He had the Opal Holdings account up on his screen now. The other transfers were all made to the same bank in the Caymans. He breathed a sigh of relief.
“Luis?”
“I’m calling them right now.”
“Luis, get back in here!”
Luis reappeared. He was breathless, and his stringy hair was plastered across his sweaty forehead.
“I found it. It’s gone to the Caymans account.”
Luis visibly brightened and appeared as though he would not die after all.
“Go back to your desk and get our banker on the line.” This time he would do it himself. Transfer it to an account no one else knew about. Maybe scare the shit out of Clara and teach her a lesson. Luis was back in less than a minute.
“Boss?”
“Now what? I told you to get the bank on the line.”
“I—I did. Mrs. Covington said there’s no money in the account.” Luis focused on the carpet in front of Ortega’s desk, studiously avoiding eye contact.
“What do you mean, no money? It transferred this morning.”
“Yes, but it was transferred right back out again.” Luis sat down.
“Impossible!” Was it? First Bryant’s call, and now Clara was missing. Were the two somehow connected? Bryant must have got the money from somewhere, although Ortega couldn’t see a one million-dollar transfer.
He still had the tape of Bryant’s phone call from yesterday. He recorded all his calls. You never knew when it might be needed, whether for evidence or blackmail. He pressed play and listened, anger welling inside as he listened to Bryant’s insolent tone.
He wrung his hands as his mind raced with the possibilities. Clara was gone. The money was gone. And Bryant said he had it. Did he have Clara too? Assuming it really was him, why hadn’t Clara eliminated him like she was instructed to?
Clara should have attended the shareholder vote and left immediately after. That was the plan. Had she even gone to the meeting?
Suddenly he realized he was not alone.
“Luis? Why are you still standing here with that stupid look on your face? Call the bank back—now!” He made a mental note to replace Luis with someone who didn’t need step-by-step instructions.
“Right away, boss.” Luis started towards the door.
“Oh, and Luis?” Ortega kept his voice calm and level.
“Boss?”
“You get that money back. And find Clara. Today. Not tomorrow. Otherwise…” Ortega’s voice dropped to a whisper as he made a slicing motion across his neck. His sentence hung in the air, unfinished. He waved Luis away, but not before Luis caught the meaning.
Luis slunk out of the office, closing the door behind him.
Ortega turned his attention back to the tape.
Of course. Why hadn’t he noticed earlier? He played back the recording, listening carefully to the background noise. Now he caught it. The public announcement was in Spanish. At the very least, it meant Bryant wasn’t calling from a public place in Canada. Where then? He rewound the tape and listened again, this time with the volume turned up.
“—departing to Rosario.”
He knew of only one Rosario, and it was in Argentina. That meant Bryant was here. He might have even called from the Buenos Aires airport. Now he was certain Bryant was conspiring with Clara. How else could he have known his private phone number and bank account details?
53
Clara’s index finger rested on the safety, content to draw out the ending she had played in her mind so many times before. She savored the moment, finally exacting revenge for Vicente, her mother, and the countless other cruelties her father had inflicted over the years.
Her first memory of her father’s brutality was when he shot Bingo, leaving his carcass to rot in the front pasture, the one she could see from her bedroom window. It stayed for weeks, appearing smaller each morning as scavengers visited during the night.
Was missing the jump her fault or the horse’s? She didn’t know. He hadn’t thought it worth explaining to an eight-year-old, particularly a girl. She remembered him pulling her away from her first show jumper, a birthday gift, handing her off to one of his men who were always lurking in the shadows of their life. But not before making her watch, telling her it was a lesson in self-reliance. Never become too attached to anything or anyone but yourself. She got the message.
Still, she tried to please him, hoping she could somehow alter his disappointment of her being born female. The only good thing was that it was through her father that she met Vicente. He was one of the assigned guards at the Ortega estate. All of those men were interested in Clara, but only because she was his daughter. Vicente was the only one who saw her as a person.
They married when she turned eighteen. Clara saw Vicente as a way out, an end to her father’s grip on her destiny. Instead, her father’s hold tightened, since he controlled Vicente just as much as he controlled her. Then he killed him, in retribution for taking a cut on the diamond deal. That was how her father saw things: white or black, life or death.
Now she was the one making that choice. She released the safety as she eyed the men on the tarmac below. She was hidden in the trees atop a small bluff overlooking the runway, at the far end of the airfield.
She came here directly from the airport terminal. She knew her father would show up here to make his escape. The money trail led to him. She didn’t wait long. His black sedan had arrived and was now parked on the runway, less than two hundred feet away.
Clara’s mouth hardened into a frown as she watched her father run across the tarmac towards the idling Cessna, the lone aircraft on the runway. To the east was the main airport she had just come from. In the distance tiny figures and trucks with cargo trailers wove busily around the idled passenger jets. This runway was quieter, part of the original airport that today was used only by the small Cessnas and Pipers favored by wealthy porteños.
Satisfied no one was watching, she turned her attention back to her father and his entourage. Short limbs sprouted from his pudgy body like twigs on a snowman. Despite his girth, he was still a good twenty feet in front of the four other men. Always in a rush. In a hurry to get the top table at a restaurant, the best cut of an arms deal, or own a piece of the most powerful men in government. She watched him scurry to make his escape, feeling nothing but hatred and revulsion. This time he would leave with nothing. She had all the money.
Luis was in pursuit, his comb-over whipping across his scalp like a flag flapping in the wind. He was bogged down by a suitcase in each hand, probably the cash her father always traveled with. It wouldn’t last long.
Close behind was Rodriguez. She hated him. Hated him for his betrayal of Vicente, and ingratiating himself with her father as Vicente’s replacement. Rodriguez would step over anyone, including her father, in his quest for the top. Why didn’t he of all people see that anyone could be bought? But her father was surprisingly blind to the effects of human nature when it applied to himself.
Two burly men in dark suits brought up the rear. Clara did not recognize them, but knew they were her father’s latest bodyguards, ready to shoot anyone who got too close and represented a threat, real or imagined.
Slipping into Argentina on a fake passport had been easy. Evading her father’s network of watchers at the airport without detection was more difficult, but not by much. They were everywhere in Buenos Aires, but she knew how to spot them. Right now they appeared distracted, as if alerted to something else.
Her hand was steady as she followed his impatient march. She waited for him to reach the aircraft steps and turn back towards the men. His mouth opened but any sound that came out was silenced by the wind. He was no doubt cursing them for their slowness, insulting them as he always did. Amazing what they endured for a fat salary and a lawless existence.
As she readied herself, her father suddenly stopped and stared past the men, as if he could see her. But that was ridiculous. She was perfectly camouflaged behind the foliage.
Her index finger stood ready above the trigger.
She aimed. She wanted to see his face when it happened.
She pulled the trigger.
They didn’t hear the shot, muffled by a silencer. It missed entirely, not hitting anything else to alert them to her presence. She wasn’t worried. There was plenty of time to make the target. With a miss came the risk of discovery, but also an adrenaline rush, knowing she could make this last as long as she wanted. It was a game she didn’t want to end. Still, she wasn’t one to squander chances. She re-chambered and fired another round.
The second bullet found its mark. She watched as he crumpled to the ground, like a punctured inflatable toy. It felt strangely anti-climactic watching the life ebb out of him.
Luis dropped the suitcases and ran towards her father. A dark spot began to spread on her father’s white shirt just below his shoulder. She watched as he propped her father up, trying frantically to quash the blood loss. The dark stain on her father’s shirt was spreading rapidly.
Should she shoot Luis too? He knew about the money, knew all her father’s secrets. No. Luis was ineffectual without her father. She would leave him to slowly wither away and die instead. She almost felt sorry for him, another life wasted in the orbit of her father’s world. The other men? Better to let them live and tell about it.
She inhaled deeply and felt her chest lighten. The most powerful man in Argentina knocked off by a mere woman. What would they think?
She had single-handedly turned the five billion into almost ten times as much. It had been her idea to short the Liberty stock, knowing the Bryant scandal would cause the stock price to plunge. She had kept it secret from him, knowing he would discount any of her ideas. When the extra money was discovered in the Opal Holdings account, he took credit for the idea amongst his cronies. Never once did he acknowledge her brilliance. Even the hostile takeover of Liberty had been her idea. He never gave her credit for that either. It was foolproof: he could flip Liberty at a huge profit—or keep it as a failsafe way to launder his dirty diamonds.
It would have been perfect, if only that moron of a broker hadn’t duplicated her trades, drawing attention to Opal. Her father might never have even known about the extra money if Bancroft Richardson account hadn’t been frozen. Once discovering that Opal Holdings had fifty billion, did he think to congratulate her? Not a chance. All he did was berate her for attracting attention. Then he tried to steal it for himself. But she had outsmarted him, the regulators, and everyone else. She was on her way to a new life in a country where she would be unknown, unwatched, and in a place where her wealth would not attract attention. She would be free to live her new life with more money than she could spend in a lifetime.
The bullet’s impact snapped her neck forward, sending her spinning to the ground. She tried to adjust her balance but could no longer feel her legs beneath her. A spasm shot through her arm as the gun released from her grip and clattered uselessly down the rocks onto the edge of the tarmac. She lay there on the dirt, unable to feel her body. Everything around her was black. Not in the shades of descending nightfall, but the stark darkness of total blindness.
But she could still hear. She listened as the shooter came closer, the measure of his footfalls meted out by the crunch of dry leaves.
Then she understood. All that money hadn’t changed anything. She was still prisoner to her father’s watchers. They were everywhere, pervasive, opportunistic parasites paid to watch her wherever she was, even at Liberty. In that instant she knew. The fall guy hadn’t taken much of a fall after all.
54
“Paul, thank God you’re here. Get me to the hospital.” Clara spoke in a whisper as she struggled to breathe. “Please, help me.”
“Why? You were planning to keep all the money for yourself, weren’t you?”
Clara was supposed to move the money to the new account they had opened together in Guernsey. Instead she had transferred it to her own Caymans account, cutting him out. Bryant knew because he had kept a copy of her banking information and installed a key-tracing software program on her computer. He wasn’t a trusting person.
“That’s not true. I planned to call you.” Then she fell silent, the effort to lie too much.
“When, Clara? A year from now? After I was convicted and jailed for taking the money?”
He didn’t expect an answer, and he didn’t get one. Clara’s pale skin was starting to turn blue, her long hair matted by the pool of blood congealing on the dirt beneath her. Was it really only weeks since they had planned the theft together? Only she never let him in on the rest of the plan: the laundered diamonds, shorting the stock, and the plan to kill him once she had the money.
He felt strangely detached, as if this was someone other than the woman he loved. Not the one he had planned to escape with, the one he had sacrificed his career for. It was clear to him now. He could never go back, already sentenced for taking the money, whether it was true or not. She had made sure of that, designating him as the fall guy, tinged with guilt no matter how things turned out.
All that time, waiting and worrying in Brussels for nothing. One day became several, and then it was a week. She needed to wait a few more days, she said, before she could get the money. Then the authorities discovered the Opal Holdings account, and Clara had to run without the money. At least that was what she told him.
The two men had shown up at his hotel around the same time. Swarthy men in suits and sunglasses, like bodyguards for someone important. Only there was no one around them to protect. Suddenly he realized why they seemed familiar. They were the same men he’d seen Clara talking to in Vancouver. One call and it was confirmed: Clara was gone. Not en route to Brussels as they had planned, but bound for Argentina instead.
He headed for the airport without returning to his room to collect his things or become her next victim. He made it to Buenos Aires just in time to witness Clara shooting her father. She had never planned to follow him at all.
Not that it mattered now. He knew exactly where that money was, safely deposited in the Bank of Cayman. He had made sure of that before he shot her. Later today it would move to his new account in Guernsey. But first he needed to make sure she was out of the way.
Surprisingly, he felt nothing. Their two years together were meaningless, erased by the hatred that had fuelled his pursuit of her all the way to Buenos Aires. He watched as she struggled to breathe. Why he had ever believed in her?
“Help me,” she whispered, more a plea than a command.
He said nothing. Hovering above her, he was content to watch her suffer.
The late afternoon sun sank lower on the horizon, no longer warming the earth she lay in.
“You can have the money. I’ll tell you where it is.”
“I already know where it is.”
“Paul, just help me. I’ll give you anything you want.” Clara’s throat gurgled as she tried to speak.
Her face, no longer beautiful, stared up at him with sightless eyes. He couldn’t resist.
“I’ve already got everything I could possibly want. I’ve got the money.” He drew out the last word, hoping it stung. “And you got what you deserved.”
Then it was over. Her body shuddered once and then lay still.
Bryant let out a satisfied sigh as he tucked the gun back into his belt. He turned on his heels and headed back down towards the road, letting out a sigh of contentment. It had been a productive day. He had never killed anything before.
55
“Hurry up, Kat!”
“I’m trying,” Kat yelled back. She ran through the airport, trailing behind Cindy as they passed the Haida Gwai Jade Canoe. The mythical creatures paddled in unison towards their destination, unlike Kat, who was sidetracked from hers.
At least Bryant had been caught in the act. Cindy’s police sources had confirmed it an hour ago, and the story was already making internet headlines. The Argentine police had Ortega under surveillance, so when Clara’s bullet found its
mark, they traced the trajectory and found Bryant. Were they really too late to stop Bryant’s trigger finger? Or was it just easier than trying to convict a cartel boss's daughter? She’d never know.
Cindy’s unplanned detour could not have happened at a worse time. Platt’s call came when they were just minutes from Liberty. He insisted they meet him at the airport, and Cindy didn’t trust him enough not to. Audrey was waiting for Kat at Liberty, where they had planned to confront Nick in less than fifteen minutes. Even if they turned around right now, it would take at least thirty minutes to get back downtown. Now that the news about Clara, Ortega, and Bryant was out, Kat was certain Nick would be planning his own escape.
Cindy was almost at security, still running when she half turned and glanced back at Kat, saying something Kat couldn’t hear above the airport din.
“What?” But Cindy wasn’t looking back anymore. She rifled through her pockets and flashed something to the two security guards standing at the door. The heavy one, who looked like he had eaten way too many baseball steaks, nodded and waved Cindy through. He loomed larger as Kat neared, close enough to hear the swish-swish of Baseball Steak’s pant legs as they rubbed together. He propelled himself towards her like an upright sea lion and stopped directly in front of her.
Kat pointed ahead at Cindy, but a pudgy arm blocked her path.
“Whoa, hold up there, lady. Let’s see your boarding pass.”
Kat’s eyes focused on his double chin. It bobbed up and down as his words floated out in a slow phlegmy drawl.
“What?”
“You heard me. Your boarding pass. No pass means no pass-age.” He drew out the last syllable, chuckling at his own wit. “Now let’s have it.”
“I don’t have a boarding pass. I’m with the police—with the woman you just let through.” Couldn’t Cindy have waited a few extra seconds?
Baseball Steak glanced at his buddy and rolled his eyes. His partner was boney and jaundiced looking, like he refueled on coffee and nicotine.
[Katerina Carter 01.0] Exit Strategy Page 24
