“But we can both agree in private that this is blackmail?”
“Probably,” Montero shrugged. “But don’t go all victim on me, it doesn’t suit you. We’re going after the people who killed my partner and tried to kill you and your friend. I wouldn’t have pulled you off that plane if we both didn’t have a fully vested interest in what I’m doing. Believe me, when you know the entire story, you’ll be a willing participant.”
“Keep talking.” Donovan noticed that with each lane change, she kept a close eye out for anyone who might be following them.
“The guy I shot today goes by the name Diego Vazquez. He has a brother, Ramone, and they almost always work together. Right now we’re going to go have a little chat with a guy named Ricky. He may be able to tell us where Ramone is hanging out. How much cash do you have on you?”
Donovan quickly calculated what was in his wallet, plus what he kept stashed in his briefcase for emergencies. “About three grand.”
“That should be enough.”
Donovan thought of the detailed report William had on Montero. Right that moment he’d love to see what it contained. It was puzzling that she’d discovered Robert Huntington, a man she claimed to be very familiar with—yet the first order of business was to go shake down someone named Ricky. At least for the moment, it seemed as if Montero was all business again, focused on the case.
Montero took the exit ramp at high speed, expertly down-shifted, rolled the stoplight, and gunned the car eastbound. They were on Atlantic Avenue in Delray Beach, but other than that, Donovan had no idea where he was or where they were going. Montero made several turns, her eyes continually shooting to the rearview mirror. Block by block the neighborhood began to get a little more run down.
Montero swung the BMW down a pothole-riddled street and stopped next to a nondescript cinderblock building. The parking lot was a mixture of gravel and puddles. Scattered palm fronds from last night’s wind created a minor obstacle course. The BMW was the only car near the building. The lone grimy window had an anemic red neon sign that announced the establishment was open.
“Give me some of your cash.” Montero held out her hand. “Make it eight hundred. I’ve worked with the guy before. He owes me one, so I’m thinking it shouldn’t take more than five hundred.”
Donovan snapped open his briefcase and retrieved the cash he carried for emergencies. He peeled off the crisp one hundred dollar bills and handed them over.
“Let me do the talking—but keep your eyes open.” Montero said as she got out of the car. She folded the bills and stuffed them into her back pocket.
The heavy smell of gun grease tipped him off before his eyes fully adjusted to the relative darkness. The front of the shop was small in comparison to the size of the building. On each side of the room, behind glass cases filled with pistols, were rows of rifles and shotguns. A buzzer attached to the door announced their arrival.
“Be right there,” a deep baritone voice called out from beyond a curtain at the back of the display area.
“Ricky, get your skinny little ass out here,” Montero said as she closed the door behind them and then flipped the deadbolt to lock them inside.
“Ronnie, is that you? You thinking about my ass?”
“In your dreams, Ricky.”
Donovan stood silent as the curtain parted and a lumbering giant of a man appeared. His massive torso looked far too heavy for his stubby legs. His knees looked like they might snap at any moment as they propelled him toward Montero. A sleeveless tee shirt ballooned over his gigantic belly. His shoulders and arms were covered with curly black hair. His head was hairless, except for a goatee that was braided into two greasy strands that nearly reached the folds of his immense fleshy neck. Donovan guessed the guy easily went three hundred fifty pounds, or more. His face lit up when he spotted Montero.
“Ricky, this is my friend Roberto,” Montero said.
Donovan bristled at the name. The huge man nodded, grunted once as way of hello, and waddled behind the counter. The glazed look on Ricky’s face left no doubt that he was clearly smitten with Montero.
“What can I do for you?” Ricky said, eyeing Montero’s chest instead of her face.
“I’m up here, Ricky,” Montero said without any trace of anger, as if she were reprimanding a small child for the hundredth time. “I’m looking for two brothers. Ramone and Diego—you know who I’m talking about.”
Ricky glanced at Donovan, then back to Montero. He answered with a shrug of his massive shoulders.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Montero flashed the stack of hundreds. “Where are they?”
Donovan watched Ricky’s eyes savor the cash. Montero referred to Diego in the present tense. If Ricky knew that Diego was lying in the morgue, he didn’t show it.
“I ain’t seen them in a while,” Ricky said.
“Don’t mess with me, Ricky. Not today.” Montero peeled off the top bill and smacked it down on the table with enough force to make Ricky flinch. “You can make this easy on yourself and pocket a few bucks. Or you can jack me around and see my bad side—your call.”
Donovan saw Ricky’s eyes narrow. The huge man had just imagined Montero’s bad side, and it worried him. Montero slowly took a second bill and gently laid it on the table. Donovan found the contrast interesting. Montero was either smart enough or crazy enough to pull off good cop, bad cop, all by herself.
“I only met Diego once,” Ricky’s hand worked his braided goatee as if thinking. “Ramone comes in from time to time. He’s a 9-mm guy, likes to practice.”
Montero slid another bill halfway out of the stack and stopped, waiting for Ricky to continue.
“I don’t know where they live or nothin’, or even who they work for. They’re freelancers. Hired muscle.”
Montero let the bill drop. “Who do they run with?”
Ricky looked up at the ceiling as if deep in thought. Montero folded the bills and acted as if she were going to shove the wad back into her pocket.
“Ramone was with this one chick. She strips, maybe she even hooks sometimes. Ramone was always bragging how she was totally hot. The dude was pretty much hung up on her. But that was a while back. I have no idea if she’s still around.”
“What’s her name? What clubs did she work?” Montero asked, as she began to slowly work another bill out from the roll.
“I don’t know.” Ricky shrugged. “She mostly bounced around between Lauderdale and Miami. You know how that business goes.”
“I need a name.”
“She’s foreign, Russian or Ukrainian, something like that.”
“Come on, Ricky, concentrate.” Montero slid another bill toward the growing pile.
Ricky gazed upward and snapped his fingers. “Her name is Sasha! Yeah, that’s it, Sasha.”
Montero let the last bill float to the countertop, and then she shoved the remaining cash into her pocket. “You’d better be right, Ricky.”
Ricky shot her a nervous look. An instant later, the money on the table vanished, clenched inside a beefy hand.
Montero’s threatening expression vanished, replaced with a warm smile. “I’m glad we understand each other. Now, my friend here needs a throw-down weapon. What have you got?”
“I don’t need a gun,” Donovan said.
“Yes,” Montero said. “You do.”
“We each have our gifts. I’ll leave the killing to you.”
Ricky shrunk from the exchange. The fury that flared in Montero’s eyes seemed to fill the room. Donovan stood his ground, realizing that his remark had connected. He waited for her to react, hoping her behavior might tell him something. Instead, much to his surprise, she pressed the remaining bills into his palm, handed him the keys to her car, and walked outside.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Lauren stroked Abigail’s hair. The quiet hum of the jet had lulled her daughter into a much-needed nap. The disrupted schedule was taking its toll. Children require structure, their peace of mind dependent o
n stability and predictability. Lauren put her head back, angry at what had happened to Donovan, uncertain he had the power to change the course of events. She closed her eyes, and one by one, ran through the immediate changes that would shape her life. At Donovan’s insistence, for this very reason, she’d kept her maiden name. The media would find out about her and Abigail eventually, but initially, she would be able to move unnoticed.
Stephanie doted on Abigail. If events allowed, they might be able to stay a day or two with Stephanie, and Abigail might view it as a great adventure. In London, there were full sets of forged documents for each of them. They would allow Lauren and Abigail to slip away to Switzerland. Donovan owned a villa not far from Lake Geneva. The Swiss, Donovan maintained, were rather uninterested in outside events, and known for their ability to keep secrets, plus he knew people highly placed in the government who may prove useful.
Lauren thought of everything she’d be forced to leave behind. All of her friends at work, especially her boss and mentor, Calvin Reynolds. She’d known Calvin for years; he’d quietly stepped in after her father had died and subtly filled part of that void in her world. Lauren loved him dearly for his efforts.
She thought of her mother, unable to conceive of what she’d tell her. For the moment at least, her mother was on a cruise in the Mediterranean and wasn’t due back for another week. Lauren had known what she was getting into when she’d married Donovan, but that didn’t change how threatened and vulnerable she felt at this moment.
“Is she asleep?” William asked, quietly.
Lauren nodded.
William kept his voice down; the flight attendant was up in the cockpit, well out of earshot. “Once we arrive back home, this jet will be on twenty-four-hour standby—just in case.”
“Donovan mentioned briefly the security arrangements waiting in Virginia,” Lauren said. “Tell me more about this man Howard Buckley.”
“He’s a former Navy SEAL, and also the nephew of General Porter, who, as you know sits on the Joint Chiefs of Staff. On an Eco-Watch flight during Hurricane Helena, he suffered broken ribs, a collapsed lung, and some damage to his lower vertebrae. He survived, but he’s now behind a desk at the Pentagon. Donovan paid for the finest doctors in the world to treat him, but the lower back injuries, while not debilitating, disqualified him from the rigors of SEAL activities. It’s a rather sad story, but Buck has never shown a moment’s remorse. He’s a remarkable young man.”
“You think he’ll be able to watch over Michael?”
“Our friend Buck, while he’s not able to swim twenty miles anymore, is still quite lethal. I, for one, will sleep soundly knowing he’s in charge of Michael’s safety—and you should as well.”
“You know,” Lauren said, “we’ve talked about the logistics, what we’ll do if this goes public. I get all that, but what do you think all of this will do to Donovan?”
“I’ve been around him most of his life. I’m well aware of his demons. I’ve often wondered how much he’s shared with you about his past. Do you mind if I ask how much he’s told you about Meredith Barnes?”
“It’s odd you should bring her up. Of course we’ve talked about her, but I never really felt the need to pry. That period of his life is painful for him, I know that. I’m his wife, I’m here, and she’s been dead for twenty years; it would be pointless to try and compete with a ghost. In the end, he always maintains that it happened so long ago it doesn’t really matter.”
“Why is it odd I brought her up?”
“It’s not important, forget I said that.”
“Really, I want to know. Have the nightmares gotten worse? Is he drinking?”
Lauren didn’t answer. Donovan’s nightmares had always been there, but now they were as bad as she’d ever seen them. She’d be awakened by his tossing and turning, and then the murmurs would start. Words she could never quite understand. She’d learned to try and wake him before the screams, the thrashing, and the sobs. He’d shiver in a cold sweat afterward—shaken and distant. Lately, he’d been going downstairs, and in the morning she’d find a cocktail glass in the sink. It never occurred to her that perhaps he’d been having more than one drink, or that it might be part of a bigger problem.
“When did his bad dreams start?” Lauren asked.
“Shortly after his parents died,” William replied. “He was fourteen.”
“He rarely talks about them, but watching your parents drown would give anyone nightmares.”
“It was the first tragedy in his life. There, of course, have been others, and I’ve always believed that our life experiences, both good and bad, are cumulative. As hard as we try to get past certain events, they work on us in ways we can’t begin to completely understand.”
“Is that what you think is going on with him now?”
“You tell me, I can’t believe I’m the only one who’s noticed the change in his behavior over the last few months.”
“No, you’re not the only one.” Lauren shook her head. “Tell me what you know about the documentary about Meredith Barnes. I found a copy at the house.”
William’s shock and disbelief were evident. “He has it? I can’t believe he didn’t tell me. I declined to be a part of it, and it’s not scheduled to be released for months.”
“He didn’t tell me either. I accidently ran across it. So far I’ve only seen bits and pieces. It’s hard to watch.”
“Do you think it’s troublesome enough to have an effect on Donovan?”
Lauren nodded and explained what she’d seen and the manner in which it had been shown.
“Those bastards.” William shook his head in anger.
“The film talks about some things I never knew about.”
“Like what?”
“Were there real threats against Meredith? Did Donovan delay in getting the ransom money together? Did he talk to her just before she was killed?”
William thought for a moment, and then in a reverential voice just barely above a whisper, began. “Yes, there were vague threats. Never anything credible. As far as the money issue, that part was a nightmare. What few people know is how intensely we fought with the bureaucrats from Costa Rica and the United States, who, of course, refused to deal with the kidnappers, calling them terrorists. Against all of the advice from both the State Department and the Central Intelligence Agency, Robert tried to make contact himself, but the authorities did everything they could to block his efforts to pay the ransom. Ten million is a great deal of money and the logistics of getting it together and transporting it to Costa Rica were daunting. Because of the governmental resistance, he was forced to use offshore assets and keep his efforts secret. So, of course, it looked like he did nothing at first. But from the moment the ransom demands were heard, Robert frantically assembled the money.”
“The phone call?”
“That’s something he’s never talked about to me, or anyone else for that matter. He had the money and finally convinced the Costa Rican police to allow him to make contact and set up the exchange. He demanded proof of life, he needed to be positive Meredith was still alive. The call came in the middle of the night. It should have been recorded by the police but wasn’t. I don’t know what was said, but her body was found early the next morning. The medical examiner said she probably died within an hour of that phone call.”
“Why? They were on the verge of getting the money.”
“There was speculation that they panicked, that law enforcement was closing in on them. We’ll never know why. Robert was devastated. He blamed everyone and refused to cooperate any further with the investigation. It was all so horrible.”
Lauren could hear the emotion in William’s voice as he spoke. She hadn’t expected this to be difficult for him.
“We flew her body home to California and were met with fierce protests. The threats to Robert and acts of violence were round the clock, finally forcing him to leave Monterey. Robert wasn’t able to attend her funeral out of fear of reprisal, that some
one, maybe even members of her own family, could be hurt due to his presence. To this day, I’m not sure he’s ever visited her grave. Then those pictures came out, the ones on the beach with the young woman. Though taken long before he met Meredith, they were portrayed as being recent. He received death threats on an almost daily basis. Huntington Oil was boycotted, bombs were found—it was complete chaos.
“Robert was shattered. I stayed with him as much as I could. He went to live in the old family house on the estate outside Aldie, Virginia. As you know, it was and still is, one of his favorite places. He became a recluse, he drank to shut himself down, hell, we both did. He started taking drugs. There were pills to go to sleep. Different pills to get him through the day. He cut himself off from the outside world and spiraled out of control.”
“I had no inkling of any of this.”
“Did he ever tell you his boyhood hero was Howard Hughes? Howard was a good friend of Robert’s father, back then everyone in the oil business knew Howard. When Robert was just a little boy, Howard would entertain him with stories about his record-setting flights, making movies, building and flying the now famous Spruce Goose. Howard actually hated that nickname—instead he referred to it as his ‘flying boat.’ Robert’s passion for flying can easily be traced back to Howard.”
“One night we were up late, drinking. I listened as Robert starting talking about Howard, this was long after Howard’s bizarre final years and ultimate death, but Robert told me that he understood how easy it would be to completely withdraw from the world. We talked about Howard’s tortured life, and Robert promised me he’d never end up like that—he’d kill himself first. I asked him point-blank if he’d thought about ending his life. He was honest, told me he had—and I believed him.”
Lauren was horrified; it was as if she were hearing about someone she’d never known. “What did you do?”
“I asked him when he wanted to start? In the weeks it took us to plan the transition, he sobered up. We orchestrated it down to the smallest detail. Robert Huntington died when the plane he was flying crashed into the ocean off the California coast. He parachuted from that plane in the middle of the night. When he landed outside Modesto, California, he became Donovan Nash. I was with him afterward in Europe as he endured the surgeries. It was a difficult time, but to this day, I believe the only part of his past he misses is Meredith.”
Zero Separation Page 8
