She had made a reservation at a small local hotel she had found online. It appeared to be fairly close to the GeoGlobal office. It was on the same street, Francisco de Miranda, so that meant it was downtown. She was somewhat amused that it was named “Hotel del Valle.” Hotel of the Valley. Maybe it’s buried in a valley of concrete between skyscrapers or something, she mused. It certainly wasn’t fancy, and it was pretty heap.
She had wanted to stay away from the big hotels like the Four Seasons or the Hilton where she heard the Russians and even some Iranians stayed who were doing deals with the government. And she particularly wanted to stay away from the American Embassy. She knew that it was located in a different part of the city. It had been moved to “Valle Arriba.” She’d avoid that section. The last thing she needed was some bureaucrat gumming up the works. No, what she wanted was a completely independent operation. One run solely by Joe Campiello.
When she had talked to him again to iron out the details of her trip, she tried to understand why Tripp had put so much trust in the man some years back. Joe certainly had ideas. He seemed organized, ready to move, anxious to get on with the operation. She wondered if he was too anxious, a bit too gung-ho and maybe too trigger-happy. After only a few telephone conversations, she couldn’t be sure. She’d have to take the measure of the man when she finally met him. As the airplane engines droned on and she tried to fall asleep, she wondered if she had made the right choice after all.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
THE WHITE HOUSE–WEDNESDAY MORNING
“Where the hell is she?” Gregory Barnes bellowed to Joan.
“Uh, I’m not sure, sir.”
“You’re her AA. An administrative assistant is supposed to know where her boss is. So what do you mean, you’re not sure?” he said, leaning over her desk, skewering her with a piercing stare.
“All I know is that she had some sort of family emergency and said she had to take a couple of days off. After all, it is Christmas week.”
Greg narrowed his eyes. “National security doesn’t take a holiday, Ms. Tillman, or have you forgotten where you are working?”
“Uh, no sir. Not at all.”
“I want you to contact her. Now! Try her cell.”
“Yes, sir. Up to now I haven’t wanted to bother her when she’s dealing with family matters. I don’t even know what time zone she’s in.”
“As to her exact whereabouts, you know where her family lives, I assume.”
“Yes, but she didn’t say which family member she was visiting. I guess I could issue an Amber Alert,” Joan said under her breath as she reached for the phone.
“What was that?” Greg said.
“Nothing.” Joan dialed Samantha’s cell number. She listened for a few moments and finally just got her voicemail. She left a short message asking Samantha to please call the office. Then she hung up and turned to face Greg again. “Okay, I left word for her to call in. Is there something special you want me to tell her? Something that you need right now?”
“I need her in here. That’s what I need. With those two attacks yesterday, the networks are all over us. They want me on Fox this afternoon, and the president and NSC advisor both need updates. The president is going to go to the funerals of the people killed in the twin attacks. I need more information for him ASAP. Get me the list of people on Samantha’s Crisis Action Team … the inter-agency people … her task force … whatever … and check with each of them on what they’ve learned about all of this. The press is going nuts. Did you see that headline in the Post this morning? ‘Christmas Carnage!’ Jesus! And Samantha picks this time to be out of town.”
“She said it was a family emergency, remember?”
“It was a family emergency? So how long is this emergency supposed to last?”
“I guess it’s a question of what the meaning of the word was is,” Joan said, trying to deflect Greg’s anger.
“Don’t get cute with me, Tillman. Just find her.”
Joan’s phone rang. “Maybe that’s her.” She picked up the handset and listened for a moment, then said, “Can you hold a moment please?”
“Is it Samantha?” Greg asked.
“No. Since your secretary is away from her desk, she forwarded her calls to me. This one’s for you.”
“Who is it?”
“I don’t know. He wouldn’t give his name. He just said that he had seen you last week in Georgetown. Do you want to take the call?”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CARACAS–WEDNESDAY MORNING
“Please fasten your seatbelts. We will be landing in a few minutes at Caracas Maiguetia International Airport.” The pilot repeated the message in Spanish, this time referring to the airport as Gobierno Bolivarimo de Venezuela. Samantha figured out it had been named for Simon Bolivar.
She rubbed her eyes and tried to stretch in what little space she had. The linebacker next to her had his arm draped over the armrest, and she thought she could still smell the several scotch highballs he had been drinking half the night. The lights came on in the cabin. She saw it was morning because other passengers were raising their window shades. She still didn’t want to raise hers. She just couldn’t bring herself to look out … or down.
She hadn’t been able to sleep much. After her hefty seatmate finished his last drink, he dozed off and started to snore so loudly it sounded like a truck stuck in a bog somewhere. As she reached for her bottle of water, the plane jolted and started to shake. It felt as if the entire cabin were trembling in fear of some larger being. She was startled and scared.
The captain came on again, “Sorry for a bit of turbulence, folks. There are a few thunderstorms in the area. Please keep your seatbelts tightly fastened.” There was nothing she could do but hang on. Now if only Mr. Big and Tall would relinquish the armrest, she’d have something to hang onto. He started to stir and finally sat up.
Leaning over, he asked, “What’s happening?”
“Few storms around,” Samantha replied trying not to get too close.
“Happens a lot this time of year,” he said. “I fly down here all the time. Well, I used to. Have to shut things down now.”
“What do you mean?”
“Got a business here, but this government has been confiscating a lot of our property, so we’re gonna get the hell out while the getting’s good,” he said, shifting his weight and drawing his legs back in front of him. “Sorry if I bothered you there. I sleep pretty soundly on these flights.”
“No problem,” she lied. “So your business is being taken over? I know other people in the same fix.”
“Really? Well there’s a lot of us. That’s for sure.”
The plane lurched again and Samantha grabbed the armrest.
“Don’t worry little lady. Anything happens to this plane, I’ll get you out. By the way, I’ll be in town for a week or so. Will you have any free time? I could show you the sights, maybe grab some dinner, or … even breakfast,” he said, leaning a bit closer. “I know all the best restaurants. There’s a Basque place called Urrutia that’s great for Sunday brunch or, if you like Italian, my favorite dinner hang-out is Vizio. Then there’s French …”
Oh great. That’s just what I need right now. Some lech following me around. “Uh, no thanks,” she interrupted. “I’ve got a pretty full schedule. Besides, I thought there were food shortages here.”
“Well, yeah. It’s hard for regular folks to get most anything these days. Food, medicine. You name it. They pour over the border into Colombia to buy what they can. If they’ve got money, that is. This country is a friggin’ disaster with that dictator in charge. But if you’ve got plenty of dollars, there are still some restaurants and hotels that can import supplies. So where are you staying?”
She wasn’t about to tell him. “I’m staying with a friend,” she said as the plane swayed slightly to the left. “I sure hope we land soon,” Samantha added, trying to change the subject.
“Put up your shade. Let’s see how close
we are?”
She hesitated, finally pushed it up, but turned away. He looked over and pointed to the mountains. “See, we’re almost there. The airport is near the ocean. The city is in a valley on the other side of those mountains. Takes about forty-five minutes to get into town. That is, if the bridge is okay.”
“What do you mean, if the bridge is okay?”
“It fell down a while back. And while they were fixing it, you had to use an old Spanish road. That one takes about four hours.”
“Four hours? But I can’t …”
“Last I heard they had some temporary fixes on it. We’ll just have to wait and see.” He peered out her window again. “At least we’ve almost landed.”
The plane lurched again and she finally felt the wheels slam into the runway. The plane bounced twice and finally settled down.” I’ve seen lunar modules make better landings. But at least we’re on the ground.
When the other passengers finally filed out, the guy hauled his huge frame out of the seat, and she was able to squeeze into the aisle. He helped get her carry-on down from the overhead and let her stand in front of him. At least now she couldn’t smell his breath.
She looked over her shoulder and gave a half smile. “Thanks, it was nice chatting with you.” After all, the guy did help with her bag and was trying to be cordial there at the end, even if did use some war torn pick-up lines.
After clearing immigration and customs, she found a taxi and headed into town. She checked her cell and saw that she had a message from Joan, but she wasn’t about to call the White House. Not now. Not for a long time. Greg would just have to figure out a way to get through an entire day without her. She could always say she had been in a bad zone and didn’t get the message.
During the long drive, she marveled at the lush green countryside. The rain had stopped and the clouds were beginning to give way to patches of blue sky. As they got closer to the city, she saw a rainbow arched over a mountain. “What’s that?” she asked the driver in Spanish. Growing up in Texas she had learned the language in school along with just about all the other kids. Now it would really come in handy.
“Oh, that’s El Avila. Very pretty mountain. You should go up there. There is the Teleferic, like a tram they have on ski mountains. It takes you up. You see the city.”
“Thanks. I may have to try that,” she said. She wanted everyone to believe she was on a tourist holiday, even a taxi driver. But she knew she’d be too busy to go around sight-seeing.
The driver was getting chatty now as he started to point out the sights and tell her all sorts of other places to go. “You go to the Galeria de Arte Nacional. They have everything from Egyptian pieces to modern art. Then there’s the Palacio Municipal. Our City Hall also has a museum inside. Very special place. But best of all is Casa Natal. That’s where our famous leader, Simon Bolivar was born.”
“Yes, that would be very interesting. Thank you.”
The driver made a turn and announced, “There is another demonstration in the city today.”
“I’ve heard there have been protests,” she said. “Is it another student group?”
“Yes, I think so. I hear they’re marching around the Tribunal Supreme de Justicia.”
The Supreme Court, she thought. “So are you taking a detour or something?”
“Yes. But don’t worry, we are almost to your hotel.”
Samantha continued to stare out the window at dozens of skyscrapers. The city was incredible. All these huge buildings interspersed with historic churches and parks with a verdant backdrop of mountains reaching up thousands of feet. How can such a beautiful place spawn so much trouble? She asked herself.
They finally pulled up to the rather simple but charming Hotel del Valle. She paid the driver and saw that he was happy to accept American dollars. She checked in and found that her room was so small, it was almost monastic. There was a single bed in the corner with a night table and lamp, a small armoire with three wire hangars for her clothes, and a bathroom with no tub, just a single shower stall, sink and toilet. All she could think of was the silly line about how a room was so small, you’d have to go outside to change your mind.
Oh well, at least it’s cheap and right in the center of town. I can probably walk over to GeoGlobal later this morning. She had told Victor Aguilar that she would call him as soon as she was checked in. She placed the call and told his secretary she would be there in less than an hour.
Samantha quickly took a shower, brushed her hair, applied a bit of makeup and put on a black skirt and white silk blouse. She had packed this one decent outfit for her meeting with GeoGlobal because she knew that here in Caracas people dressed up for business meetings, even more than they did in the States.
She grabbed her shoulder bag, checked her notes and GeoGlobal’s address, walked down to the lobby and out for her important meeting. Can I really pull this off? Her friend Angela’s protests kept echoing in her head as she hurried down the boulevard.
“Good morning, Ms. Reid,” the receptionist said. “Please go right in. Mr. Aguilar is expecting you.”
When she opened his office door, Victor strode over with an outstretched hand. “I can’t tell you how pleased we are, all of us, to have a representative of the White House flying all the way down here to assist with the rescue of our vice president.” He sat down in a side chair and motioned for her to take a seat on the couch.
Oh Lord. I’ve really got to play this one carefully. “Uh yes, well, I’m glad to be of assistance. As I said in our earlier conversation, we need to keep this operation extremely confidential.”
“Of course. Of course. But I’m sure you would want your ambassador …”
“No. No,” she interrupted. “I mean, let’s not get the embassy involved at this point. They do have their Diplomatic Security people who have been working their contacts. But right now, for this special situation with Greyfield, I think it would be best to keep it quiet, if you know what I mean.”
“Well, if you say so. I realize that there are often differences of opinion within the government about the use of private contractors, so that must be …”
“Exactly,” she said quickly. “This is a very special situation in that Tripp, uh, Mr. Adams, once worked for Greyfield. They know him. They want to help. The man I’ve contacted, Joe Campiello, had personally worked with Tripp. In fact, just between you and me, I hear that Tripp once saved Joe’s life,” she said in a conspiratorial tone. She was desperate to keep the whole plan private and figured that if she could persuade GeoGlobal that Greyfield had a personal interest, she had a better chance of pulling it together.
“I see. Well, then, it makes perfect sense that they would rush to put this operation in place,” Victor said.
“Right. But since they have to get a whole team together and fly people in, they do have certain expenses that we … I mean … that I was hoping you could take care of.”
“Yes, you said that on the phone. You say they are estimating the mission to cost anywhere from one to two million US dollars, is that correct?”
“That’s what Joe Campiello gave me as his first estimate. It may vary a bit depending on what they find and how long it takes.”
“The fee shouldn’t be any problem. After all, the kidnappers are demanding fifteen million. At least we were able to get a slight extension.”
“A slight extension? How long?” she asked in an anxious tone.
“Our negotiator has exchanged a series of texts with them and explained that with the weekend and holiday it would take several more days to get the money to their bank in the Caymans. Since you were coming down with this new plan, we had to stall for more time.”
“Good. That’s good.” Her mind was racing. A few more days? They only had a few days to locate him and put together a whole rescue effort?
“Excuse me, Mr. Aguilar, would you and Ms. Reid like some coffee?” the secretary said, poking her head inside the door.
“Certainly. Thank you,” V
ictor said.
Samantha knew that South Americans always served espresso at meetings, at every meeting in fact. Right now, she could certainly use some.
Victor turned back to Samantha. “So how soon can we meet this Mr. Campiello?”
“Today. He told me he would arrive today too. And I told him that I was certain you would be glad to have Greyfield on board, and I just wanted to check your schedule.” Okay, so I went out on a limb with that one too.
“Good. I’ve cleared my calendar. Let’s get him in here right away and figure out the best place to start.”
The best place to start looking for Tripp? How in Lord’s name were they going to find him? At this point, she didn’t have a clue.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
ALABAMA–WEDNESDAY MORNING
“Hey Juan, I have to say that you were a genius to get those two pipelines to go up like that. How long you been working in the oil and gas fields, anyway?”
“About fourteen years now.”
“Guess you have more experience with the rigs and pipes than Carlos or me,” Simon said. “No wonder the fixer sent you up here to work with us.”
Juan turned and looked through the back window. “You sure you got my duffel bag and all my stuff packed safe in the trunk?”
“Sure we do,” Carlos said, steering their car onto the Interstate heading west. “Why are you always worried about that duffel bag?”
“Cause it’s a special cargo Rossi told me to guard it with my life.”
“What would he want you to guard with your life?” Simon asked from his perch in the front seat.
“It’s something special that he got from Iran,” Juan said.
“Iran? You got stuff from Iran, and you brought it all the way up here? Why? What does it do that our tools can’t do?”
“Don’t ask. The fixer said that I was supposed to use it only when he sent me a special signal.”
Final Finesse Page 22
