Peter's Return

by Cynthia Cooke

  “Mr. Presti. Congratulations.” Baltasar’s voice boomed in his ear.

  Peter let out the breath he’d been holding and relaxed into the chair.

  “The deal in Chicago went down exactly as it should have. Welcome to La Mano Oscura.”

  Peter shook his head. “I told you it wouldn’t be a problem.”

  “As you’ll soon discover, in our business it pays to be on guard. Get back to Chicago as soon as you can. The next shipment will be arriving tomorrow, same time, same place.”

  Peter nodded. “My flight leaves at six o’clock.”

  “Perfect. I’m going to enjoy working with you, Pietro. I like your spunk.”

  “Gracias,” Peter said, and handed the phone back to Esteban.

  Esteban nodded something then ended the call.

  “The boss wants me to leave you here.” He gave Peter a look that told him he didn’t agree, but had no other choice.

  Peter nodded as the two men got up and left. He watched them until they disappeared from his view, then leaned back in the hard plastic orange chair and considered what he would do next. He knew the CIA would want him to get to Chicago as ordered and capture Baltasar’s mules when they arrived at the hotels with the drugs.

  But he couldn’t leave Emily here alone.

  Nor could he go back to the estate.

  He needed to contact his dad. He stared at the long row of pay phones on the wall. If his dad ordered him to rescue Emily, it would justify the counter-mission he was plotting. He strolled toward the phones, looking around for Baltasar’s informants. If they were still there, he couldn’t see them.

  He took a deep breath and turned away from the phones. This was a chance he couldn’t take. If someone traced the call, he’d lead them right to his parents’ house. He took his duffel bag filled with the clothes Esteban had packed for him and disappeared into the men’s room.

  He changed and shaved, and after the bathroom emptied, he quickly shaved his head, watching as the long brown hair dropped onto the counter. By the time he was finished, there wasn’t more than an inch of hair on his head. He quickly flushed the hair and dumped the duffel bag, then walked out of the bathroom in his new cover, his new persona—Peter Vance.

  Casually, he walked through the airport and hailed a cab. “The San Marquis hotel, please,” he said in perfect English.

  “No luggage, señor?” the cab driver asked.

  “The airline lost it,” he responded, and watched out the window as they wound their way through the tall buildings of Caracas and to the San Marquis Hotel. At a pay phone in the lobby, Peter punched in the number for the hotel’s reservation line and booked a room for Peter Vance using a credit card number he’d memorized. As he checked in, he promised the clerk a credit card imprint once the airline delivered his luggage. It worked like a charm.

  Once in his room, he sat on the bed, picked up the phone and made a collect call to his father.

  “What happened? I couldn’t reach you,” Max said.

  “I lost my phone.”

  His father hesitated a moment. “The Chicago drop went off as planned.”

  “I heard. Thanks.”

  “Where are you?”

  “At the San Marquis Hotel in Caracas.” Peter quickly explained everything that had happened that morning.

  “All right, get to Chicago as planned. After you make the pickup from the mules, we’ll move in and arrest them.”

  “You’ll need to implement it without me.”

  “Peter, it’s your job, your mission. You have to be there.”

  “Pietro Presti has disappeared.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I had to lose the cover to get out of the airport and make contact.”

  “Fine, you get to Chicago, get a wig and get back in character before any of Baltasar’s men see you or you’ll never be able to work that territory again.’

  “I need you to order me to go back for Emily.”

  Max hesitated. “Peter, I can’t do that. Let me handle it. The raid has been moved up. That compound is going to be swarming with agents at midnight tonight. We’ll be able to get her out.”

  Peter looked at the clock on the nightstand. “That’s eight hours from now. Anything could happen in eight hours, especially where Emily is concerned.”

  “I realize you’ve been working on your own for a while now, but we’re a team. You need to trust us to take care of our own. We’ll get her out.”

  Peter hesitated, trying to find the best way to explain. “Emily seems to have a knack for getting into trouble. I can’t leave her alone.”

  Max blew out a frustrated breath. “Don’t blow your cover, Peter. Don’t blow your career.”

  “Sorry, Dad, but right now I can’t see any other way. Baltasar’s on to her, and he’s coming apart at the seams, acting irrationally, angry and suspicious one minute, charming and reasonable the next.”

  “If you defy my orders, you’d better help ensure this raid goes off as planned and we get Baltasar, or there won’t be anything we can do to help you and Emily. You realize that?”

  “It’s a chance I have to take.”

  “Even if it means the end of your career?”

  Peter closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He loved the CIA, he loved the satisfaction he gained when a mission came together and he knew he’d made a difference in the world. Yeah, he loved his job, but he’d never stopped loving Emily and he wouldn’t take a chance with her life.

  “Sometimes a Vance has to do what a Vance has to do, and sometimes he has to go it alone.”

  After several hours of rest, Emily woke feeling a little better, though her throat was still scratchy. She drank down another glass of water and took two more Tylenols. It was well past the dinner hour and very dark out. She worried that Baltasar might have been looking for her.

  She took a quick shower, dressed, then searched for Robert. She found him in the kitchen, finishing up a late dinner. “Hi,” she said quietly as she walked into the room.

  “Your dinner is in the fridge.”

  “Thanks, I’m not that hungry. Has Baltasar been here? Was he looking for me?”

  “No, you’re okay. He’s been absent most of the day. I think something major is going down.”

  “Really, why?”

  “It’s been real quiet around here and most of the guards are gone, but there’s been a lot of noise coming from the far end of the estate behind the house.”

  Emily couldn’t help wondering what was up, and whether or not it would involve them. She wished she could talk to Peter, but she hadn’t seen him since she’d left him and Baltasar on the lawn earlier. Worry blossomed inside her. She had to trust that he was okay.

  “How are you feeling?” Robert asked.

  “A little better.”

  “You look better. Keep taking the Tylenol, you need to be on your toes.”

  “I know.”

  “Robert,” she started then looked around her. She wondered if Esteban was lurking somewhere, or if someone was listening or watching them. She lowered her voice. “If I had discovered a way off the compound, would you come with me?”

  Robert stilled. “What do you mean?”

  “Through the jungle back to Caracas.”

  “In a heartbeat.”

  “Really?” she said, surprised. “Even though it would mean going into the jungle?”

  Robert nodded. “We have to face the fact that Baltasar isn’t going to let us leave here alive.” The certain knowledge weighed heavy in his gaze.

  “How can you be so sure?” she asked, not wanting to accept his words.

  “If Baltasar let us go, his actions would become an international incident, not just for Doctors Without Borders, but also for the federal government. You can’t just kidnap American citizens, hold them against their will, and hope nobody bats an eye. It would be a lot easier—and a lot less messy—for him to just arrange an accident.”

  The full implication
of his logic hit home. She’d had those same thoughts herself, but she hadn’t wanted to believe it, hadn’t accepted their fate as calmly as Robert seemed to have. She supposed it was because deep down she knew that as long as Peter was there, he wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

  She’d been such a fool.

  “Tell me you weren’t just speaking hypothetically,” Robert asked as a bright sheen of hope filled his eyes.

  She scooted closer to him, placing her arm up on his shoulder and whispering in his ear in a way that would have any onlookers think that perhaps the two doctors were more than friends, but at least they wouldn’t be able to hear what she said. As quickly as she could, she told him about the motorcycle on the other side of the wall. “We should leave at dawn so we can see our way down that mountain.”

  “We should leave now,” Robert countered.

  “We can’t take the chance of getting stuck out there at night. What if we went the wrong way? Instead of finding the ocean, we’d find ourselves hopelessly lost deep in the jungle.”

  “You’re right,” he relented. “Get a good night’s sleep, and I’ll meet you here at sunrise.”

  She stood. “All right. I’ll check on Marcos.”

  “Okay. And Em?”

  She turned back.

  “How’d you find out?”

  She smiled. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell it to you in the morning.”

  He stood, then headed down the hall whistling a jolly tune.

  When Emily entered Marcos’s room, she was surprised to find him looking so pale. It seemed to be taking all his energy just to breathe. “Marcos!” She hurried to his bedside. She checked his chart and saw that the nurse had given him a fast-acting pain medication for break-through pain, on top of the controlled release morphine in his intravenous line. The poor child had taken a severe turn for the worse since their outing that afternoon.

  Marcos opened his eyes as she sat by his side. “Dr. Señorita?”

  “Sí, Marcos, I’m here.”

  “I dreamed about my mama.”

  “You did? Was it a happy dream?”

  He nodded. “She’s waiting for me.”

  Unbidden tears filled Emily’s throat. She swallowed, forced them back down then took a deep breath to steady her emotions. “Are you feeling okay? Does it hurt?”

  He nodded, but he already had so much of the drug in his small body that she was afraid to give him anymore.

  “Would you like me to sing to you?” she asked, hoping for that spark of enthusiasm. Unfortunately, it wasn’t forthcoming. He looked so tired.

  “Will you pray with me?” he asked.

  She nodded and took his little hand. She watched him close his eyes, and tried to speak over the lump in her throat. She closed her eyes, too, and when she spoke it was with her whole heart. “Dear Lord, please look after our Marcos. Make him strong, take away his pain so he can rest, but most of all, Lord, walk with him so he isn’t afraid.”

  “And tell my mama I love her,” he whispered.

  “Amen,” Emily said softly, and kept her eyes shut for a long moment so he wouldn’t see the sheen of her tears. She was his doctor; she had to be strong for him. But here on this estate, she couldn’t leave, she couldn’t go home and distance herself from the horror of death, she couldn’t spend the night in her own bed and regroup her emotions so she was able to separate herself from the pain and heartache of watching such a sweet child die.

  She laid her head on the side of his bed and watched the rise and fall of his chest as he struggled to fill his lungs with air.

  “Dr. Armstrong?” Baltasar called softly from the doorway. She turned to him and was surprised to see the fear on his face and the dejected slump of his shoulders. There was nothing strong or intimidating about this man now. He just looked like a father afraid for his son.

  She reached out her hand to him. He stepped forward and took it. “Marcos isn’t feeling very well. Would you like to sit here with him? He needs you right now.”

  Baltasar nodded. She stood and he took her place on the stool next to his child’s bed.

  “Marcos?” Baltasar said softly.

  Marcos’s eyes fluttered open. “Papa?”

  Baltasar smiled. The look on his face broke her heart. However bad this man was, he did love his son. There must be goodness inside him somewhere.

  “Papa, would you tell me the story about when I was born?” Marcos asked.

  Baltasar nodded, and scooted closer. “Your mama was such a beautiful and brave woman. There wasn’t another like her in all of Venezuela. Her name was Bianca, but I called her flor de la selva, because her beauty rivaled that of the most vibrant flowers in the heart of the jungle.”

  Marcos smiled, his lips quivering as he finished the line with his papa. Obviously this was an often told and much loved story. For this one moment, Marcos looked happy. He looked as if the pain wasn’t too much to bear.

  Someone cleared his throat from the doorway. Emily turned and was surprised to see Esteban. Not now, she thought. Please, Lord, Marcos needs his daddy.

  “What is it?” Baltasar said, and she could tell by the irritation in his tone that he wasn’t any happier to see Esteban than she was.

  “They need you at the airstrip, sir.”

  Emily saw the crestfallen look settle over Marcos’s face and felt disappointment weigh heavily on her shoulders.

  Baltasar turned to his son, thought for a moment, then turned back to Esteban. “I can’t go now. I’m with my son. Tell Snake to cover for me and I’ll get there when I can.”

  Emily let out the deep breath she hadn’t been aware of holding. Thank you, Lord.

  “Sí, señor,” Esteban said, but before he turned to leave, he looked her over, his gaze sweeping down her body, his eyes filling with cold, dark contempt.

  Emily ignored him. “Can I get you a cup of coffee?” she asked Baltasar once Esteban left to do his bidding.

  “That would be wonderful. Thank you,” Baltasar said sincerely and, at that moment, he wasn’t a drug lord or a kidnapper, he was the father of one of her patients—a patient who was about to die.

  Filled with a heavy heart, Emily walked into the kitchen and started a fresh pot of coffee. When she felt someone’s presence lurking behind her, she whirled then gasped. “Peter!” She stared at him as familiarity gave regret a fresh squeeze. He looked so much like her Peter. “Your hair. Your face.” She took a step forward and had to stop herself from touching his clean-shaven skin.

  “Come on, Emily, we need to go,” Peter said softly.

  “I can’t.”

  His face darkened. “Don’t say that, Emily. I’ve risked everything to come back and get you. Don’t cause me any trouble now.”

  His words tore at her. She touched his arm. “Peter, I don’t mean to cause you trouble. Really. Baltasar is in the other room with his son.” She looked down at the floor. “Marcos has taken a severe turn. I don’t think he’ll last the night. I need to stay here with him.” She looked into Peter’s eyes, imploring him to understand.

  “You must come with me.” He held out his hand. He’d been through too much to turn around and leave her here now. If the boy was going to die, there wasn’t anything more she could do for him. It was a harsh thought, but a practical one. The child’s life couldn’t be saved, but theirs still could. He wasn’t about to leave there without her.

  “Baltasar’s expecting me back in a few minutes,” Emily whispered, and glanced toward the door. “Let me go back to him and bring him his coffee, then I’ll slip away as soon as I can. I promise.”

  “A plane is coming in to pick us up. It won’t wait. When it leaves, we have to be on it. It’s our last chance. Our only chance. Is that clear?”

  She nodded. “Perfectly. I don’t want to fight you, but if I don’t go back in there, Baltasar will get suspicious. He’ll come looking for me. There isn’t an excuse I can give for disappearing right now. Not at this point in Marcos’s illness.”


  Peter nodded. He understood, but he wasn’t happy about it.

  “I’m sorry I’ve made things so difficult, Peter. You were right. Robert and I should have taken our chances with the motorcycle.”

  He raised his eyebrows in surprise and wondered where the change in heart had come from. She loved to make his life difficult, she always had.

  “I won’t stay long. I just need a little more time, to appease Baltasar.”

  “All right, I’ll take Dr. Fletcher to the airstrip with me now, but I’m coming back for you in exactly thirty minutes. Meet me out back and don’t be late.”

  “I won’t.”

  “I mean it, Emily. This is our last chance.” He hurried to Dr. Robert Fletcher’s room, opened his door and slipped inside. After a moment of explaining who he was and what he was doing there, Robert eagerly followed Peter out of the hospital wing. If only Emily could have been that cooperative, Peter thought. His life would be so much easier. But he supposed she had a point, no use riling up Baltasar before the plane arrived.

  They crept around the compound, stopping every now and then to listen for guards, but they didn’t need to be so covert. The place was empty. “Everyone must be at the airstrip awaiting the shipment,” Peter said. He quickly skirted the side of the compound until he came to the bushes outside Baltasar’s office.

  He bent down and stuck his hand in the bush where he’d hidden his pack. It was still there. He heaved a huge sigh then turned to Robert. “Stay here, I’ll be back in a second.” He picked the lock on Baltasar’s office doors, then ran to the desk and pulled open the drawer where Baltasar had stashed his infrared goggles, gun and knives. He slipped the goggles around his neck, then shoved the other items into his pockets and slipped back out the door.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  “Where?” Robert asked as he followed him off the path and into the jungle.

  “Home.”

  Chapter Eight

  Peter and Robert hid in the bushes and watched the activity on the airstrip. A large truck with a canvas-covered back was parked off to the side. Several of Baltasar’s guards unloaded and opened crates stored in the back of the truck. They pulled plastic baggies filled with white powder out of the crates and loaded them into large black duffel bags.