Sade’s atmospheric voice crooned over a seductive baseline drifting from the living room. Tara’s penthouse home was a stylish contemporary unit upon which she’d spared no expense, its lavish appointments and top-of-the-line appliances worthy of the pages of one of the many decorating and architecture magazines spread on her chrome and glass coffee table.
A sound like wind chimes tinkled from the kitchen. After a final wistful look at the departing cruise ships heading to sea, she strolled inside to where a phone whose number didn’t officially exist continued to ring until she answered it.
“Yes?” she said.
“We have a hit.” The voice was familiar, deep and resonant, but always restrained, like a powerful animal that had learned to tame its brutality, to control itself in the presence of company. Carson Santell was career CIA, and she’d been working for him in one form or another for seven years.
“I was wondering how long it would take,” Tara said.
“Good things come to those who wait.”
“If you say so. Where is he?”
“Argentina. Western part of the country. Mendoza.” Santell had arranged for a trace on the Thai bank’s computers, and when the bank president had sent his missive to Matt, it had been child’s play to have the NSA monitor the inbox for traffic and triangulate the IP address when he checked in.
“Argentina. I see.” She paused for a few beats. “I have a contact there. Out of Buenos Aires. A fellow named Dante Caravatio we’ve done business with in the past.”
“Can you get in contact with him?”
“Of course. I know he’ll be willing to help us…for a price. Always for a price.”
“Excellent. You have my permission to devote whatever resources are required. We’re still at least sixty million short. Which means he probably split the stones up and took some with him.”
“That would be the prudent assumption. It’s in character.” She shifted, enjoying the feel of the cool marble on her bare feet. “I’ll call you back once I’ve touched base.”
“We’ve already chartered a jet for you. Figure nine hours door to door, Miami to Mendoza.”
She sighed, gazing at the play of sun on the sparkling waves beyond her balcony. “I suppose that’s better than the twenty-seven to Thailand.”
Santell grunted assent. “Can you have your team ready soon?”
“Yes. I’ll call you back once I speak with Dante. I’ll need to coordinate logistical support in Mendoza. Weapons and the like. Even in a private jet I suspect the customs people would get testy if we brought in an arsenal.”
“Use your best judgment. You know how to reach me.”
“Have the plane stand by for a late night flight. It’ll take a little while to get in contact with everyone.” Tara paused. “What’s the budget on this?”
“There are no limitations, within reason, of course. You understand what’s at stake. I trust you to be prudent. Do whatever’s necessary.”
“I understand.”
She disconnected and went to her bedroom, where she spun the dial of her floor safe and retrieved one of several cell phones from its depths, moving ten stacks of hundred dollar bills out of the way to get to it. She powered it on and studied the display, and then dialed a Buenos Aires number.
The male voice that answered was gruff and terse, with the distinctive accented Spanish pronunciation particular to Argentina.
“Yes?”
Tara replied in fluent Spanish. “I need to speak to Dante. Is he there?”
“Who wants to know?”
“Tell him Maria. And that it’s been too long.” Maria was the operational name she’d always used with Dante – one of many she was known by, depending on the day and which passport she was carrying.
She waited, listening as a murmured discussion took place in the background, and then a more refined baritone voice came on the line. “Maria? I must be dreaming.”
“How are things in BA?”
“Not the same without you to brighten my days,” Dante purred.
“I see your charm is as polished as ever. Always the gentleman.”
He laughed. “Not always. Where are you?”
“I’m thinking about coming to visit.”
“Ah, yes? And to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Business, I’m afraid.” She took a breath. “Listen, Dante. I need your help.”
Dante’s tone changed, subtly, now all business, the patina of bonhomie discarded in favor of his customary demeanor. “How can I be of service?”
“Do you have associates in Mendoza?”
“Of course. Why?”
“I have a problem I need to attend to there. Personally.”
“I see. What sort of a problem?”
“I need to locate someone who’s hiding in Mendoza. A man. A very dangerous man.”
“There’s no place in Argentina I don’t have a network, as you well know. Mendoza is no different. Tell me what you have in mind and what you require.”
“Weapons. And personnel. Locals. But I’ll handle the active phase. I just need some discreet support.”
“Consider it done. Send me over a list and I’ll make it happen. Let me give you a clean email account.” He hesitated, spoke with someone, and then returned with the address.
Tara nodded as she wrote it down. “Perfect. And I’ll also attach a photo of the man. I’d like you to circulate it to your Mendoza associates on the off chance they’ve seen him.”
“Of course, my dear. But I should warn you that Mendoza is a large city. Well over a million people. And it’s spread out. A good place to get lost, if that’s what you’re looking to do.”
“I’m sure it is. But humor me.”
“Your wish is my command. Now, to mundane necessities. Depending on what you want in the way of support and ordnance, the cost will vary considerably.”
“Assume I want the best of the range, with top-flight assistance. Outfitting for…four.”
“When?”
She looked at her watch. “I can be there tomorrow afternoon at the latest.”
Dante paused, thinking. “Figure…fifty should do the trick. Unless I need to intervene on your behalf with the local authorities, in which case…eighty.”
“More than fair, as always, mi amor. You’re too good to me.”
“I have a weak spot for beauty and intelligence.”
“For which I’m grateful. Let’s assume fifty will be the number. I’ll bring cash. Can I give it to your Mendoza people?”
“Certainly. Although I’ll never forgive you if you don’t visit while you’re in my backyard. You’ll be less than an hour and a half away.”
“I’ll do my best. But no promises. I might be on a tight schedule for departure.”
Dante’s disappointed tone came back. “I see. I suppose I’ll have to get accustomed to the idea of my heart breaking, yet again.”
“Not if I can help it. But time may not cooperate on this trip.”
“Send me your list and your photo. I’ll take it from there and email you contact information and confirmation that I’ve sourced your requirements.”
She hung up and shook her head. For all Dante’s charm, he was as dangerous as a pit viper and utterly ruthless. He ran the syndicate that was responsible for most of the narcotics trafficking in Argentina, as well as prostitution, murder for hire, extortion, kidnapping, slavery, and robbery, not to mention gunrunning and money laundering for most of South America. His reach was considerable, and he was untouchable, with pockets filled with politicians, and the police at his beck and call.
In other words, perfect for her purposes.
She moved into her office and tapped out a brief list of her equipment needs and attached the last known photograph of Matt taken several years earlier – four years after he’d called their relationship off and she’d transferred back to the U.S., glad to be rid of the man who’d rejected her after learning of her affiliation with Arthur’s group. And the only man
who’d ever done so, for any reason…for which she’d never forgive him. That she was being sanctioned to track him down was poetic justice, and she tried not to get too excited at the idea of Matt at her mercy, begging for his life.
Mercy that would be withheld, and not simply because she was a consummate professional.
No, this was also personal, which was icing on the cake.
She sent the email and made three phone calls. Everyone would be at the airport within six hours, tops. After checking the time, she called Santell back and told him that they were game-on for a midnight departure.
“What do you want me to do with him once I have the diamonds?” she asked, wanting to hear him say it out loud.
“Terminate with extreme prejudice. How much pain he endures before he dies is up to you.”
Tara smiled, her teeth even and white, her face radiating the angelic purity and calm of a newborn. A physical shiver of pleasure tingled up her spine as she nodded in agreement.
“You just made my day.”
Chapter 4
Yesterday, Mendoza, Argentina
Jet stood at the kitchen island while she made a salad for lunch, keeping an eye on Hannah, who was lying on the wooden dining room floor playing with two plastic ponies, her current favorites out of the hundreds of toys she’d collected since they’d been reunited four months earlier in Uruguay. Jet tried not to spoil her too much, but the urge to lavish her daughter with everything she could think of was powerful – a function, she knew, of having been forced to leave Hannah in the care of others while cleaning up the mess that insisted on following her around in life.
Hannah was discoursing with herself in her high-pitched child’s voice, engaged in some conversation known only to her, speaking a language that only she understood. Jet was used to it by now and didn’t give it much thought, and was glad that her kid seemed happy and well adjusted, albeit spoiled rotten, and not just by Jet. Matt was a pushover when it came to Hannah, who had him wrapped around her little finger, a combination knight-errant and playmate. Sometimes Jet would see them sitting together on the couch, watching cartoons or one of the dozens of animated films that she never tired of, Matt patiently answering her questions with short phrases she’d understand, her brow furrowed in concentration as she absorbed his responses, and a part of Jet she thought had died long ago would swell in her chest, threatening to overwhelm her.
Jet and Matt were inseparable now, their attachment so powerful it was almost frightening at times, their connection so deep that it defied description and took her breath away some nights as she lay in his arms, trembling after making love, their bodies molded to each other, their sweat intermingled, satiated and yet wanting more. Her instinct that he’d been made for her had proven true, and now she couldn’t imagine a life without him by her side. That he adored her daughter as much as he adored Jet was an unexpected bonus, one that completed her and put her mind at ease.
They’d rented a large apartment in a six-story building within walking distance of the burgeoning downtown commercial district, with its cafés and restaurants and vibrant shopping promenades, and endured a summer with abundant snowfall and more than its share of rain. After an adjustment period, they’d settled into the unique pace of the town, where all but a few businesses closed down from two until five for siesta, and it was considered uncivilized to suggest that anyone do much but enjoy themselves during that time, when the wine flowed like water from the plentiful neighboring vineyards in celebration of the populace’s enduring spirit.
She heard Matt before she saw him, the rattle of his key in the door reverberating in the granite-floored foyer. Hannah’s huge eyes looked up at Jet as if it was Christmas and Santa was about to put in an appearance, her interest in her toys suddenly abandoned in favor of Matt’s imminent arrival. The front door opened, and Hannah leapt to her wobbly feet and ran toward him, screaming in glee.
“Maaaa…”
She hadn’t mastered the hard consonant at the end of his name yet, but that didn’t diminish her joy in saying it. Jet smiled and carried her bowl to the kitchen table, having already fed Hannah earlier. The expression froze on her face when her eyes met his, and she sat down slowly as Hannah barreled into him, hugging his leg. He lifted her and gave her a kiss, carrying her as he approached the table.
“How did your morning go?” she asked, keeping her tone even.
“Oh, you know. Traffic was terrible, but the weather’s turning nice again,” he said and put Hannah down next to her.
“Good to know. I was thinking about going out later to pick up some groceries.”
Matt entered the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. He selected a bottle of mineral water, approached the table, and sat across from Jet as Hannah resumed her play now that the excitement of the return of her champion had waned. “We need to talk.”
“I figured from your look. What happened?”
Matt told her about the bank robbery. She held his gaze with unblinking green eyes until he was done. “So the long and short of it is they somehow tripped to the box, and I’m now broke. Looks like we’ll be living off your money,” he finished.
“What will the fallout be?” she asked, processing furiously.
“Well, we know a few things. First is that they’ve obviously rallied their resources enough to be able to mount a pretty sophisticated and risky operation. Second, they’re now about a hundred and eighty-five mil better off than they were a week ago, so they’ve strengthened versus weakened. And third, they know there are still sixty-five million more in stones floating around somewhere.”
She nodded. “Which means they’ll keep looking for them. For you.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Bangkok was my old stomping grounds. I’m unknown in South America. The trail ends in Thailand. If you consider the amount of money that they launder every year, the sixty-five is a rounding error.”
“Perhaps. But I think we need to assume the worst.”
“Agreed.”
“Do you think there’s any risk to you here?” She didn’t have to say “to us?”
“Not any more than anywhere else in the world. And there are practical limits to their reach. It’s not like they have informants under every rock. They have a large network in Thailand because of the proximity to the Golden Triangle, as well as to run ops in Myanmar. In Argentina? A token presence, at most. There’s just no economic driver down here. Drugs flow in the opposite direction, from Colombia north to the States. The smattering that makes it to Brazil and Argentina isn’t worth their time to worry about. The real money’s in supplying the Mexican cartels, who import it into the U.S.”
“So you believe that if you stay low profile…”
He took a sip of his water and nodded. “That I’m just another guy in the crowd. Hell, I don’t even go out very much. And when I do, it’s with you and Hannah. The last thing they’d be looking for is the head of a nuclear family in Mendoza.”
She took a bite of her salad. “I only let you think you’re the head.”
He grinned. “I know that.”
“How does it feel to be a kept man now? Here I thought I’d won the jackpot, and you turn out to be penniless.”
“I was thinking about asking for a raise.”
Jet eyed his strong features and lean, handsome face. “We might be able to work something out. But you’re going to have to up your game. Make it worth my while.”
He slid his hand across the table, over hers, and grinned. “I’ll wear a butler uniform if you want. Bow tie and everything.”
“I was hoping for just the tie.”
Matt reached for an apple sitting in a basket in the center of the table, polished it against his shirt, and took a bite. “Everything’s negotiable.”
~ ~ ~
The last rays of the setting sun illuminated the southern sky as twilight drifted into evening, the white peak of Aconcagua glowing pink like a beacon against the darkening horizon. Footsteps echoed off the sides of the buildin
gs in the city center, the French architecture of the large homes lending the area a European quality. The walking man pulled his long overcoat tight around him; the balmy day had ceded its warmth to a chill off the mountains, made more pronounced by the nearly three thousand feet of elevation Mendoza boasted.
When he arrived at a hulking private residence that occupied a third of the short block, he approached its unremarkable door, typical polished wood with a brass handle two stairs up from the gloomy street, and rang the unmarked bell. He fidgeted as he waited, scanning his deserted surroundings for any signs of observation. A panel at eye level slid open, and part of a heavily bearded face peered out at him.
“Yeah?”
“I’m here for the game.”
“The game? I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I’m a friend of Julio’s.”
The words had the intended effect. The panel slid closed and the door opened, held by a bearlike figure wearing a windbreaker and tan slacks, his countenance that of a street fighter, the nose broken too many times to count. “And you are…?”
The new arrival cleared his throat. “Tomás.”
“Very well. Welcome, Tomás. The game’s in the back. I’ll show you the way. Is this your first time here?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’re in for a treat. The girls are beautiful, the beer cold, the wine strong.”
“And hopefully, the cards running in my favor.”
The bouncer nodded. “Could be your lucky night. Come on.”
They walked down a hall to a huge living room decorated in turn-of-the-century formal fashion, the walls covered in gold leaf and the furniture, if not antique, certainly classic. A popular tango singer bemoaned love’s fickle nature over a piano and violin, the stereo speakers artfully hidden, his growling voice the perfect partner to the sweeping melody.
Justice Page 4
