Justice

by Blake, Russell

  “Thanks. That was my op.”

  “I kind of figured when I saw you here. How did you track me to Argentina?”

  “NSA tap on the bank server. When the president sent you the email, it was child’s play to track the IP to Mendoza when you logged in. That narrowed it down.”

  “And to the bank in Bangkok?”

  “You were followed.”

  “Ah. Low tech. Whoever it was did a good job. I never noticed.”

  Tara shook her head. “Did you really think you’d get away with it?”

  “I can see your confusion. For you, it’s all about making away with the diamonds. But that was never my motivation. I wanted to put a bullet in a criminal network, not steal some stones. Because you don’t know the difference between right and wrong, you can’t imagine what I’m talking about. Besides, I accomplished everything I was trying to do. I crippled the network. Made everyone connected to its life miserable. The diamonds were just a means to that end. Nothing more.”

  She eyed him skeptically. “Yeah, right. All those millions and you didn’t really care about them.”

  “Hard as it might be for you to believe that people might do something for any reason besides money, that’s correct. Although keeping that money out of the cabal’s hands definitely gave me a lot of pleasure. But you’ll note I’m not living on a hundred-foot boat or in a beachfront villa.”

  “That’s because you’re an idealistic fool.”

  “Perhaps. But looking at you, I’d say it beats the alternative.”

  “We’ll see how you feel about that in a few hours.”

  “Nothing will have changed. You’ll have the diamonds, and you’ll have killed me. Other than that, the bad will still be bad, and the good will be good. And you’ll still be working for the black hats, doing damage to everything you touch.”

  She leaned back in her chair. “I’m tired of this discussion. You sound like a broken record. I feel like I’m listening to a cut-rate preacher on some redneck cable channel.”

  “Always nice seeing you again, Tara. Wake me up when we get there.”

  Matt closed his eyes again, knowing that when the bank opened the jig would be up. He hoped and prayed Jet would stick to their agreement, which was that if either of them ever used the ‘end of the road’ code, the other would run, not walk, for safety, and not risk themselves for a lost cause.

  Unfortunately, he’d come to know her too well, and his fear was that she’d toss that to the wind and come after him – which knowing Tara, would be the last mistake she ever made.

  He took several deep breaths as they winged their way over the pampas and prayed that they would be as sloppy with him as they’d been so far. It was only a slight advantage, but they’d slipped up and, if they didn’t realize their mistake, he still had a chance. That kind of blunder was out of character for Tara, but everyone got complacent at times, especially if they believed their mission was almost finished, their goal attained.

  Matt shifted, trying to get comfortable, and thought about when he’d make his move. Possibly in the vault, when he and Tara were alone. He’d have to play it by ear.

  But her belief that it was all over but the shouting couldn’t have been more wrong.

  Which, if he had any control over circumstances, she’d soon discover the hard way.

  Chapter 22

  Jet blinked sleep out of her eyes and rolled over to look at the housekeeper, who had tactfully knocked on the door and then, when she didn’t answer, cracked it open and called out before turning on the light. She shook off the grogginess that was a byproduct of only getting three hours of rest and glanced at the time: precisely five a.m., leaving her a half hour to shower, say her goodbyes to Hannah, and gulp down some coffee and breakfast.

  The hot spray was like scalding needles against her scalp as she rinsed the prior day’s grime from her hair. Had it really been only fourteen hours since she’d been waiting at the zoo with Hannah? It seemed like a lifetime.

  She toweled dry, pulled a brush through her hair, and dressed, wasting no time on any further niceties. A floorboard creaked as she walked down the hall to where Catalina and Hannah were sleeping. She grimaced at the noise, slight as it was. Thankfully the bedroom door opened silently, and she stood for several seconds by Hannah’s sleeping form before reaching down and softly touching her hair. She looked so innocent and untroubled, a small rivulet of dried drool staining her pillow, unaware that her mother was right beside her.

  Downstairs, Sofia and her father were awake in the dining room, watching the early morning news on the television in the living area; a group of angry men were onscreen, holding placards in front of a dark square, the broadcast apparently in real time.

  “Good morning, young lady. I trust you got at least a little rest?” Sofia’s dad asked, holding up his coffee cup. “Coffee?”

  “Yes, please,” Jet answered as she moved to Sofia to kiss her cheek. “How are you doing?” she asked her.

  “I feel beat, but better now that Catalina’s safe. I just hope that Tomás had a good night. I got up early to say goodbye – I wasn’t really sleeping, anyway.”

  Jet caught her father’s eye but said nothing, the warning clear in his gaze.

  The housekeeper entered carrying another place setting and a cup and saucer, and soon Jet had a steaming cup in hand as she waited for a plate of eggs. “What’s on TV?”

  “Ah, there’s a big strike. Been going on since yesterday. The bus driver’s union. It’s always something there. As the economy has deteriorated, there’s a strike or a protest every week. It’s insanity,” Sofia said. “All it does is cause gridlock. Nothing changes. I don’t know what they expect marching is going to accomplish.”

  “It’s the Argentine way,” her father said.

  “Has there been anything on the news about…the attack on the house?”

  “No, not yet. But there was a breaking report about an industrial site on the outskirts of town. Apparently it looked like a war had been fought there,” Sofia said.

  “Anything besides that?”

  “No, but it’s still–”

  The program changed to a shot of the outside of the casino, police lights everywhere, and an earnest brunette woman holding a microphone described the scene from the prior day. Sofia’s father rose to get the remote, but before he could, the woman announced that everyone in the shootout had died, including an off-duty police officer and his brother. Sofia froze, her mouth working silently, her eyes bouncing from the screen to her father to Jet as though their reassurance could change the reporter’s words.

  “No. That must be a mistake. It said everyone’s dead…”

  “I’ll contact my friend with the police and see if anything’s happened, my love. Don’t worry. It’s probably just a mistake,” her father said.

  Jet looked away.

  “Call the hospital,” Sofia demanded.

  “It will be impossible to get a straight answer at this hour.”

  “Then I’ll call,” she said, her tone edging toward panic.

  Jet rose. “Would you excuse me? I have to use the bathroom.” She didn’t wait for an answer, preferring to get out of the line of fire. If Sofia’s father wanted to mislead her, buying her just a little more peace of mind, then he’d done so, but she didn’t want to watch the fallout and certainly didn’t want to be a party to the deception. She studied her face in the downstairs powder room mirror and wondered whether she would have done the same thing if it had been Hannah instead of Sofia, and decided she was glad she didn’t have to make that call. It was far easier to disapprove of someone else’s approach than to have to decide yourself, she knew, and it was far too early in the day to play Solomon.

  She gave them five minutes and when she returned Sofia was nowhere to be seen. Her father stood by the ornate stone fireplace, his coffee untouched on the table.

  “I was hoping to spare her this. Perhaps I should have told her the truth last night. I only wanted her to get
some badly needed sleep before having to face reality…” His voice sounded defeated.

  Jet didn’t say anything and was relieved when the housekeeper arrived with her eggs. Sofia’s father shook his head and his demeanor changed. He looked convinced of the correctness of his actions, as only those accustomed to making difficult choices every day could be.

  “The plane is waiting. I called this morning. Carlos will drive you to the airport when you’re done with breakfast.”

  “And the weapons?”

  “Taken care of. They’re already on the plane.”

  “Good. I’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

  “I wish you luck. I’ve spoken to some others about Dante. He’s well known to the authorities, but never seems to be targeted by the law directly. His subordinates and businesses, yes, but never the man himself. He has cultivated powerful ties in the Buenos Aires government, obviously, so you’ll need to be very careful approaching him.”

  “That may be true, but my experience is that even the mighty die just the same as the weak and poor.”

  “I’ll defer to your understanding. I have the feeling you have considerably more experience than I’ll ever have in that regard.”

  “It’s not something I’m proud of,” Jet said, standing.

  “Our past is what makes us who we are. You’ve obviously served some government, and with honor, I have no doubt. You have no reason to be ashamed of your skills. If anything, we all owe you a considerable debt for putting them to good use during this unfortunate episode.”

  “I appreciate the plane and everything else.”

  “As I said before, think nothing of it.”

  “Will Sofia be all right?”

  “Of course. She’ll need some time to grieve, but she comes from strong stock. Don’t worry. I’ll see to it that your daughter is cared for as if she were my own.”

  Jet moved to him and shook his hand, then he walked her to the front door, where Carlos stood talking to one of the guards. When they neared, he turned, nodded to Sofia’s father, and motioned for Jet to follow him.

  Carlos could have been carved from marble. On the drive to the airport, he didn’t say a single word until they arrived, when he gestured to the private charter terminal as they pulled to the deserted curb.

  “Manuel will meet you inside. He’s one of the pilots. You shouldn’t have any issues with security.”

  Inside the small building, Manuel greeted her with an impassive expression on his face and deferential courtesy. She followed him out onto the tarmac where a Hawker 125 business jet waited, its interior illuminated, its fuselage stairs lowered, awaiting her arrival. Manuel welcomed her aboard as she mounted the steps. Inside, four men looked up at her as she entered the narrow cabin. The oldest gestured at the seat facing him.

  “I’m Paco,” he said.

  “Rebecca.”

  “Nice to meet you. This is Sergio, Arman, and Roberto.” The men nodded. “We’re at your disposal,” Paco said.

  “Great. Who are you?”

  “Whoever you need us to be.”

  “Do you have the equipment we discussed?”

  “Of course. For you, a Glock 17 and an H&K UMP40, each with two spare magazines.” Paco unzipped a green canvas duffle bag and handed her the pistol and the magazines. “We’ll want to wait until we’re on the ground and underway before we hand out the rest.”

  “That seems prudent,” Jet agreed, checking the Glock before slipping it into her pocket. “Seriously, though, what’s your background? I need to understand your abilities if I’m going to formulate a plan.”

  “We’re all former special forces. Now in private security.” He leaned in close to Jet. “I have some history with Dante Caravatio. You could say we go way back. So this will be more enjoyable than my typical job.”

  Jet’s eyebrows raised. “History? Will that be a problem?”

  “No. But there’s no love lost.”

  “You’ll have to be more specific.”

  “Once we’re in the air,” Paco said with a glance at his men.

  Manuel closed the fuselage door and took the copilot’s seat. Within minutes they were taxiing down the runway before lifting off and banking over Mendoza as they headed east.

  “So what’s your beef with Dante?”

  “Twelve years ago, he was involved in the death of my fiancée.”

  “Involved? How?”

  “Her father had a gambling and drinking problem. It got out of hand. The police suspected that she got in the middle of an altercation between Dante and her father. Both were found, shot execution style, at his home in the Recoleta district. Nobody heard or saw anything.”

  “How do you know it was Dante?”

  “She’d confided in me weeks before that she was worried about her father. She mentioned debts. Dante Caravatio has run Buenos Aires for thirty years. If her father had that big a problem, it would have to have been at the Dante level. We’re talking millions.”

  “Couldn’t it have been someone else?”

  “It was Dante. One of my friends on the police force said they suspected him – it’s his trademark, the execution-style killing, one round to the back of the head. But of course they couldn’t prove anything, so no charges were ever pressed.” He eyed her. “If your goal involves taking down Dante, I’m your man.”

  “I don’t know that it will necessarily involve him. I only know that he’s helping my enemy. A woman. American. She kidnapped my boyfriend and is holding him hostage.”

  “How are they connected? Dante and this woman?”

  “She’s a professional killer. Her objective was my boyfriend. She’s going to force him to give her the contents of a safe deposit box in Buenos Aires.” They hit a bumpy patch of air so Jet waited until it had smoothed out before continuing. “And then she’s going to kill him. So we only have one shot at this, and that’s at the bank. We need to stop it from happening.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know. My initial thought is we ambush her when they go into the bank.”

  “Where’s the bank located?”

  “It’s Banco Ramirez Popular.”

  “The main branch?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s in the heart of downtown. Ambushing anyone there isn’t going to be easy. And we’ll only have seconds before every police car in Buenos Aires is on its way to stop us.”

  “That is why I need your help.”

  “And Dante?”

  “He’s behind the kidnapping of Sofia’s daughter. And he’s provided this woman with his full support. He’s part of the problem.”

  “Sounds like it. But he’s going to be almost impossible to get to.”

  Jet fixed him with a cold stare. “Nobody’s impossible to get to.”

  Paco nodded. “True. But he’ll be as well protected as a visiting head of state – he’s got a lot of enemies.”

  “There’s an old saying. The higher they fly, the harder they fall.”

  “I’m familiar with it.”

  “Then why don’t you tell me everything you can about the area around the bank? How you would do this if you were running the operation, and what sort of defenses Dante is likely to have, if it comes to that.”

  Chapter 23

  Dawn’s pale light warmed the partially cloudy sky over Buenos Aires as the Gulfstream circled the city on approach. The city’s vast sprawl stretched as far as the eye could see, countless smaller buildings giving way to myriad skyscrapers jutting into the heavens. In the distance the Rio Plata shimmered as the first of the sun’s rays reflected off its sparkling blue surface, the coast of Uruguay barely visible from the plane’s windows as it executed a long curve.

  The water transitioned to brown as they neared the Jorge Newbery Airport, built on the riverbank just north of the city, close to some of the most expensive homes in the country as well as the most dangerous shanty town south of Rio de Janeiro. Gusts of wind off the river made the final descent bumpy, air pockets
causing the plane to seem as though it was freefalling as it closed on the runway, and then the jet was on the ground, decelerating as it reached the midpoint of the long black cement strip and turned toward the private plane terminal.

  Tara glanced at Matt, who was staring through the window at the gray outline of the buildings in the near distance, and checked the time.

  “Seven twenty. That should give us plenty of time to get to the bank. I checked, and it doesn’t open till nine.”

  “You’ve obviously never spent a morning in Buenos Aires rush hour,” Matt said, his tone sour.

  Tara ignored his comment. “When we reach the terminal, I’m going to uncuff you, but if you try anything, we’ll use a stun gun, so save us all the drama and play nice.”

  The plane stopped near the terminal a few minutes after landing. Then they had to wait almost ten for the ground crew to give them permission to deplane. Once the cabin door was open and the stairs lowered, Tara nodded at Isaac, who unlocked the handcuffs while Carl stood nearby with the stun gun, looking like he was hoping Matt would try something.

  The air smelled like jet fuel and exhaust and open water. Gusts from the river blew across the open field, carrying with them the dank aroma of the marshes. Tara and her men led Matt to the building, presenting him with his first opportunity to take them – a chance that quickly became obvious was a mirage when he saw an older Argentine man standing near the entry doors with six hard-looking men in overcoats. The man held his arms wide as they neared, a predatory smile on his deeply tanned face.

  “Maria. Welcome home,” he said theatrically.

  Tara moved to him and gave him a kiss on the cheek, then pulled away from his embrace. “Dante. You look wonderful. Something about Buenos Aires is magical for you.”

  “And you are magnificent, as usual. Although not nearly as convincing a liar as I need in my old age.”