For The Love Of Laurel

by Patricia Harreld

  Even as she had the thought, Madeira appeared and sat down across from her, putting a laptop on the table between them. She kept her expression neutral, not wishing to set him off.

  He studied her for a few moments. “Querida, why are you doing this? It is only a matter of time before we find out where he is, with or without your cooperation. But it would be better for you if you would just tell me what you know. I have a confession to make. I sent you that email to get you to Colombia. It was not from your father.”

  She froze before making herself meet his gaze. “How did you get my address?” Dumb question. Of course he could afford to pay for that info. “If you were able to send me an email pretending to be him, why not send him one? He doesn’t even know I’m here.”

  “No?”

  “How could he? You sent the email.”

  “Hm. Certainly you have an email address for him.”

  Laurel thought, and then made a decision. “I had thought him dead, but found out different. I have one address I discovered and did send him a note. He never answered, so I don’t know if the address is still good. I don’t even know for certain that he’s in Colombia. The only time I’ve heard from him in two years was actually your email to me.”

  Madeira sat forward. “Do you recall the email address you used to write him?” He opened the laptop and turned it to face her.

  How could I ever forget it? After a brief hesitation she wrote m78r01d20@gmail.com. It made her sad to think she might be putting his life in danger, but Madeira couldn’t find out where he was from the address. Jim Tanner had taught her that much.

  Madeira turned the computer around and looked at the address. “For your sake, this had better be valid.” He began to type. When he was finished, he told her to add something that would be significant only to Gerald and her.

  When she had finished, he hit Send. He picked up the computer and stood. “Feel free to roam about the compound,” he said as he left the room.

  Dylan spread out a map of Colombia on a table in his hotel room. He stared at it, but it told him nothing. All he could do was wait for Avidon to show up and hope he had some idea where Madeira might be.

  A sharp rap on the door had him reaching for his gun. He went to the peephole then opened the door. Gerald rushed in and Dylan closed and locked the door.

  Gerald took in the room. He went to the table and poked a finger at the map. “Somewhere in here. I think he’s near Cartagena because he paid a visit to Tiquería.”

  “Why didn’t you get him then?”

  “I didn’t want any collateral damage. I thought someone would tell him where I was, so I waited in my room, but he never came. I have two paid informants, one in Cartagena and one in Medellín who are supposed to tell me if they see him, but so far, no luck.”

  “Does he have Laurel? We know from her reply to the email he was expecting her.”

  “Good question. He must have a larger network than we thought.”

  They ordered room service and spent the next two hours eliminating locations, for one reason or another, where Madeira’s hidey-hole might be. At last, Dylan yawned and tossed his pen on the table.

  Gerald said, “We need a couple hours of sleep. If Madeira has Laurel, and I suspect he does, I have to believe he won’t hurt her. He’ll just use her to draw me in. If we’re going to figure this out, we need clear heads.”

  “I don’t think we’ll have to figure it out. He’ll get word to us somehow. He’s got to know you can’t call him or find him without help. He’ll tell you where to find Laurel and he’ll be waiting.”

  Gerald rose from his chair and stretched his back. “Now that Laurel’s part of the equation, we need help. Fast.” He pulled out a cell phone, dialed a number, and put the phone on speaker so Dylan could hear. Dylan knew the entire conversation would be scrambled.

  “Begin.” It was a woman’s voice.

  “Need backup.” Dylan listened as Gerald related how things had changed now that Madeira had his daughter, and how she’d been tricked into coming to Colombia.

  The woman didn’t interrupt and never asked a question. When Gerald finished, she said, “Backup on its way. They’ll fly into Cartagena and find you in Tiquería.”

  “I’m not in Tiquería.” He gave the name of the hotel in Cartagena. Eventually, he’d have to explain why he’d moved, but not now.

  After Gerald disconnected the call, Dylan said, “I wonder how he’ll contact us.”

  “Probably not by sending muscle. The cleanest way is by email and that worries me. Laurel knows my email address. Will she give it to him freely, or will Madeira have to extract it through torture?”

  “God, I hope she doesn’t try to be a hero.”

  Gerald checked his email account on his mobile phone. “Here we go. He has told me where he’s got Laurel, and if I want her to live, I’d better show up alone. He sent it three hours ago.”

  “Does he offer proof that he has her?”

  “Yes. There’s a note from her after his. He obviously told her to tell me something only she and I would know. She wrote ‘Daddy, I found the secret room, and trashed the crap in the buffet.’ Is she telling the truth?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Gerald sighed. “Well, none of that’s important now. I have to go.”

  “Not yet. You know you aren’t going alone. As soon as the others get here, we’ll plan how we’re going to proceed. Nothing will be gained if you go off half-cocked. Laurel will be safe.”

  Gerald snorted. “You don’t know that.”

  “Yeah, I do. Madeira has given you a way to contact him. He’s not stupid. He’ll know you’ll demand proof Laurel’s okay before you show yourself.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  Laurel paced in her room. She wondered what her father would do once he got the message. Would he act on it in order to save her hide, or only because it meant he might have a chance to get Madeira? Probably both.

  She felt guilty for questioning his motives. After all, she had to acknowledge he had always taken care of her despite his dark side. The only thing she was certain of was that he would act, whatever his reasons. She didn’t try to fool herself into believing Madeira would let her go once he had Gerald. Would Gerald really come alone? She doubted it. At the very least, he would contact Dylan, who undoubtedly could get all the help needed. But, how long would that take? Madeira wouldn’t wait forever.

  She looked out the window and noticed all the men she was used to seeing were nowhere in sight. Had they left the compound to intercept Gerald? If so, it wouldn’t matter what Dylan or anyone else did.

  She wished she had some way to warn Gerald but knew that was like wishing everything she’d recently learned about him she could unlearn. It wasn’t going to happen. She was somewhat comforted with the knowledge that he’d been doing this for years. Of course he knew what he’d be walking into.

  She went back to the window. Children played soccer outside. Just like kids in the States. If only we maintained the innocence of childhood. She watched them for a few minutes. A tall boy teased a smaller boy by keeping the ball just out of reach. The smaller one began to cry. The tall one mocked him. A girl went to the small boy and put her arms around him. He soon smiled again.

  Without realizing what she was doing, Laurel crept downstairs. A couple of people glanced at her before going about their business. She straightened up and took the stairs with confidence. Alejandro had said she could roam about the compound. Obviously, the help had been told as well.

  She opened the door to the outside. The heat and humidity wrapped around her like a thermal blanket. She shook off the feeling and closed the door behind her. She leaned casually against the house and watched the children. She recalled playing girls’ soccer in her freshman year in high school. She had loved it, but halfway through the season, she’d contracted mono. By the time she’d recovered, the season was over. Did she still have the moves?

  The tall boy picked up the bal
l, and then stopped and turned toward her. “Hey, Puta. ¿Que pasa?” His gaze was unfriendly, challenging.

  The rest of the kids froze. The tall boy bounced the ball.

  Laurel crossed her arms and continued to lean against the house. She stared him down. He looked away first. Laurel crossed the dirt court until she was close enough to be in his personal space.

  “¿Habla usted inglés?”

  “¿Quién quiere saber?” His expression mocked her as he continued to bounce the ball. She felt like kicking it out of his hands Tae Kwon Do style.

  “Who wants to know? El Presidente de la República de Colombia.” She kept her tone just short of flippant.

  Suddenly, he threw the ball to her, harder than was necessary. She was only three feet from him but managed to catch it decisively.

  “Is that all you’ve got?” she taunted as she tossed the ball back.

  The look on his face told her what she needed to know. He did speak English. Thank God. I’ve about used all the Spanish I know.

  “No, that’s not all, Señorita.” He glared at her, a shadow of hatred in his eyes. “Would you like to see what else I can do?” He said something she couldn’t understand, and another boy went to stand between two five-foot tall poles. The boy kicked the ball and the goalie lunged but missed it.

  “Impressive. Anything else?”

  “Maybe you’d like to see how well I can shoot a rifle. I’ll one day be head man here, and I intend to be feared throughout the world.”

  She smirked at him.

  He grabbed her arm. “I also know how to screw a woman. You want to try me, Puta?”

  “I also know martial arts. You want to try me? If I kick you in the cojones, you won’t be screwing anybody for a while.”

  A screen door slammed as a plump woman came toward them. She took the boy by his hair and pulled.

  “Ouch, Mama.”

  She let out a string of Spanish that Laurel doubted even Gerald could follow. But she didn’t need language to know the boy was being scolded by his mama.

  At last she stopped ranting and pushed the boy toward Laurel. He tried not to make eye contact but couldn’t help it.

  Laurel gave no quarter. She knew that to do so would cause loss of face for the mother. She glanced at the woman, who acknowledged her with an unfriendly look.

  “Lo siento. I’m sorry,” he said with obvious reluctance. “My mama made me say that.”

  Apparently satisfied, his mama went back into her house.

  “It’s good not to give in easily, but when a mama says you have to do something, it’s best to obey.” She almost laughed. As if she’d know anything about mamas.

  “Sí.” He walked over to the ball, picked it up, and kicked it between the goal posts. He picked it up again and brought it to Laurel. “Your turn.”

  She took the ball. Maybe she could make him an ally. God knows I need somebody on my side. “Are you the goalie . . . uh, what’s your name?”

  “Juan.”

  “Juan.”

  “No. Pedro is. We’ll take turns. First one to ten goals wins.” He said a few words in Spanish to the kids surrounding them.

  “What’s the prize?” She recalled her Tae Kwon Do bet with Dylan. Hopefully, Juan wouldn’t want a kiss.

  Juan grabbed the ball and went to the line some of the other kids had drawn in the dirt with their sneakers. For the first time, he glared at her. “Wait and see,” he said as he kicked the ball toward the goal and missed.

  Laurel and Juan took turns. Juan was soon ahead eight to three. Half the kids cheered for her and half for him. At one point, she glanced up and saw Alejandro watching them, but he didn’t interrupt the game.

  The game ended with Laurel losing by three points. She saw Alejandro walk toward them. He gave Juan a get lost gesture.

  “Did you let him win, perhaps hoping he might help you escape?”

  “Of course not, though I wouldn’t say no if he offered.”

  Madeira laughed loudly. “You are too honest, Laurel. So, why did you bother with him?”

  “Boredom. I’m not accustomed to sitting around, doing nothing. It seemed harmless. I’m sure you know he’s good. If he lived in America, he could make a lot of money with his talent.”

  “Yes? Pity that will never happen. Come back inside. I need you to do something.”

  Once inside, he escorted her to her room. She sat at a desk that held a laptop. He paced the floor.

  “Your father is either very stupid or he cares nothing for you.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “I assumed he would acknowledge receipt of the email, but I’ve heard nothing. Are you certain of the email address?”

  “No. I told you that in the first place. It’s the only one I know, but he might use another one now.”

  “If the address wasn’t good, it would have come back to you.”

  “Well, it didn’t, so it must still be good. Maybe he doesn’t look at it every day.”

  He stopped beside her. “Send him another one. Tell him that if he doesn’t acknowledge and understand the first email, please acknowledge this one. Otherwise, I will have your amigo, Juan, begin to cut off your fingers, one a day for ten days, after which time you will be killed.”

  Chapter 38

  “Now he’s threatening to torture and kill her,” Gerald said, closing his laptop.

  After a minute, he opened it again, logged onto his email, and began to type. Dylan looked over his shoulder.

  Madeira, your terms are unsatisfactory. I’ll give myself up, but only to you and only after you’ve freed Laurel. Name a neutral place and I’ll be there—alone.

  Within minutes, Madeira replied there would be no negotiation. He would give Gerald three more days before he’d let anyone touch Laurel. After that, there were no guarantees.

  “See if you can find out the ETA of the others,” Dylan said. “If not, we’ll go it alone.”

  “Agreed. I won’t wait any longer.”

  “Make the call.”

  Dylan felt just like Gerald, but knew the more help they had, the better. For him, the only person of importance was Laurel. He couldn’t live with himself if something happened to her because he and Gerald screwed this up. Admit it, fool. You couldn’t live if anything happened to her for any reason, period.

  After the call, Gerald said, “They just arrived and were getting ready to contact me. They’re in the lobby in disguise. We’ll meet in ten minutes.”

  “What’s their disguise?”

  “Tourist nightlife. Slacks, casual short-sleeve shirts just a cut above a T-shirt. I hear they balked at ordering umbrella drinks.”

  “How many and how will we know them?”

  “Six of the best. Strohman—I know him—Kowalski, Jensen, Barrett, Stansbury, and Michaels. We’ll go to the lobby and play it by ear.”

  “My least favorite way to play it,” Dylan grumbled.

  The lobby wasn’t crowded. Two restaurants and several bars opened onto the lobby, absorbing most of the guests. Dylan and Gerald headed for one of the bars as they scanned the room for signs of agents. There were just enough men in the lobby dressed tourist nightlife, as Gerald had put it, that they weren’t able to make a connection at first.

  “There’s Strohman.” Gerald headed straight for the agent, as if to greet an old friend.

  “Stroh, how the hell are you? Haven’t seen you since you and the wife got married.” They hugged each other.

  “Great. You’re looking good.” Strohman talked at the same volume as Gerald—not so soft as to seem secretive, but not so loud as to attract unwanted attention.

  Dylan joined them and shook Strohman’s hand. “Glad you’re here. How are we going to do this?” When he let go of Strohman’s hand, a small piece of paper was in his.

  “Take a cab to the first address on the paper. Then, leave the cab and walk east one block, turn south for two blocks. That’s where the second address is. It’s a safe house. We’ll all me
et there and get some shut-eye and food. At oh four-hundred, we’ll gear up, and go get us one fucking son-of-a-bitch.”

  Chapter 39

  The team looked at the compound from their vantage point among trees and bushes. The walk had taken several hours, during which time they had met a number of men with assault rifles and taken them out with their HK MP5 sub-machine guns. The Gemtech Raptor II Silencer on each weapon rendered it almost completely silenced, so they weren’t worried they’d been heard.

  It was now the middle of the day. The heat and humidity were stifling, the insects malicious. Kids played outside. Once in a while, a mother would open the door of a small house and call her son or daughter in for lunch. No activity was apparent in the large ranch house.

  Dylan took a drink of water and wiped sweat from his forehead just as Gerald gestured to the team.

  They retreated fifty yards and formed a close circle, eight men with a single goal. Dylan knew from experience that they were highly attuned to each other. Everyone knew their role and how to execute it.

  “He has to be here,” Gerald said in a low whisper. “Are they all waiting in the main house?”

  “If they are, they are really sons-of-bitches, leaving their juveniles exposed,” Strohman said.

  “I don’t think so. They’re certain we’ll walk into their trap, rather than risk collateral damage in the crossfire,” agent Barrett said.

  There was general agreement.

  “No collateral damage would be preferable, but we have to get Madeira, no matter the cost,” Jensen said.

  They all pondered that as they crept back to their original position. A door slammed, stopping them cold.

  Dylan put a warning hand on Gerald’s arm as Madeira walked off the porch of the ranch house and into the open, accompanied by Laurel. They appeared to be arguing.