Latitude Zero

by Diana Renn

  I gripped the edge of the table. So that must be what Juan Carlos had wanted to talk to me about so urgently after the award ceremony! The information he stole! It all made sense now. He’d wanted to confide in me, or use my connections to GBCN. Not to confess his secret love for me or whatever. That was why he asked me if I had a laptop. If he had a flash drive on him at Chain Reaction, he could have shown me these incriminating files right then and there, and I could have brought them to someone at GBCN.

  Although why did he have to do this in person? Why not simply email information, as I’d mailed the bike inspection video to Bianca Slade?

  “You look surprised,” said Darwin said with a smirk.

  “How’d you know for sure I was the media contact?” I demanded.

  “It’s a fascinating chain of events, actually,” said Darwin. “Juan Carlos had called a friend here in Ecuador, the day before the race. We intercepted the call and learned that he planned a leak at the event. Then two of our agents, embedded at Chain Reaction, saw Juan Carlos ride off toward the woods and then come out of the woods. With no bike. Those same agents saw you and Juan Carlos talking shortly after. They witnessed other suspicious behavior, like transferring a phone between you and ducking behind a tree with him. Then once I learned who you were and that you worked at GBCN,” Darwin continued, “we simply connected the dots.”

  I was shaking, badly. I put my hands beneath the table so Darwin wouldn’t see. Now I could see how the trail led to me. If Juan Carlos hadn’t been killed, he would have told me everything. I didn’t know what made me madder: Darwin’s wild assumptions about me, or the missed opportunity to talk to Juan Carlos and prevent this whole mess in the first place.

  “You connected the dots? No,” I said. “You jumped to conclusions. The only information Juan Carlos gave me was his phone number. And I went to tell him about a team photo shoot he was missing. Not to get ‘information.’”

  “But you knew Juan Carlos,” Darwin insisted. “You’d seen the bike in the woods. You’d filmed it on your phone. And you worked in the media. You were a loose cannon. We had to get you off the air and away from your immediate media connections.”

  I sucked in my breath. “Is that why Balboa posted that article? And is she the one who filmed me in the medical tent and posted that photo and audio file?”

  “You are correct. That was also our insurance policy. You know what we can do if you don’t cooperate with us. Now, can you look me in the face and tell me you don’t have the flash drive?” Darwin lowered his shades, and I saw his eyes. Or eye.

  One eye was missing. The skin around the sewn-up socket was mottled and scarred, as though he’d been burned. His other eye was blue and intense, piercing through me, unblinking.

  I shuddered, but I held his gaze. “What happened to you?”

  “Hockey injury. Long story. When you’re a mother someday, don’t let your kids play that sport. It’s dangerous. I’ve avoided sports ever since. It’s why I turned to computers. Safer that way. If you know your way around them.” His upper lip curled. “So you see, if I’m squeamish about contact sports, how could I be Juan Carlos’s killer? I operate at arm’s length, or farther, as much as I possibly can, in all my business dealings.”

  I forced myself to stare at his face, including his hideous eye socket. “I do not have a flash drive,” I said slowly and clearly. “He didn’t give it to me.”

  Darwin regarded me a moment longer, then slid his glasses back up his nose. “I believe you,” he said. “But I also believe you can help us find it.”

  “But where was Juan Carlos after he talked to me? Why didn’t he make it to the starting point on time? Did your little spies happen to see where he went? There’s a lot of people who’d like to know.”

  “Persistent interviewer, aren’t you? I can see how you’re in the school of Bianca Slade. That must be why you put her on the path to a criminal investigation.”

  I shuddered. So he knew about that.

  “You see, you’re entirely too interested in Juan Carlos to be completely innocent of involvement,” said Darwin. “Now I’ll tell you an amusing story. Right before the race, my field agents grabbed Juan Carlos.”

  “Balboa and Pizarro,” I guessed, picturing them in their EcuaBar volunteer outfits.

  “That’s right. We had a van stationed nearby. They held him there. They demanded he hand over the flash drive that he’d been planning to leak to the media at Chain Reaction. They also asked who else had this information. Had he made copies of the drive? Sent it to the cloud? We had to know, and determine the risk.”

  I pictured Pizarro and that gleaming knife, held against Juan Carlos’s neck, in a van, while his junior teammates and Preston Lane and Chris Fitch looked for him in the staging area, not suspecting a thing.

  “And?” I prompted, feeling sick.

  “And finally, he buckled under pressure thanks to my skilled interrogators. He confessed that he’d already given the drive to a media contact. Though he wouldn’t name names, at least we had a lead. Then we asked him where his spare bike had gone, because it contained something else he’d swiped from our organization.”

  “Money?”

  “You’re an A+ student, Tessa Taylor.” Darwin clapped his hands together. “He took a pretty tidy sum of money that did not belong to him. One of my field agents had intelligence about his plan to turn that cash in to the authorities at Chain Reaction, where we were supposed to pick up a payment. Again, my young interrogators got him to confess he’d hidden the bike in the woods until he could safely bring it to a media contact and a police officer immediately after the race. He told them he’d placed his bike with our cash in the woods near a spray-painted rock. When my source gave me that lead, I immediately went off to find it. I found the rock but no bike. I looked all around. I smelled a rat. I figured he’d deliberately misled us. And then”—he smiled slowly—“I saw you. Little Red Riding Hood. Too conveniently traipsing through the woods, exactly where you didn’t belong.”

  The puzzle pieces of the Chain Reaction morning finally snapped in place. So when Juan Carlos had talked to me on Great Marsh Road, Balboa—lurking across the street—must have shown up in time to see us talking. She must have alerted Pizarro. They accosted him on his way to the photo shoot, and that’s why he never got there. If Juan Carlos had been held up in a van, being interrogated at knifepoint about the missing flash drive and a cash-stuffed bike, he wouldn’t have been ready to start the race with his team, and his teammates wouldn’t have seen him. That’s why he started the race so late. And Darwin was probably talking to Balboa and Pizarro when I overheard him talking on a cell. But Juan Carlos must have misdirected them to buy himself some time. Because that bike was definitely not by some spray-painted rock when I’d found it.

  “So Juan Carlos eventually got out of that van, right?” I guessed. “I know he picked up his main bike from Dylan at some point. Then he tried to catch up with his team.”

  A muscle twitched at his temple. “Yes, he overpowered my agents. For a small guy, he was pretty strong. He managed to wrestle Pizarro, knock a knife out of his hand, rush the door, and get out. But now I’ve said enough. You now have all the relevant information you need to consider our assignment. Our generous offer, I might call it.”

  “Your assignment?”

  “Finally. We’re getting down to business.” Darwin smiled. “Marisol Vargas is a person of interest to us. We understand you are friends. We have learned of her connection to Juan Carlos at Compass Bikes. From correspondence we have intercepted between Juan Carlos and his good friend here in Quito, we believe Mari has the flash drive now. We also believe that she may have been entrusted with additional confidential information concerning my client.”

  I almost wanted to laugh. “Maybe you should write spy novels,” I said. “You’re really good at coming up with theories based on circumstantial evidence. A
nd yes, I’m a lawyer’s daughter and I know what that means.”

  “It’s not circumstantial evidence. Juan Carlos told his friend that he and Mari spoke at length before Chain Reaction, and that he habitually confided in her.”

  “Look. Mari doesn’t have a flash drive, either. Or any other information.” The more I spoke, the braver I felt. “You’re totally wrong about us. We’re just students! Kids!”

  “Ah, but kids can be very savvy in the business of information,” said Darwin. “And that’s where you come in.” He reached beneath the table and pulled out a stack of cash. Crisp hundred-dollar bills rubber-banded together. He ran his thumb across the short end of it and made the bills flutter, like a fat deck of cards. Then he shoved it toward me.

  I recoiled. I didn’t want to touch this guy’s filthy money.

  “Here’s the job,” he said. “I need you as an inside operative. A deeply undercover agent. You’ll get further with her than we will because she trusts you. She likes you. Find out where the flash drive is, and what else Juan Carlos might have confided in her. We need to know what she knows. You’ll report your findings to us daily, giving us fresh leads, calling the number you used before. Cool cash, under the table, and all you have to do is what you’re already so good at. Talking. Listening. Reporting.”

  “No.”

  He tilted his head. “You confuse me. I thought you wanted to be an investigator. KidVision was child’s play. A small step up from Barney. This job is closer to your intended line of work than that show ever was.”

  “This isn’t reporting. It’s spying!”

  “Are they really so different?” asked Darwin. “Bianca Slade went undercover, as did you, to dig up information.”

  “I’m not a spy. And Mari’s my friend. You couldn’t pay me to do this.”

  “Really?” He inched the cash back toward me. “But teens just love working for us.”

  That jolted me. “Wait. Teens work for you? Doing what?”

  “Mostly they move money around for us.”

  “They work for you as money mules?”

  “Something like that. For smaller jobs, since cash smuggling has become so risky lately. Some have other assignments. Over half our staff right now is young people under twenty-five. We’re an international organization, so we use backpackers, study abroad students. Transient types.”

  My eyes widened. “And none of them have ratted you out?”

  “We hire well. They’re desperate for cash, and they’re too scared to squeal. Usually they’ve got something they need to protect. Secrets of their own. See, it all comes back to information. Who needs a gun when you can find out or make up anything about people, and make it public, forever?”

  My God. Darwin was taking advantage of young people in desperate situations. How low could this guy get?

  “Come on. What teen doesn’t want a wardrobe refresher? Or her very own car?”

  “Not me.”

  “Ah. That’s right. You’re different. Let’s see. Maybe you could use some cash to reimburse your parents for covering your little bandit riding snafu? Making a Chain Reaction donation? Helping a dear friend finish her senior year at Shady Pines?”

  Oh my God. How did he know all that stuff?

  My phone. Of course. He’d hacked into it. He’d probably pulled or read all my texts with Kylie and Sarita.

  “And if I refuse?”

  He smiled his biggest smile yet. “We’ll tell the world your secret.”

  “My secret?”

  “That you killed Juan Carlos.”

  I dropped my tote bag. I was shaking so bad I could hardly pick it up. I didn’t know if the camera was okay.

  “We have helmet camera footage of you pulling out of a paceline. We can fabricate some key eyewitnesses to talk about how you purposefully veered into his path on a ride you didn’t belong on.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “What could stop me?”

  Rage surged in me. This guy was pure evil.

  But the only way out of this meeting was to tell him I’d take the job. Then I’d run to the nearest police station with this camera, and let them deal with Darwin, while the trail to him was still hot. Smoking hot. I’d get them after Darwin before he even left this club.

  “Fine.” I scowled. “I’ll do it.”

  “Good girl.” He peeled off some bills from the stack and put the rest in a briefcase. “Consider this an advance. Time is of the essence. With all the media coming for the PAC finale, that’s a prime time for a leak, especially from someone who’s so inclined to finish projects that Juan Carlos started. You need to begin immediately. I look forward to your first communiqué.”

  The red drapes parted, and Pizarro appeared, ready to usher me out.

  46

  PIZARRO STEERED me by the arm again, toward the door. I had no idea how much time had passed in the alcove. Pizarro put both hands on me and maneuvered me through the crowds.

  At the corner of the dance floor, Pizarro suddenly spun me around. The next thing I knew, we were whirling right into the crowd of salsa dancers. Swaying elbows and hips jabbed me from all sides. A woman with a spike heel stepped on my foot, then shot me a dirty look, as if it were my fault.

  “Stop! Stop! I don’t want to dance!” I cried out, stumbling.

  In the kaleidoscope of spinning dancers and lights, I caught Pizarro’s evil leer. “¿No quieres bailar? ¿Pero, porque?” he murmured into my ear.

  Then I was being pushed off the dance floor and toward the door, and the bouncer in the cream suit and Panama hat shoved me into the street, into a downpour.

  I looked down and my wool bag—with the camera, with all my evidence—was gone.

  I ran across the street, gasping for breath, and found Mari, still waiting, with a terrified look on her face. “Twenty-eight minutes! I was about to go in to find you. What happened?”

  “Darwin told me all kinds of crazy stuff. Enough to convict him of multiple crimes.”

  “Like killing Juan Carlos?”

  “Not that. Though I think he knows who did it. But he said a lot of other stuff.” I briefed her on our meeting, including the fact that Dylan was almost certainly innocent. And I told her about the job he’d offered me.

  “Spying on me?” she burst out. “God! I want to go in there right now and kick him in the balls!”

  A group of nightclub hoppers passing by stared at her curiously.

  Mari ignored them. “He’s using you—paying you—to get to me? Based on an overheard phone conversation that makes them think I have information? That’s insane.” She turned and ran down the street, back toward the club.

  I jogged after her and pulled on the hood of her lightweight jacket to stop her. “Mari. Are you really going in there with all those undercover bouncers and spies to give Darwin a good talking-to? That’s insane.”

  She spun around, eyes blazing. “So let’s take that camera to the police right now!”

  I displayed empty hands. “We can’t. Pizarro took my bag. With the camera! And some of the police here work with this group. Pizarro told me himself. Oh, God.” I leaned against the side of SuperChicken, feeling like I’d bonked on a long bike ride. “I don’t have any proof.” I took a shuddery breath. Tears burned my eyes. “I tried so hard. We’ve come so far. I just wanted to make everything right! I blew it. I failed.”

  “Hey.” Mari put her hands on my shoulder. “You didn’t fail. You can’t talk like that. A lot of people would have gotten off this crazy ride a long time ago. You’ve gone farther than anyone else would. Farther than I would, that’s for sure.”

  “Really?”

  “Let’s call the police anyway,” said Mari. “Let’s just tell them what went on in there, describe Darwin, and explain he’s connected to a murder case back in Boston.”

  “There’s no
point.” I glanced at the club. “What are we going to say? Some scary guys swiped my tote bag? Happens all the time in La Zona, right? Forget it.” I slid down the wall and slumped on the sidewalk. I hugged my knees to my chest. “It’s all over. Darwin’s going to wreck all our lives. Especially now that he knows I tried to smuggle a camera into our meeting. There’s nothing we can do.”

  “Stop it,” said Mari. “There’s always a way out. Come on.” She yanked me to my feet. “Where’s that relentlessly, annoyingly positive girl who used to host KidVision?”

  “Long gone,” I said morosely. “Lost.”

  “Then I’m taking over your job. I think we can solve this problem. But first we have to get you out of here. Maybe we can catch the chiva on its way back.”

  We ran all the way to the street corner where we’d jumped off the bus and listened intently for chiva music over the sounds of passing cars through the puddles. No chiva materialized out of the mist.

  “I just want to go home,” I said, burying my face in my hands.

  “To your host family?”

  “No. Home.”

  “Well, that’s not happening, so get over yourself. Let’s get you back to the Ruiz house. Let’s find someone with a cell phone we can borrow and call Santiago.”

  “His number’s in my tote bag. Which is missing, remember?” Surely at some point Santiago had noticed both Mari and I had vanished. If he’d had any suspicion I was a sneaky person, or dishonest, that must be confirmed in his mind by now. I didn’t want to go back to Vuelta to wait for the chiva and get a ride home. I didn’t think I could look Santiago in the eye right now. He’d been so helpful, so up front with me, and all I’d done was use him for rides and scheme about how to get away from him.

  “I’ll just take a taxi,” I said, raising one arm. “I have two dollars in my pocket. That should get me there. Or close.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  “You want to sleep over?”

  “I don’t know. I was thinking I’d just make sure you got there. But now that you mention it? Maybe. Do you think your host family would let me?” Mari looked embarrassed.