by Jeff Abbott
This was a mobile unit in which to put an old drugged man in the back and keep him still until he reached wherever they were going. Nesterov had taken a gamble that this high-end property wouldn’t be shown for the brief span of time he hid his car here.
I opened the glove compartment. I found a rental agreement for the Yukon from a rental car company office in San Juan. In the name of Lavrenti Nesterov of Miami. There was also a Glock 17 9mm, loaded with a high-capacity magazine, thirty-three rounds. I found a pair of keys with a Miami airport lot parking ticket attached; this must be his regular car back home.
Okay. So this was it. He’d been here alone. No driver waiting for him. The person he communicated with was back in Miami, presumably, and coming here to fall into Zhanna’s trap.
But now I could have a trap of my own. I had his car.
We could kidnap him, Cori had said. Well, actually, now we could. I wasn’t sure I’d tell her about this. Not yet.
I put everything back where I found it. I wiped it down. But I put the Glock, the tranquilizer-loaded syringe (capped, of course), and the two sets of car keys on the floor. A little pile of useful treasures. I thought of trying to sneak them into the house. But if I were caught with them, it was a death sentence.
I found matches in the garage and I burned the car rental documents with Nesterov’s name on them. Because I was going to use this car, and I didn’t want it tied easily to his name.
I crawled back out into the windy night and lowered the garage door as quietly as I could. I sat against the garage door and listened. The wind rose again, the smell of rain thick in the air. I didn’t want to get caught in a storm. Drenched clothes would be impossible to explain. I was running out of time, out of night.
I headed back the way I came; I’d threaded a needle getting out, and I thought it unwise to vary my approach on the return. So down I went on the path, then I hit the fence and the overgrowth that marked the Varela property line, and then into the scrub. Along the water, where the shore turned stony and the waves washed eternally. Then the smooth stretch of the Varelas’ private inlet, the small, narrow beach silver in the broken moonlight.
Galo was gone. That meant an extra pair of eyes back at the compound.
I began to sweat as I approached the wash of light that illuminated the area of the stone wall and the stairways. I looked at the time. I’d been gone for forty minutes.
With Galo back, what if one of them were permanently stationed in the courtyard? It would be impossible to avoid being seen.
But I couldn’t wait out here.
I shimmied back up the tree I’d climbed down in escaping. My chest and ribs felt tight; I could feel a bit of blood sticking to the back of my dark shirt.
I climbed into the blast of light, edged out over the branch. No yells of dismay, no screamed orders to halt. I peered at the house. I could see one guard turning on the other side, walking out of sight. No sign of the other.
I put my feet down on the wall. I dropped and scrambled down the side. My feet touched the courtyard. And I could see, edging around the other side of the house, the one closest to me, the lit cigarette of the guard who smoked. I was seconds from his view.
I was trapped. If I ran, he would see me. If I stood still, he would see me. I had five seconds to decide.
I walked toward him. “Hey,” I called, in a harsh whisper. “It’s Sam. It’s Sam.”
He reacted instantly, the cigarette dropping from his mouth, rushing toward me with his gun extended.
“Calm down!” I said.
“Get on the ground! Now!”
I obeyed him.
The other guard—now I could see it was Ricky—came running. Galo came out from the carport and I saw a thin gleam of light; he’d been inside the garage.
“Ricky, please tell this guy not to shoot me,” I said.
“What are you doing out here, Sam?” Ricky’s voice was frosty.
“I was looking for one of you. And trying not to wake up the house,” I said.
“Stand up, Sam,” Galo said. “Slowly.”
I obeyed.
“Man, you scared me,” the guard said, and then he went silent at a glare from Ricky.
“Search him,” Galo said, and Ricky gave me a thorough pat-down. I was glad I’d left the goods I’d found behind. He found nothing in my pockets, front or back, except for my smartphone. “He’s clean,” Ricky said to Galo. He checked the phone. “No recent calls or texts.”
“Put your hands down, Sam,” Galo said, sounding mildly annoyed.
“Didn’t we take your phone earlier?” Ricky said.
“Cori gave it back to me,” I said. Lie, lie, lie. If she were asked about it, she’d have to have the presence of mind to play along.
“Why are you all dressed in black?” Ricky said.
“That’s what Cori laid out for me,” I said. “It won’t show the blood if my cuts start bleeding again. Back home in Canada these are nightclubbing clothes. I know they’re not so much here in the tropics.” I shrugged.
Ricky made a little hissing noise. Like he didn’t quite believe me. And then I thought, He really might just shoot me, here, in front of them all. Sorry, Cori. Your boyfriend just made too big of a mistake. Find a smarter one next time.
“Why were you looking for us?” Galo said.
“I woke up and couldn’t sleep because I slept so much this afternoon, my injuries are hurting, and I looked out and down by the inlet I thought I saw a light.”
“Check it out,” Ricky told two of the guards. He turned to me. “Like a flashlight on the beach? Or a boat’s light?”
“I don’t know. Just a slash of light. Small. Maybe even like a smartphone’s light. I saw it twice.”
Galo studied me. “Is that all?”
“No, it’s not,” Ricky said and he punched me.
It hurt. I dropped to the courtyard, the stones scraping my palms. My jaw ached. I tasted blood and a beat in my head pounded like a hammer striking stone. I threw up a little on the ground.
“Stop it, Ricky, he’s in no condition…” Galo started.
“You’re an idiot. Next time I’ll just shoot you,” Ricky said to me.
“Ricky, enough. Leave him alone.”
“They don’t learn unless you teach them,” Ricky said, and the odd singsong in the way he said the words was chilling.
“I wasn’t thinking,” I lied. “I took one of those painkillers and I wasn’t thinking straight.” I offered a hand to Ricky. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“I’ll be glad to hit you again when the painkillers wear off,” Ricky said.
I looked at Galo, wiped away a trace of blood from my lip. “I want to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“I’m kind of mad. Not at you. The guy…you know.”
“No point in being mad at a dead man.”
“Well, he nearly killed me. So if you go hunting for the people behind this attack, I want to be part of it.”
“Don’t you have my sister to babysit?” Galo asked.
“Don’t you have an airline to run? I think you were given one tonight.”
He laughed, softly.
Ricky made a noise. “We don’t need your help. And it’s a security issue, so you don’t discuss it with Galo. Only Zhanna. In fact, you need to talk to Galo, you come talk to me first.”
“He has to stay clean,” I said. “You’re right. I’ll just keep saying that.”
The two guards returned. “No sign of light. No sign of a boat,” one of them said.
Ricky glared at me. “I guess your brain’s addled by that blow you took.”
“It’s been a long day,” I agreed.
“Good night, Sam,” Galo said. “Maybe you should take another painkiller so you can sleep.”
“Maybe I should. Good night.”
I started to walk toward the house. And they watched me, and I realized I absolutely must go straight to a door that was already unlocked. One I would have u
nlocked. Right? So I wagered the best choice was the kitchen, where the lights gleamed. I didn’t look back at them but I imagined a bullet striking me if I guessed wrong and I went up to the patio and opened the door and the kitchen was warm, the smell of coffee rich in the air. They were drinking coffee to stay awake. I carefully shut the door behind me and then I could see Galo watching me through the glass, talking to Ricky.
I went back to my room. In the bathroom I undressed and I turned on the shower and locked the bathroom door. And I dialed a number in New Orleans.
31
YES?” LEONIE SOUNDED sleepy. I’d called her on a spare prepaid cell phone I bought for her, often changed. Not on my home number. I didn’t want this traceable.
“It’s me. Sam. Hi. Sorry I woke you.”
“Where have you been? I thought you would call…are you in a shower?”
“Long story. Is Daniel okay?”
“Yes, he’s fine.” A pause. “And so am I.”
“Good. Good.”
“You sound stressed.”
“I am in some trouble and I need to speak to Mila.”
“Of course you do.” Leonie could make words feel like blades when she felt slighted. “Well, she’s not staying here.” Leonie resented the influence Mila had in my life; Mila thought I was insane to let Leonie, who’d come into our lives under dubious circumstances, be in Daniel’s life. But that was the reality: Leonie had been the only mother figure Daniel had ever known, the person who had always been there for him. And she’d begged me to let her stay in Daniel’s life, and I could not make my heart say no. She loved Daniel and he loved her. Leonie and Mila cordially resented each other and would politely cut and snarl while Daniel played between them, stacking blocks. I wondered how it might affect him as he got older and I told myself, You should be there. “She’s staying at the bar.”
“I know. I need you to call her and patch her into this call. And then get rid of this phone afterwards.”
“Why don’t you just call her directly?”
“Would you please just do as I ask?”
“Yes, Your Lordship. Hold on.”
Mila was on the line a minute later. “Thanks, Leonie,” I said. “Kiss Daniel for me. Give him a big kiss.”
“What the hell have you gotten yourself into? Are you in jail?” Leonie said.
“Off the line,” Mila said. “I will take care of it.”
“I want to know what is happening! Sam! You can’t keep doing this, you cannot get yourself into these situations and expect me…”
“Leonie. You are going to get me killed,” I said. “Off the line.”
She got off the line.
“Situation?” Mila said.
“Get to San Juan. Get two adjoining rooms, or a suite, at the Gran Fortuna Resort in Old San Juan. If they’re sold out, get as close to there as you can.”
Four seconds passed. “Understood.”
This was weird; normally Mila, as my handler in the Round Table, gave me the orders.
“I need full research on a Russian living in Miami named Lavrenti Nesterov. He’s a former cop who tried to kidnap Rey Varela today. He didn’t fight like a cop, though. He’s had training. I want to know who he works for now. Also trace this phone number…” I fed her the number Nesterov had texted. “But it may be a throwaway phone.” Then I gave her his address from the driver’s license I’d found in Kent’s office.
“And where is this fighting ex-cop now?”
“He’s not a worry.”
“I see.”
“And could you check on the account activity at a bank, on a savings and a checking account.” I gave her the bank statement numbers I’d photographed at Steve’s house, from memory. “I want to know if there have been any unusually large deposits, or a pattern of deposits.”
She made a noise, copying down the numbers.
“I am at Rey Varela’s house on the western coast of the island,” I said. I spelled the name for her. “If the Round Table has anything on this man…”
“He was thought to be this so-called Lord Caliber,” she said instantly. “But it was never proven that Lord Caliber was indeed simply one man. It wouldn’t have surprised me if many arms dealers tried to work under that name. It sounded fearsome.”
Not surprising that she kept up on international crime syndicates. They were sort of her hobby. “Two other names, I would love to have backgrounds. Kent Severin. He works for the Varelas’ cargo company; it’s called FastFlex. He’s blind. And a guy named Ricky. Hired security, a thug.” I gave her Ricky’s car model and license plate, from memory. “He may have a tie to a restaurant in Little Havana at this address.” I fed her the street address where Ricky had waited for almost four hours before meeting Galo and Zhanna at the nightclub.
“All right,” she said. “The fingerprints of the Colombians you gave me. The men were former Colombian Army; they had minor criminal records in Bogotá. Theft, nothing major. Then they both dropped out of sight ten months ago. One had been reported missing by his family, but he re-contacted them after the report was filed. He told them he had a new job in America.”
Odd. I wondered what it meant. They’d been doing something, working somewhere, but out of touch with their loved ones. Somewhere near DC? One had a matchbook from a bar there. The thought was unsettling—they could be tied to someone in the government, or to the dozens of contractors who worked for the government.
“Sam…”
“Just please get here.”
“And do what?”
“I need you to help me kidnap someone.” I had the barest kernel of a plan, but I wasn’t sure it would work.
She responded to this announcement not with disbelief but with a sigh. “I shall be breaking laws left and right for you.”
“It’s for a good cause.”
“All right. Can I call you on this line?”
“Yes.”
“Fine, Sam. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll be on the first flight I can get. Will text you my flight arrival time in a coded message.” She hung up.
I turned off the shower. I erased the call from my log. I texted Cori: Thanks for getting my phone back for me. Just so she’d know to lie if she was asked.
I crawled into bed. This had been one of the longest days of my life. The Varela family drama made me think of my own blood ties: my distant parents, my lost brother. I missed Danny so bad it hurt. I closed my eyes against the memories and finally I slept the kind of sleep my body craved, the window softly lit with the glow of the lights turned outward, toward the darkness.
32
I AWOKE TO gunfire.
I pulled myself out of bed and looked out the window. The sun was just up, the sky clear. Below in the courtyard Rey Varela fired his gun, hooted with laughter, fired it again. I couldn’t see what he was aiming at.
I was already in a T-shirt and I yanked on khakis. I ran down the stairs, into the kitchen, out onto the stone patio. He smiled at me.
“What are you shooting at, Rey?”
“Birds.”
Cori and Zhanna appeared on the patio, disheveled with sleep. Ricky and Galo, presumably exhausted from their night vigil, didn’t appear.
“He’s shooting at birds,” I said.
“Papa, put up the gun,” Zhanna said. “We are not starting our new day this way.”
“It’s mine,” he said as I took it from him, making doubly sure the clip was empty and there was no round in the chamber. I nodded at them and handed it back to him.
He’s better in the mornings, Cori had said, and I couldn’t help but feel he was out here to cause trouble. Sometimes the elderly are as rebellious as teenagers.
“Come inside, Papa,” Cori said.
“Come inside,” he mocked her. “You two go inside. Let me talk with my new friend here.”
Neither of his daughters moved.
“I’ll behave,” he said. You could see it, the odd mix of charm and bravado that must have served him well in building his bus
iness.
Cori steered Zhanna back inside.
“You know why I had kids?” Rey asked me.
“No, sir.”
“Because I had wives who wanted kids. I never wanted them. I used to see little starving runts running around in these godforsaken villages and I’d wonder why, why did anyone bring a kid into this rotten world? Then you have them and you understand why.”
“Yes, sir.” I understood, but Sam Chevalier had no children.
“My first wife…people, do-gooders, busybodies, they sent her pictures of kids. Dead kids, dying kids, kids blown apart by weapons all over Africa. Because they thought I brought the weapons. Part of why she killed herself.” His voice trailed off. “Kids. They’re always trouble. But what can you do? They’re the future. You got to make them useful.”
I had no answer to this. “The do-gooders thought you were the so-called Lord Caliber.”
He snorted. “Even if I was, what did that have to do with my wife? She never hurt nobody. Poor Galo. He stood there and watched her walk into the ocean. Explains who he is, why he’s got to rescue everybody all the time.” He snorted and changed the subject by inspecting the fresh bruises on my face, and the leftover ones from yesterday. “How you feeling this morning?”
“I’m okay.”
“Did you take painkillers? They dull the mind. I was just telling Natalia…well, no, I mean, I told her when she was alive, ‘Not so much with the pills.’ That didn’t work. She killed herself with the pills.” I guessed Natalia was Zhanna’s mom, wife number three. Suicide number two.
“I’m sorry for all your tragedies.” Nothing else to say.
