Tobias scratched his head. The recording was his only safeguard, and giving it up made him less dangerous to the gangsters and virtually a walking target. “I don’t know. Who will you give it to?”
Annabel moved toward him. “My friend, the same guy who will make us the passports. The same guy who will help us escape. Is that good enough for you or do you want his social security number and date of birth, too?” She hissed.
“All right, all right.” This is a bad idea, but what the hell. She’s gotten me this far. He pulled the USB drive from his pocket and studied it. The look of a sterling silver fountain pen but, in reality, a memory stick with crucial information. He handed it to her, drawing a deep breath.
She took one more swig of her water and closed her bag. “I’ll be back soon. Stay away from the window, and don’t contact anyone through that thing.” She gestured toward the laptop.
Tobias nodded, and seconds later she was gone.
***
Tobias found it difficult to remain still. He recalled the news story’s description of Chris’ body and grimaced at the thought of the things Antonio’s men had done before murdering him. If only he had not pursued Penélope that night, but how was he to know? He’d only done what came naturally to him. Besides, he wouldn’t have traded the few hours they spent together for anything in the world. But why Chris? I’m so sorry, man. It’s my fault you’re dead.
He lit his third cigarette since Annabel had left, his stomach still rumbling. He wondered how much longer she would be, certain that his stomach would give way soon. He eventually rummaged through the suitcase and changed into gray jogging bottoms and a matching hooded sweatshirt. He turned his laptop on to check Facebook but remembered Annabel’s warning about contacting people.
He was reaching for the power button when a thought came to him: He didn’t know much about the people hunting him. He opened numerous web-browser windows, searching for any information he could find on The Dominguez Criminal Organization and its country of origin, Tirianna. He searched the internet and collated information from newspaper archives and public encyclopedias. He also found autobiographical excerpts written by Tiriannan scientists, politicians, and army generals back in the ’70s and ’80s.
He knew as much about Tirianna as he did about countries like Uruguay and Venezuela: what he’d learned when not asleep in geography class. After nearly two hours of intensive online reading, he understood much more about the people searching for him.
Tirianna was a Central American country of no more than fifteen million residents, with Capetína as its capital city. It was located between Costa Rica and Panama and had gained independence from Spain in 1850. A communist country until 1988, it had maintained stability many years before, with a flourishing supply of wild plants and rare animals.
When the cocaine boom began in the mid-1970s, most exporters sought coca—the plant used to produce the drug—from South American countries such as Bolivia, Peru and Colombia. With the industry growing into the hundreds of millions of dollars in a short span of time, numerous cartels around the world grew in size and influence, leading to the glamorization of cocaine by the early ’80s.
With Tirianna still growing coca leaves in abundance—unbeknownst to the Colombians and the Mexicans, the other key traffickers—then-President Carlos Esparza assigned his inner circle to hire a group of scientists to study Tirianna’s coca plants. A reason was not given for his authorization of the study. Some theories suggested that he wanted to personally become a major player in the drug trade, using his political influence to his advantage.
Most declined the offer, reluctant to become embroiled in the industry in any way. One scientist, however—Enrique Dominguez—agreed to undertake the task as long as he could secure the services of his younger brother, a convicted small-time cocaine pusher in the United States.
The Tiriannan government agreed, and in 1981 thirty-five-year-old Faustino Dominguez returned to Tirianna with his wife, son and three daughters. Being a biochemist like his brother, he studied the plants intently and made a stark discovery: The coca leaves that grew in Tirianna had nearly four times the alkaloid found in those grown in South America.
With such potent plants, the brothers realized that, after the production of cocaine, it was possible to “cut” the cocaine significantly by adding stimulants to increase volume and still export a product much more powerful than that sold in the United States.
The brothers agreed not to share their discovery with their superiors. Instead, Faustino invited many of his acquaintances in Tirianna to assist in the large-scale production of cocaine.
In the two years that followed, the Dominguez brothers began an operation outside the knowledge of the government and made millions from cocaine sales, slicing off a huge chunk of the market. Being the more street-savvy of the two, Faustino assumed control and enforced a policy of hiring only Tiriannans.
After the assassination of the president by disgruntled activists a year later, the Tiriannan government attempted to destroy all evidence of its involvement by burning all known plantations. The coca plants remained, however, leading to the belief that The Dominguez Family had withheld significant information about the presence of the leaves within the country. It became apparent that the truth about the government’s knowledge of coca production died with the assassinated president.
With their exports growing in scale, the Dominguez brothers expanded their drug empire to most of Central America without much interference from their own government or those of neighboring countries. It was thought that along with making millions, they paid millions in bribes to elected officials.
As their operation moved to South and North America, the Dominguez brothers started taking business from the other major cartels, leading to the bloody Sabbath Day Massacre, in which it was believed that Faustino Dominguez sanctioned the assassination of all the major cartel heads. He was fast becoming the iron hand of the drug trade.
In 1985, in the aftermath of the massacre, Enrique expressed disgust with what they had become. He demanded that the family keep operations strictly within Tirianna, avoiding murder where possible. A month later, Enrique was shot dead in his bathtub. Many believed Faustino himself sanctioned his brother’s assassination, but there was no evidence.
As things started to return to normal, two of Faustino’s younger lieutenants, Jorge Huerta and Juan Cabrera, came to him with a proposition from another rising drug lord in Tirianna. Hector Guerrero had formed good relationships with the other cartels in Mexico and Colombia and proposed a way to end the bloodshed.
Faustino was unwilling to share any aspect of his drug operation and refused to consider any sort of compromise. He went on to threaten Juan and Jorge with death if they brought it up again. A day later, Faustino was shot dead in his sleep, and his wife and four children were burned to death at the same time. Juan then rose to the head of the organization, opting to keep the Dominguez name due to the intimidating reputation it held in the drug business.
As the decades went by, The Dominguez Organization was rumored to have ventured into other illegal activities, including human trafficking, gunrunning, cyber theft and company espionage. It was also believed to have invested heavily in legitimate large-scale projects including mass real estate and entertainment in both the United States and Tirianna. Some of the organization’s money was even rumored to have funded Broadway plays and blockbuster movies. Thus embedded in modern society, the organization steadily acquired a powerful set of friends, including lawyers, A-list celebrities and politicians.
Tobias put his fifth cigarette into his mouth just as Annabel walked in with Chinese food and bottles of soft drink and vodka. He devoured his food and divulged everything he had learned, most of which Annabel had already known.
***
Tobias turned uneasily on the floor, causing the mahogany surface to creak. He had tried to sleep on the sofa, but the strain on his neck while trying to get comfortable proved too much. Th
e idea of asking whether he could share the bed with Annabel hadn’t occurred to him. Although he felt safe with her, he didn’t know how she would react to his suggestion.
He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, speckled by the full moon. He listened for movement from Annabel but heard nothing. Carefully, in only his boxer shorts, he tiptoed toward the door.
“Can you get me one, too?” she asked.
He turned toward her.
“Whatever you’re getting from the kitchen.”
“I was just going to the john.”
“Oh.”
“What do you want?”
“Just some orange juice.”
He nodded and walked out of the room. On his return, Annabel was staring at the ceiling. He set her orange juice on the side table and took a gulp of his. As he began to move away, she gripped his hand.
“I don’t bite, you know,” she said. “You can sleep here.”
He nodded and walked to the opposite side of the bed. They lay in silence, looking at the ceiling, for a few minutes, the sporadic sound of cars the only thing to be heard. Tobias glanced at her a few times, hoping to catch her eye. He rolled onto his side. “So why are you doing this?”
She turned toward him. “What do you mean?”
“Why are you helping me? You didn’t need to come to my apartment. I’m the one they’re after, not you. Why did you get yourself in trouble for me?”
She faced the ceiling once more and frowned. “I’m not just doing it for you. I loved her like a sister and I don’t believe the police will follow the evidence.” She rolled onto her side and faced him. “You didn’t do anything either. I can’t just stand by while they destroy your life.”
Tobias smiled. “In case I don’t get a chance later, I just want to say thank you.”
Annabel nodded and closed her eyes.
11. Power and Arrogance
Tom Saddle hurriedly straightened his black blazer after parking his BMW 3 Series in the parking garage. He gulped the rest of his cappuccino, unsure of why he was so nervous. He wished he had something else to ease his anxiety. As he looked at all forty-one stories of 26 Federal Plaza, he swallowed. He had been inside the building many times, but the stakes had never been so high.
Being a close friend of Deputy Director Ross Wheeler, he couldn’t very well refuse his mentor’s invitation to join the Organized Crime Division, especially in the wake of the murders tied to the major New York drug cartels.
Walking through the building for the first time in so long felt strange and awkward. People seemed to be wound a little tightly. The receptionist, Simone Brass—an FBI employee for over fifteen years—was running around shouting and slamming her hands on tables. He sniffed and wiped his nose, hoping he would be able to sit through the meeting with a clear head.
When the elevator stopped on the twenty-fifth floor, Tom and a few others got off. He looked up and down the hall, and his eyes fell on someone he recognized from the academy, Nathan Briggs. Nathan had gained plenty of weight since Tom had seen him a year ago. Gone were the neat haircut and rippling muscles. In their place were a huge gut, long, tousled hair and a double chin.
A few steps behind, Tom followed Nathan into the large conference room where the meeting was to be held. The men and women present all wore well-pressed suits. Tom looked down at his own slightly rumpled one and ran his hands across the breast and sleeves. When a woman smiled at him, he put his hands down and smiled back.
Her jet-black hair fell past her shoulders, and her white blouse exposed ample cleavage. Her rear almost protruded through her tight-fitting skirt, such was its size. Oozing sex appeal, she certainly didn’t look like the typical FBI agent. She looked more like the sort of exotic dancer one would see in Miami.
She walked toward him, her smile now a grin. He looked at her left hand and saw gold around her ring finger. Damn, married.
“Hi, I’m Emma Green,” she said in a strong British accent. She eyed his suit.
“I know, right?” he said, laughing.
She edged closer, ran her hand over his sleeves and looked up at him. “It’s not that bad.” He glanced around the room. Most of the people spoke of targets, budgets and the drug industry. He gazed at the woman. “I don’t know about you, but I’d much rather be at a bar right now.”
She laughed loudly. “What would you have?”
He looked at her questioningly.
“At the bar. What would you have at the bar?”
“Oh.” He laughed, his head tilting back. “I guess it would have to be a Ketel One Martini with a twist.” He restrained himself from licking his lips.
She nodded, holding his gaze. He started to say more but noticed Wheeler approaching them. The deputy director’s blond hair was much thinner in front than he remembered, his face more gaunt. Tom stepped forward and extended his right hand.
Wheeler shook his hand firmly. “Tom, it’s been too long.” He glanced at Emma. “I see you two have already met.”
“Yeah,” Tom said. “We were just ... He cleared his throat. “Yeah, we’ve met.”
“Good, ’cause she’s going to be your new partner.”
Tom wanted to thank Wheeler profusely but thought better of it. “That won’t be a problem, sir.”
“Good. Antonio Cabrera will be arriving in a few minutes, and I want you two to handle his interview.” Wheeler walked out to the corridor. Tom and Emma followed him.
“Interview, sir?” Emma said. “What are we bringing him in for?”
“It doesn’t matter. Just make him uncomfortable. I really don’t care if you go over the police’s questions word for word. Let’s just take a few hours off his day.” Wheeler glanced at Tom. “A word?”
Tom nodded.
“I’ll go down and wait for them,” Emma said.
“I’ll be right there,” Tom shouted as she made her way toward the elevators.
Wheeler waited for the elevator to leave. “How’s everything at home?” he asked Tom.
“It’s not great.”
“I know. Jenny called.”
“I didn’t think it would be this hard. It’s all happening so quickly, you know?”
“It can’t be easy. You have a child together.” Wheeler put a hand on Tom’s shoulder. “You just hang in there.” He turned around and walked back into the conference room.
***
Tom took the elevator to the eighth floor but didn’t see Emma. He walked through two glass doors and looked around. A number of people walked into and out of rooms, most wearing suits. He walked toward a young woman in a gray suit, seated and reading a magazine. The woman told him that Agent Green had already led Antonio Cabrera to the last interrogation room on the left, pointing down a long corridor.
He thanked her and walked toward two other glass doors, sniffing continuously. To his left stood two young men in sharp black suits with their arms folded. He studied them for a few seconds. Both men were relatively tall, at least six-foot. One had a clean-shaven, exceptionally smooth head. The other had slicked-back dark hair that shone in the light, a double cleft and extremely thin eyebrows.
The bald man walked toward him. “Is there a problem?” he asked.
Tom’s face tightened and he edged forward.
“Is there a problem?” the man repeated.
The other man had also noticed him now and was moving toward him. Tom felt a hand grab hold of his wrist. Before turning, he recognized the smell of musk and vanilla—Emma’s perfume. He smiled at her until he noticed the scowl on her face. He turned back toward the men to see that they had backed off.
“Where have you been?” she said. “I’ve been waiting.” She didn’t give him an opportunity to answer before leading him down the corridor.
“So who were those two sweethearts?”
Emma managed a thin smile. “I saw you were getting acquainted in your own way.”
His tone hardened. “Who were they?”
“Only Antonio’s trigger men, know
n on the streets as ejecutors, his enforcers.”
“Rico Martinez and—”
“Fernando Sastre. I see you’ve been doing your homework.”
“Up all night.” He laughed. “It’s a pretty big file. The Dominguez Family sure has a lot of history.” He wiped the sweat from his forehead.
“You okay? You’ve been doing that a lot.”
“I’m fine!”
They continued down the corridor until Emma stopped in front of a medium-size interrogation room with glass doors. The two large security guards outside stepped aside for them, but Tom kept her from entering while he studied the two men seated inside. One was burly and dressed in a gray suit and black tie. His dark hair reminded him of a Latin bullfighter, as did the tattoo of a bull on his neck. He immediately recognized Antonio. The second man was skinny and scrawny and wore a black pinstripe suit. He was writing on a sheet of paper.
Tom looked at Emma. “What do we know about his lawyer?”
“Dominic Fortune. Experienced and has rarely lost a case. He’s represented some of the most corrupt rouge traders on Wall Street as well as many in The Dominguez Organization and many drug offenders in New York. They say that he teaches them what to say and what not to say, even going so far as to show them how to launder their money.”
“Perhaps we should be arresting him. You know what I say about drug dealers’ lawyers?”
“What?”
“They’re the real brains of the outfit. The No. 1 rule of catching a criminal: Stop the people who hide their money and you stop them.”
Emma shook her head. “If only it were that easy.” She pushed the door open and walked in, Tom close behind her.
Antonio looked up at her and smiled, but he frowned when he noticed Tom. “So Lara Croft needs a bodyguard. What’s all this anyway? The police have already cleared me.”
“I haven’t cleared you,” Tom hissed.
“Uh-oh, what’s this?” Antonio said. “We have a dog in the house.” He looked at Emma. “You calm your pit bull down or I’m out of here.”
The Kiss after Midnight (The Midnight Trilogy) Page 9
