Is that possible?” Charles queried.

  Callahan laughed. “You know that old saying, it’s not what you know, it’s who you know. It’s your new guest’s records in ledger form. It’s all in there except for one thing. The names of the freighters, the boats, the ships that transport the children.” He handed it over with a wild flourish. “You got any cold beer around here? Anything but Mexican beer will be fine.”

  Dennis rushed to the refrigerator and reached for a bottle of good old American beer, Budweiser, even if the company that made it had its headquarters in Belgium. Callahan downed it in one gulp and asked for another. Dennis happily obliged. He liked this big bear of a man.

  “Oh, and a cuppa tea for my British friend here.”

  “Now what?” Jack asked.

  “We head for the war room, talk to our new guest, and show him how we do things here at the farm. Not to be confused with The Farm otherwise known as the CIA,” Charles said, menace ringing in his voice.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The parade to the living room and the secret panel that would lead them down to the war room was made in silence. Almost.

  “What the hell, Harry!” Ky hissed.

  “You ain’t seen nothing yet. I keep telling you, Ky, this is not a Mickey Mouse operation. Just go with the flow here, okay?”

  As always, the gang saluted Lady Justice the minute Charles turned on all the lights. The Triad whistled softly as they looked around at the renovations Isabelle had done to this particular section of the dungeon.

  “I saw a program on TV once of NORAD. This kind of looks like it,” Ling said in awe, as he and his two colleagues looked on, their mouths open, their eyes glazed at what they were seeing.

  “No one knows of this place?” Momo asked.

  “Only those we want to know,” Jack said. “And now you know.”

  “How long have you been doing this, Harry?” Ky whispered.


  “What? You writing a book or something? The short answer is a long time. Now be quiet and observe the object of this mission. The hydra.”

  Beteo Mezaluma sat on the narrow bed in the oversize cell, looking dazed and miserable. He was also filthy dirty from being dragged across the courtyard, his clothing ripped. He was barefoot; his leather sandals were somewhere outside. His fat feet were as dirty as the rest of him, his toenails like claws. “When we couldn’t decide how to get him down the moss-covered steps because of his girth, we put him on his already bruised back, gave him a shove, and he slid down to the bottom to land in a heap,” Jack said.

  “Where is this place? You kidnapped me! I will have you killed and not shed a tear over your deaths,” Mezaluma snarled.

  “Now, that’s pretty funny seeing as how you’re in a cell, and we’re out here. But to answer your question, you are in Virginia in the United States. We flew you here earlier today.” Pointing to Snowden and Callahan, Jack said, “These two gentlemen, your two new best friends, brought you here. After they stole your Black Hawk helicopter. I think by now your Learjet is in San Diego. Your wife said she didn’t want it. Waste not, want not.”

  “Bastards!” A string of Spanish profanity followed.

  “Speak English, or I’ll knock your teeth out,” Snowden said.

  “Takes one to know one.” Callahan grinned.

  “What we have here are all your records.” Charles held up the four thick ledgers that had just arrived. “You are the scum of the earth, Senor Mezaluma. What is not recorded in these ledgers are the names of the freighters, the ships, the boats, along with their routes and dates for the transportation of the children you kidnap. That’s what we want from you now.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I deliver produce. Nothing more.”

  Jack whipped around and asked who had Mezaluma’s cell phone. Callahan handed it over. “This is your cell phone, you fat toad. We took down the cell tower so you wouldn’t be able to use it. We listened to the messages and you have seventeen calls from the Karas brothers. You do know who they are, don’t you? They are the two stooges who do your dirty work, along with a whole army of perverts like yourself. Now this is what you are going to do. I am going to write down on paper what you are to say when you call them back. Do you understand what I just said?”