The Emperor's Treasure

by Daniel Leston

  CHAPTER TWENY-ONE

  By early evening the flow of detailed fax sheets sent through to David’s suite by Ted Quenton had begun to accumulate—sixteen at last count. Trying to maintain them in any semblance of order was proving difficult.

  While keeping Ted on the speakerphone, David continued to peruse the material, attempting to organize it as best he could in what he deemed a logical manner. Across the table from him sat Torres, watching patiently with a hopeful look on his drawn face. Both men were approaching exhaustion. The promise of a significant discovery made by DeCaylus Corp’s Vice-President had yet to be revealed.

  “Okay, Ted, so what’s next?” asked David. “I think I’ve got everything pretty much laid out as you want.”

  “Good. Let me walk you through all this. Got a pad and pen?”

  “All set.”

  “First off, if you look at the initial shell company, Pertinax Inc—the one that originally established En-Tex Environmental—you’ll see that it’s comprised of six entities that are literally nothing more than registered names. All quite legal. However, as actual functioning companies, they basically don’t exist except on paper. Establishing just who owns what came to a dead end. As I told you a number of days ago, all of them were thoroughly investigated by my people—which in turn then led us to yet another shell company in Dallas calling itself Cimmeron Investments.”

  “Yes, I recall. For all intent and purpose, you said it was in essence one shell company owning and controlling another, right?”

  “Precisely. But as it turned out, my initial assumption regarding this second shell company proved to be not entirely correct.”

  “In what way?”

  “Well, there are six similarly registered entities that comprise Cimmeron Investments—but after further examination, we finally deduced that one of them is actually a functioning company, in point of fact one heavily involved in industrial warehousing and such throughout the Dallas/Fort Worth area and beyond.”

  “Hold up a second,” said David, locating the fax sheet in question. “So which one of them is the real deal?”

  “The fourth one down. An outfit called Coahuila Corp.”

  The name struck David as being vaguely familiar.

  “Coahuila?” he said, glancing at Torres. “Isn’t that the same as—”

  “You got it,” said Ted. “It’s a state in northeastern Mexico not far from your present location.” He paused, letting the linkage sink in. “Since we’re talking about Aztec gold, I figure this can be readily construed as somewhat more than mere coincidence, don’t you think?”

  “I’d say so,” agreed David. He wasn’t someone who much believed in coincidences. “And were you able to establish ownership?”

  “Definitely—and I have to admit the identity came as quite a surprise. As best we can establish, the sole owner is a Mr. Carlos Diego Ruiz, Mexico’s Senior Consulate General stationed here in the U.S. Not only is he extremely wealthy, but there’s something else about him that will likely cause you major problems.”

  David didn’t like the sound of this.

  “Go on . . .”

  “Due to his appointed position by the Mexican government, he currently has what amounts to full diplomatic immunity inside the U.S.”

  This was hardly what David wanted to learn.

  “Meaning he can simply return to Mexico at any time of his choosing? No matter what charges are eventually brought against him?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Disturbing though this revelation was, David set his rising anger aside. It was secondary to his primary focus of somehow locating Pilar—and doing so as quickly as possible. He only hoped Ted had more information to impart.

  “Where does this lead us?” he asked. “As I told you earlier, a girl’s life is now involved.”

  “I assume you still believe she was taken to wherever the hell they took all of the gold?”

  “It’s the only answer that makes sense—that is if we can zero in on a location.”

  A slight pause at Ted’s end.

  “I figured you’d say as much. Thus I took the liberty of throwing every data mining resource at my disposal to try and narrow down all potential possibilities. And I think my people came up with a candidate. Maybe the only one we’re likely to find. There’s no assurance, of course, but it’s the best I could achieve. If given more time, then perhaps we—”

  David cut him off.

  “There isn’t any left, Ted. It’s really that simple. Truthfully, she might already be dead. Just tell me what you’ve found. I know you’ve done everything physically possible in the time frame given. If it helps any, know that the final decision will be mine, not yours.”

  Both David and Torres heard Ted clear his throat before continuing. It certainly wasn’t fair in any sense, but the placing of such a grave responsibility on Ted’s shoulders couldn’t be avoided. Time was fast running out, forcing them to work with any available information. The bottom line was they’d have only one shot at rescuing her.

  “David, do you remember back when I said our best hope was the slight chance that whoever set all this in place might’ve screwed up somewhere along the line?”

  “I do.”

  “Well, I think we just may have lucked out.”

  “Explain.”

  “It could prove to be nothing, but since Coahuila Corp’s business is primarily in the acquiring and leasing of industrial properties, I had my people focus all their skills at isolating every building in that company’s present portfolio. Not that difficult a feat considering all of this information is technically a matter of public record. On a fortuitous hunch, however, I also had them include a broad sweep search engine using a name familiar to both of us—and it paid off. What they came across earlier this morning was the emergence of one Mr. John Marino, whom I have to believe is the same man listed as En-Tex Environmental’s single known employee.”

  “Really—” David was immediately intrigued. “And in what context is he mentioned?”

  “He appeared only once, his name showing up as the acting attorney-in-attendance at the purchase of a particular piece of industrial property on the outskirts of San Antonio. Curiously, this occurred roughly five years ago around the same time as the establishment of En-Tex—and perhaps even in conjunction with the latter. There’s something else regarding that particular purchase which leads me to think there indeed might be a further connection.”

  David waited.

  “For one thing,” continued Ted, “we’ve carefully looked at more than a dozen similar acquisitions made by Coahuila Corp over the years and found a recurring pattern. All of them were apparently meant as investment properties—in other words regularly leased out or resold at every opportunity. But not so with the building and property negotiated by Marino. For some unknown reason, it’s been kept entirely separate and outside what’s shown to be their normal business procedure. It’s actually rather odd.”

  David didn’t believe so.

  Instead, he grinned in sudden satisfaction, giving an excited thumbs-up across the table to a likewise smiling Torres. Both men knew exactly what this indicated.

  “Considering what’s happened, Ted, I think the reason for this is patently obvious. Everything you say fits too perfectly for it to be otherwise. I suspect the facility was probably meant from day one to be a secure back-up location should the need ever arise. When we compromised their operation at En-Tex, they simply transferred all the gold overnight. San Antonio is damn close—just a matter of several hours from here. No wonder they were able to accomplish the move overnight.”

  “So you think there’s a chance that’s where they took the girl, as well?”

  “Sure as I can be. It’s only logical.”

  “And—and if you’re wrong?”

  “Not something I care to dwell on. You’ve accomplished wonders, my friend. No matter what comes out of all this, know that I’ll be eternally grateful to both you and your team. Which
brings me to just one last request.”

  “If I can, anything.”

  “That property and building . . . I need not only its exact location, but also any blueprints you can dig up detailing its internal layout. Is that possible?”

  “I anticipated this. It’s being worked on even as we speak. Give me another couple hours and it should be in your hands.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Though a late evening storm for San Antonio and its environs had been duly forecast, its overall strength and duration came as a surprise. Not an uncommon event at this time of year, the fast moving front was driven by stronger than anticipated winds that were already sweeping the city when Marino arrived thirty minutes early for a hastily arranged tryst at the Talbot Plaza Hotel.

  The rendezvous with Camilla had been set up at his suggestion—a spur of the moment decision he’d initially hoped would somehow divert him from the disturbing conundrum surrounding Ruiz’s surprise visit only hours earlier. While awaiting Camilla’s delayed arrival, however, he quickly began to question the wisdom and timing of their impromptu meeting, perceiving it as a possible mistake.

  As much as he looked forward to indulging himself, he found he couldn’t free his mind from the growing anxiety that continued to plague him. It was as if all of his survival instincts were struggling to the forefront, refusing to be ignored. He now saw tonight’s assignation for what it actually was—nothing more that an impulsive attempt on his part to lose himself in an evening of physical pleasure rather than address what he intuitively perceived was a looming problem of major proportions. If what he’d extrapolated from his afternoon meeting with Ruiz was even partially true, then it required some form of immediate action. Any delay in doing so would put everything he’d worked so hard to achieve in jeopardy.

  So why hadn’t he foreseen this possibility and prepared?

  Unsure, he lit a cigarette and gazed out from the sixteenth floor, pensively watching the rain lash against the balcony’s sliding glass doors. The occasional flashes of lightning, interspersed as they were with distant growls of thunder, mirrored his dark mood. If anything, they only served to amplify the growing mental alarms now going off in his head.

  A grim question kept repeating itself.

  One without a clear-cut a answer.

  Was Ruiz—his once trusted partner—currently contemplating his removal now that everything was technically set in place and running smoothly?

  Though the occasional elimination of others was never something Marino shied away from, it was still somewhat difficult for him to contemplate such a personal betrayal. Yet the longer he weighed the possibility of this grim conclusion, the more the peripheral bits of evidence began to coalesce into a pattern. When examined individually, the particulars might appear somewhat minor and inconclusive—but collectively they were very telling of how Ruiz’s thought processes worked. Experience had taught Marino this wasn’t something that he should take lightly, let alone dismiss out of hand.

  Thus he now took the time to mentally review all of the afternoon’s troubling details, tallying up the pertinent specifics point by point that so bothered him.

  It began with the unannounced visit to the new facility, something Ruiz never chose to do at their former compound near Enid. Admittedly, the situation was significantly changed, the proximity to Dallas being much closer. This was certainly one explanation. Yet it could likewise be interpreted as a desire to become much more engaged in the operation’s day-to-day supervision, something he’d hitherto avoided as being unnecessary.

  But if this were the case, what was his motivation?

  Only two answers readily came to mind. Either Ruiz was losing faith in the capabilities of his top man—which seemed unlikely—or this was the opening phase of something far more sinister. Being of a naturally suspicious nature, he suspected the latter.

  There were other supporting factors feeding his growing apprehension.

  Never one to fraternize with underlings, why was it that Ruiz had spent considerable time with Kurtz going over current operations rather than waiting to be briefed by him? Peculiar behavior, to say the least. In a way, it was like doing a not-so-subtle evaluation of the Kurtz’s future potential.

  Again, to what end?

  Was he seriously considering Kurtz as his replacement?

  Marino accepted that he was still being blamed for following Patch’s suggestion regarding the disposal of Peter Conner’s body. He’d taken full responsibility. It was a huge error in judgment, to be sure, but one he felt now completely resolved. Nevertheless, it was readily apparent from today’s conversation that the matter continued to rankle Ruiz, his scarcely concealed criticism of how the incident was handled always evident whenever he mentioned the subject.

  Nor was it ever likely to be forgiven.

  The final piece of evidence was in many ways the most disconcerting—and doubtless the most enlightening of the path on which Ruiz’s thoughts were now set. Perhaps spoken unintentionally, it came near the conclusion of their meeting—and the words were filled with such meaning that Marino believed he’d have to be a complete fool not to take heed. Even though it was made in reference to the removal of Hogan, the statement remained in the forefront of his mind. Ultimately, Ruiz had said, good business demanded that all past loyalties—no matter how strong—must never supersede the need to ensure one’s future well being. When combined with everything else, could his eventual intentions be any clearer?

  The declaration spoke for itself.

  Marino sighed in frustration as he poured a double shot of vodka from the open bar. Being himself a pragmatic man, the ironic part of this was that he completely understood the sound logic behind Ruiz’s thinking. From a practical point of view, the fact of the matter was that he simply knew far too much to ever be allowed to live over the long haul. After all, he’d been instrumental in arranging virtually everything during the past five years; acquiring the land atop where Ruiz knew the gold to be buried; the construction of the En-Tex Environment compound; devising the method for clandestine shipments to Zurich; even down to setting up the secure numbered accounts of which Ruiz was the sole beneficiary. In a perfect and fair world, his expectations for the services so far rendered should be to reap the enormous financial compensation as was originally stipulated. Instead, he might very well have to grab what little he could and spend the rest of his life continuously looking over his shoulder.

  Hardly a pleasant fate considering all the time he’d invested.

  He shook his head before taking a deep swallow of the vodka, concluding it was inescapable that he must strike first.

  Realistically, no other option existed.

  But then what?

  A preemptive elimination of Ruiz would preserve his own life, certainly, but the resulting ramifications of doing so would be financially disastrous. He’d be back to the original scenario of merely cutting his losses and grabbing whatever he could manage. It was unfortunate, but the bottom line here was that the entire operation pivoted solely around Ruiz. Without him, everything would fall apart like a house of cards. What he needed was more time to somehow work out a means of effectively inserting himself deeper into the equation and prevent this ruinous aftermath from happening. But was this even possible?

  As it presently stood, he’d never have the opportunity to find out. He didn’t doubt his abilities, yet the amount of time and scrupulous planning it would entail was simply too great—and time was definitely a commodity in short supply. If he were to act, then it had to be now! For all he knew, Ruiz was already setting the wheels in motion for his demise.

  He tossed down the last of his drink, acknowledging that the parameters of his dilemma seemed unassailable. Too bad, he mused, that there somehow wasn’t a way for him to accomplish both; not only eliminate Ruiz, but also a means to replace him with someone far more amenable to—

  Of course! Could it be the answer was this astonishingly simple?

  Still staggered by
the suddenness of his epiphany, he swung his head to the door as Camilla now entered the suite, smiling as she hurriedly apologized for her tardiness. The traffic, the storm—by her vivid account, both had apparently contrived to delay her arrival. But he was scarcely listening, his mind elsewhere. Drawing her eagerly into his arms, he silenced her with a long and passionate kiss, thinking as he did so that the timing of her arrival was little short of absolute perfection.

  It was nearing dawn before a satiated Marino finally fell into a deep and exhausted sleep. Beside him an equally content, yet fully awake, Camilla curled against his naked length, her slim forearm lying across his chest.

  By every measure of her experience, their long night of lovemaking had been nothing short of incredible, totally satisfying on multiple levels. As glorious as it was, however, this wasn’t what now kept her awake. Rather, it was the remarkable series of revelations he’d imparted to her several hours earlier—the veracity of which she never doubted for a second. She felt she knew him far too well to suddenly envision him as a fabricator of whimsical tales. Besides, in her considered opinion the absurdity of concocting such a fanciful story would serve no imaginable purpose.

  Thus she assumed it was all true.

  Her acceptance of this conclusion now made her heart quicken in her breast, the mere thought of where this could lead almost too much for her to grasp. Despite the inherent dangers in following the path he now proposed, he’d assured her they were relatively minimal in comparison to the spectacular rewards of success.

  It now came down to a matter of trust.

  She raised her head carefully so as not waken him, the better to study his slumbering face. Beneath her palm she felt the slow rise and fall of his chest, his relaxed expression of contentment a familiar reminder that even in sleep he was a distinct part of her.

  But did he love her as she did him?