by Roger Weston
For a man who had just lost his father, Valentino had many reasons to be depressed. For starters, he would miss his father. Sure, the old man was one of the most hated people in Argentina thanks to backing politicians who were shafting the people in so many ways. But he had good qualities as well. He had been a great mentor and example for Valentino on how to be not just a man, but a dominant man—one of the elite few who rip off and outsmart the dull masses.
In the parking lot, Valentino walked slowly past the Mercedes and Rolls Royces. He removed a tissue from his Italian-made suit. He dried his eyes as he realized that he had barely seen his father in four years, that he was only just achieving success in life—and now his father had died.
Just three days ago, Valentino closed the biggest merger deal of his life. He was making a name for himself on Wall Street, and now this. Now he would be expected to come home and manage the family fortunes, which ran into the billions. Three weeks ago, his wife learned she was pregnant—and now…
A manager.
Oh, the inglorious word!
Valentino was destined to be a manager.
Not a man like his father who made his own bones in life, Valentino would accomplish nothing because he would just manage what had already been done. He would be a useless eater, not far removed from the masses.
“How could you die now, father?” Valentino mumbled angrily. “Couldn’t you have waited ten more years? This is not just your funeral. It is mine.”
Valentino sat on the hood of his Porsche for a minute, feeling sorry for himself. If only his father was here now. There was so much he wanted to say.
“You can’t just leave me like this. Not now. I need you!”
He shook his head. “I guess there’s nothing I can do about it. This is my destiny. If I’m to be a manager, then I will be the best manager that ever trod on the earth. I will do nothing half-way, father. Tomorrow I will go to Varas Industries and meet with some of the vice presidents.”
Valentino got in his car and started it up. He backed out of his parking spot and shoved the gear shift into first and then second gear.
Then the car exploded. It erupted with a tremendous force, so powerful that the Porsche rose ten feet in the air and then crashed back down in the midst of the fire ball. The wreckage burned hot.
CHAPTER 16
Galveston, Texas
On his way to the airport in the back seat of a cab, Jake got a call from Ashley.
“Ashley, are you alright?”
“Yes, I’m okay. I’m a little nervous to go out into public, but otherwise I’ve had no more problems, at least not yet.”
“Nobody’s following you or anything, are they?”
“No.”
“Are you sure? I worry about you—especially after all that’s happened.”
“That’s nice, Jake, but I’m fine, really. Don’t worry about me.”
“I’ll try not to.”
“The reason I’m calling is I just got a call from my linguist,” Ashley said. “You’re not going to believe this.”
“What?”
“I have to bring in a new expert.”
“Really?”
“Jake,” she said, “the artifact wasn’t Torres’ confession.”
“It wasn’t?”
“No, are you ready for this…?”
“Sure.”
“Well, here it goes. The Confession was Christ’s.”
Jake was speechless for a moment. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, I am. It was written in a Galilean dialect of the Aramaic language. That’s all my linguist can tell me. That and it was signed by Jesus, son of Mary, descendent of Abraham, Isaac, and David. I’m going to bring in a linguist more familiar with Aramaic.”
Jake was slow to respond. He didn’t know what to say. This claim about the Confession was the most astounding thing he’d heard in his life. He didn’t know if it could even be right, although it sounded like the experts were confident of the authenticity. He would be eager to learn more, but then again, he almost feared to hear anymore. “Listen, Ash. Keep me posted. Take care of yourself and be careful.”
“Of course, Jake.”
Jake glanced at the rear-view mirror. The cabby’s eyes were focused on traffic. He had a happy, peaceful look on his face. A crucifix was swinging on a chain swung from the rear-view mirror. The CD player was pumping out gentle Christian music. Jake wondered how this cabby would react if he’d been able to listen in on his phone call. Maybe he wouldn’t be so peaceful anymore. He might be riled up. Jake felt his own adrenaline surging. Could it be true? Or was there some confusion with the interpretation? He would have to wait to find out. He thought of the two men who had been killed in or by his fishing boat… Why would men be killed in connection with an alleged confession of Christ? Jake wondered. They had been ready kill Jake. They killed the drug addict in the boatyard. How explosive to the world could the discovery of such a confession be? He had no answers. He only knew that the killers were still out there somewhere, taking care of business with absolutely no restraint on their actions.
CHAPTER 17
Dubai, United Arab Emirates
Ajax was sitting at the window of the observatory of the Burj Khalifa, the world’s tallest building. He was sitting at his table in the restaurant on the 122nd floor. He felt invincible. The way he saw it, this was symbolic of himself and his life. Only two things mattered in life—money and image. To be better than the best, you had to make lots of money and spend lots of money. Then there was his image. He had to fill his life with iconic moments where he appeared to be at the top of the world. Where better to do that than the world’s tallest building? He was truly a superior breed of man, high above the rubble.
Ajax was tall, dark, and good-looking. He had close-cropped hair, worldly eyes, and a look of confidence that seemed to exude from him. He was clean-shaven, well-dressed, and had the look of a person in total control in any situation. His whole demeanor suggested that he could not be flustered in any situation. He would always know what to do. He walked with a swagger and gazed out on the world with bold, hungry eyes that always expected good things to happen. He was known to smile a lot because he was always coming off a profitable deal and knew more about how to translate money into fun than anyone alive.
Today was no different. He wasn’t visiting the world’s tallest building for sight-seeing or tourism. He was here on business, although his client had departed after their final meeting. Ajax had just sealed a hundred million dollar deal for Soviet-era Sukhoi Su-34 "Fullback" fighter jets. This wasn’t his typical arms deal either. Your typical third-world dictator was more interested in guns and missiles. That was the way that many of them thought. Gun and missiles were the solution to every problem. They were generally morons, but that was fine with Ajax. He would provide them with whatever they wanted. The more the better. He had scored double on this deal, which was not uncommon. He not only received a commission on the sale, but he also provided financing for 20% of the transaction. That meant he had personally just raked in $10 million dollars for a forty minute lunch meeting. He knew that he couldn’t live off that kind of income, but he was not worried. This was just one of many deals he did each month.
Ajax leaned back in his chair and glanced around at the cosmopolitan crowd comprised of Arabs, Chinese businessmen, and Westerners. They were scum because he didn’t know any of them. If they were successful, he would know about them due to their public image. After all, image was the second most important value in life. Who the hell were they, anyway? They were nobody.
Nobody in the world could work deals like he could—nobody. He would say and do anything to make a deal. He would lie, manipulate, mislead, intimidate, over-promise, under-promise, betray, whatever. His deals were bait and switch, smoke and mirrors, laugh today, cry tomorrow. Rules were for breaking. The appearance of ethics was a mere illusion used to create a distraction. Appearances and reality were rarely the same thing, and appearances
were much more important.
Ajax noticed two thugs heading in his direction—Westerners. They were easy to spot just based on their clothes and appearance. You could buy clothes like that from a street discount rack at a flea-market in Rio de Janiero. They were looking right at him, so he stood there to wait and see what was going to happen.
The little guy with the straggly beard looked like a shifty little bastard with his mocking, manipulative little eyes. Ajax almost liked the guy on sight, but he would withhold judgment. Anyway, he wasn’t in the market for a court jester.
Then there was the other one. He bothered Ajax. This guy was a menace to society. He had bad attitude stamped on his face. His eyes reminded Ajax of a cage figher he’d seen beat the crap out of another fighter in Thailand. The guy was a monster. He was a pitiless bastard. Ajax had seen it in his eyes. The eyes said, “Blink wrong, and I’ll rip your head off.” An angry bull—that’s what he looked like. Ajax eyed one of his executive protection specialists sitting at another table.
As the two thugs approached Ajax, his mind sifted through his last hundred clients and their bodyguards. Had he ever seen these two clowns before? He couldn’t recall them.
The court jester was smiling. His whole face was like a bad Mardi Gras mask—the squinty, manipulative eyes with their deceitful, mocking humor—the big brown eye-brows and the big mustache. Ajax wouldn’t trust this clown to park his Mazarati. Impulsively, Ajax stood up.
“Hold on there,” the court jester said. “Don’t be in such a rush.”
“Who the hell are you?” Ajax said. “I don’t need a shoeshine today.”
“A funny man, huh,” the court jester said. “Irina said you were like that.”
“Who?” Ajax glanced at the angry bull. He did not look happy.
“Your sister-in-law.”
“Who the hell are you?” Ajax said. “She’s dead.” Ajax smelled trouble, so he glanced over at his bodyguards. It wasn’t a get-rid-of-these-clowns look. It was a pay-attention look.
“She’s not dead,” the court jester said. “She’s very alive.”
“What are you talking about? She’s been dead five years.”
“Are you sure?”
“I went to her funeral. Now, I’ll give you one more chance. Who are you? And what are you up to?”
The jester said, “We work for Irina. She wants to see you.” Ajax had always wanted Irina for himself, but unfortunately, she had been married to his brother Nick. She had always rebuffed Ajax’s frequent advances.
“I’ll let you talk to her.” The court jester pulled out a cell phone and dialed. He handed the phone to Ajax, who took it, but glanced over at the other table. His men started to get up, but he motioned them to stay put.
The phone rang, and a girl answered. She said, “Ajax, don’t ask any questions. You’re going to want an explanation, and I’ll give you one, but I need to see you. I’ll be in your hotel room.”
“Irina, is it really you?”
“Yes, Ajax, I’ll explain when you get here.”
“It sounds like you, but how can I be sure?”
“Remember what you told me once at El Jefe’s birthday party? You told me that you craved power more than life itself.”
Ajax gasped, then said, “It is you.”
“Yes, and I must talk to you right away. It’s very important. Hurry.”
Ajax gave the phone back to the court jester. “You’ve done your job. Now beat it.”
The angry bull made eye contact for just long enough to let Ajax know that he would just love to break his face into a thousand little pieces.
Ajax smiled. He enjoyed humiliating the big man. Ajax wasn’t interested in fighting. He liked to crush people’s spirit and ego. He left the fighting to his bodyguards.
Ajax watched the flowing backs of their flea-market shirts as the two thugs walked out of the restaurant. Ajax sat down, unable to believe what had just happened. He knew Irina’s voice. It was her, alright.
The only problem was that five years ago, he attended her funeral. She shouldn’t still be alive.
Ajax started for the door. This meeting could not wait.
CHAPTER 18
Dubai
In his flowing, cream-colored, custom-made, two-thousand-dollar Italian suit, Ajax sauntered through the luxurious lobby of the Shangri-la Hotel as if he was royalty. His two bodyguards followed him in case there was trouble. The third had gone ahead to scout out the territory. A phone rang behind him, and a bodyguard took the call briefly.
“All clear,” he said to Ajax, who didn’t even acknowledge him.
Ajax’s room was on the 35th floor. Naturally, it was the best room in Dubai. Ajax always got the best. In this case, he knew one of the executives of the Hong Kong-based Shangri-La Hotels and Resorts because he had financed one of their projects. If it was any other girl, Ajax would have been wondering how impressed she was with the luxury room…
But Irina was supposed to be dead. He had personally attended her funeral. It was the only funeral where he had actually felt a loss. What was he supposed to say to a dead girl?
A thousand memories flooded his mind. It was no secret why he had been appointed as managing director of Asia for Santiago Bank, based out of Bangkok, Thailand. Godfather El Jefe Rosario—his own father—had wanted to get rid of him. El Jefe had wanted him far away and out of sight. There was so much bad blood that Ajax had tried to forget about, so much personal pain. It went back so far.
Six years ago, when he learned that his brother was promoted over him, Ajax had stabbed himself with a six-inch blade. Unfortunately, he had survived despite the blood loss and surgery. Ajax knew that he was considered an embarrassment to El Jefe because he was a massive “spendthrift” jetsetter who flew around the world buying houses, yachts, cars—and showing up on the covers of tabloids. According to El Jefe, he drew too much attention to the dynasty, which was largely a criminal enterprise. He was seen as irresponsible and a major liability.
Ajax’s older brother, Nick, on the other hand, had always pawned himself off as an ideal young man—smart, handsome, and clean. He was quiet and worked hundred-hour weeks while keeping out of the headlines. However, Nick’s true colors were revealed six years ago when he framed Ajax for his own crime—secretly giving El Jefe’s schedule to an assassin. Why? When Nick wanted help to pay off $3,000,000 in gambling debts, El Jefe had harshly rebuked him. El Jefe also publically humiliated Nick, saying “Both my sons are worthless. Nick is just like his mother—worthless.” After a failed assassination attempt, Nick tried to blame Ajax for selling El Jefe out, but Irina didn’t back him up. She knew the truth, but couldn’t prove it.
Godfather Santiago Rosario, known as El Jefe, was grandmaster of an age-old secret society called the Augean Command. It was made up of the super elite. He could not let Nick’s betrayal go unanswered or he would have lost face and be seen as weak and vulnerable. His adversaries would have smelled blood and tried to destroy him. He didn’t want to assassinate his son, however, because he had no other viable heir. Ajax was considered a danger to the organization because of his flamboyant lifestyle.
Nick was told by the godfather that he might escape death, but not without sacrifice. Either his wife Irina or his son must die in his place. El Jefe hired a hit man to run Irina’s car off the road. Unfortunately, Nick’s son was also in the car. That wasn’t supposed to happen. They both lived, but his son was crippled. He lost a leg. At home Nick learned that his wife Irina sacrificed her life to protect her son. She took their yacht out to sea and blew it up. That was five years ago. Now, however, she was… alive.
***
Ajax entered his immaculate penthouse suite and looked into the eyes of the past.
Irina was a strawberry blond with a gold-threaded headband. She had intense blue eyes and an attractive, aristocratic face. She had smooth features, a long, aquiline face, and a tall, lean body. She was a blond Cleopatra with dark makeup at the corners of her eyes.
&
nbsp; “Ajax,” she said, rushing to him and wrapping her arms around him.
“I don’t know what to say.”
She backed away. “Of course, you want an explanation. Don’t look at me like that. Don’t judge me. I had no choice. What choice did El Jefe give me? Surely, you would know better than anyone what he is capable of doing to other people.”
“I know about El Jefe. That doesn’t explain why you’re alive.” He looked her up and down.
“It’s not that complicated,” Irina said. “I had no choice. You know what happened. El Jefe tried to kill me and crippled my son as a result. I faked my death so that I could disappear and live. I sacrificed everything because my family cast me off like trash.”
“You deceived us.” Ajax acted as if disloyalty offended his morality. In fact, he found her deception to be attractive and exciting. It didn’t hurt that she was a sight to behold.
“How can you say that? Do you have any idea how I’ve suffered? I was forced to abandon my son and my businesses, my entire life.”
“You’ll excuse me if I don’t take all of this at face value,” Ajax said with a trace of contempt. He acted cold, but his skepticism didn’t take away from the fact that he was secretly enjoying this. He looked her up and down. He couldn’t believe his eyes. She was the ultimate statement. Ajax loved the image. Irina was as stunning as any woman he’d ever seen—and definitely alive. She wore gold silk pants and blouse that were pattered in golden $100 dollar bill images. She was gold and money on long legs. Images were everything to Ajax, and she was the ultimate vision. “Why are you here, Irina?”
