Zero Sum

by Russell Blake

  For now, a while would have to do.

  They spent the rest of the afternoon in the airport business lounge. As if by mutual agreement they avoided any discussion of the drama and violence on the island, preferring to keep to more pleasant territory. As the day wound down, Steven used one of the lounge computers to check online, and saw that Spyder had responded to his query. He suggested staying at a place called the Alvear Palace Hotel, in the Recoleta district in the city center, wherever that was. He wrote it down and returned to Antonia, who was surveying the crackers and peanuts provided by the airline with something short of enthusiasm.

  Restless, they wandered around the terminal to kill the remainder of their wait, ate an unremarkable dinner at the airport restaurant, and then boarded their plane for the trip to Argentina.

  They dozed all the way to Buenos Aires.

  Checkmate: Chapter 7

  Ministro Pistarini airport was a good hour drive from downtown, located in a rural area far on the outskirts of Buenos Aires. When the plane’s wheels screeched down on the tarmac it had just turned 6 a.m.; barely light out. By the time they got through customs it was 7:00. They made tracks to the cab line and asked the driver to take them to the hotel. Steven figured that in the dead of the Argentine winter, in the middle of an economic downturn, it wouldn’t be that hard to get a room; even absent a reservation.

  The sky had a grey, sullen air – discharging a constant drizzle on roads slick with oil and water and sundry bits of debris.

  The city was a huge, urban sprawl spanning many miles. Quintessentially Latin-looking high-rise apartments cluttered the horizon; stained concrete towers with dilapidated balconies stretching skyward; ugly and tawdry and smacking of financial hardship. The outer reaches were not an attractive place, with the ever-present shanty towns giving way to slightly less prosaic tenement-level housing in the shadows of the city; progressively improving in quality towards the center of Buenos Aires proper.

  Once downtown, the surroundings transformed into those of a European capital, with huge boulevards, monumental French-style architectural masterpieces, and block after block of stone edifices and super-modern high-rise glass buildings.

  The hotel was situated a few blocks from the massive La Recoleta Cemetery, where Eva Peron was buried; a moneyed area, with Chanel and Gucci stores strategically positioned amongst high-end jewelry stores and banks. Their cab pulled up to the 19th century building, and they found themselves descended upon by a uniformed doorman with an oversized umbrella, who whisked them up the stairs into a lavish, old-style marble lobby replete with stunning chandeliers, tapestries and oils, and all the usual grandiosity that places catering to the ultra-wealthy convey.

  Antonia approached the desk and in Spanish requested a room. After much discussion and bowing and scraping, a suite was provided. They were shown to their quarters by a crisply dressed bellman. When the hotel doors opened at their floor, there was a butler standing proudly in the elevator lobby area. Every floor had one.

  Once they were comfortably ensconced in their digs, Steven asked how come they were able to get upgraded and why they’d been treated so well.

  “Simple. I showed them my card. When you’re the publisher of one of the world’s leading travel magazines, hotels tend to notice,” she said, smiling.

  They were both exhausted after sleeping only fitfully on the long plane journey, so they decided to nap for a few hours. They showered and crawled into bed, exchanging soft, warm kisses as they snuggled together. Both were out within minutes.

  They awoke in the hour before noon, and after a quick, refreshing session in the shower they prepared to explore the town; Antonia, as always, was feeling famished. Steven wanted to acquaint himself with the geography of the area. He checked his e-mail on the Blackberry, which to his surprise worked flawlessly in Buenos Aires. Gordo had e-mailed him with the name of a reputable investigator. Steven wrote the name, address and phone number down.

  He still had the Anguilla micro-cell he’d gotten from Alfred, but it was dead. Another one for the garbage. He made a mental note to pick up a disposable phone first thing.

  They descended into the lobby, where the hotel valet loaned them umbrellas before they exited; it wasn’t so much raining as misting, but they were thankful to have them nonetheless. Wandering around the little neighborhood, hand in hand, they came across a cell phone store just around the corner from the hotel; and so within minutes, with Antonia’s help, he had a new, untraceable phone.

  Antonia grabbed a few empanadas – little meat-filled pastries – from a small restaurant across the street from the famous cemetery located only a few blocks from the hotel. They decided to explore it, having not much else to do with their time.

  They spent the remains of the morning wandering around the labyrinthine grounds of the huge graveyard. In Buenos Aires the custom was to build small buildings for the tombs – you descended the stairs of many of them into shadowy underground chambers, where the coffins lay beneath a scant veneer of dust. Others housed ornate stone caskets hewn from the same rock from which the buildings were constructed. It reminded him of the cemeteries in the Garden District in New Orleans.

  They were in the far end of the walled cemetery, which easily covered six square city blocks, when Steven noticed a sketchy-looking character shadowing them a few aisles down. He also noted they were in a section of the cemetery with no other people around. He started to get an alarmed feeling. He whispered to Antonia.

  “Don’t turn around, but I think we’re being followed. Let’s start picking up the pace. I think we’re being set up for a mugging.”

  Her eyes grew large and she nodded imperceptibly. They began to increase their gait, making a bee-line for the entrance, where there were guards in attendance.

  “Do you think it’s the people who are after you…how could they have found us?” she wondered, as they moved quickly down the narrow pathway.

  “No. I think it’s gypsies, or some local thieves. I didn’t see any weapon – and the one I got a good look at seems pretty low-end. I don’t think we have a lot to worry about, but why tempt fate?”

  Steven didn’t want to have another altercation while Antonia was around. She’d already been exposed to enough violence.

  “It was probably dumb to wander this far into the grounds without noticing that the crowds were gone,” he admitted.

  The Thursday morning streets had been empty, with most of the natives at work or in school, and there were few tourists in Buenos Aires in the middle of winter. It was just plain stupid of him.

  He saw another figure shadowing them on a parallel path a few rows down on the opposite side – they were flanked on both sides. When they reached the next tomb, Steven stopped her with his arm, and they turned and moved up between the tombs to where the second man had been. They peeked around the corner to observe him further along his path – about twenty yards, looking down a different row in the direction that they’d just come.

  So he was right about being followed. His grip on the umbrella tightened instinctively.

  They crossed the path quickly and ran up three more tomb aisles and then cautiously resumed their approach to the main entrance. The closer they got, the less likely a problem would occur. They peered down each row of tombs before crossing and moving.

  Nothing.

  Another row.

  Nothing.

  They wheeled wide around another corner towards where the entrance should be; and there was the first man, about thirty feet away, in a tattered and filthy multi-colored sweater, looking around with a puzzled expression.

  They spotted each other at the same time. Steven and Antonia ran down the path towards the guard area, and almost collided with one of the security officers rounding a corner. Antonia explained in rapid-fire Spanish what had transpired, and the guard quietly radioed on his walky-talky, calling for backup.

  Crisis averted, they made their way the rest of the distance to the main gate and departed the
grounds. What should have been a mild diversion had developed into an unsettling promenade, and a reminder that they weren’t in Kansas anymore.

  They kept on moving, away from the cemetery area towards the Park Hyatt, where the concierge had waxed lyrical about a number of fabulous restaurants huddled beneath an overpass. On the way past, Steven stopped at their hotel to check on the safety of the area; the hotel receptionist told them that the streets were generally safe for a couple, but that it was unwise for a single female to wander them. Reassured that they were likely fine as long as they stayed on the main arteries, they approached the overpass area, and sure enough, there stood an array of eight different dining establishments built under what resembled an elongated tunnel, with one of the big boulevards running overhead.

  Antonia’s heart was set on the Argentine steak restaurant, insisting their first meal had to be beef, beef, and more beef. Argentina was renowned for its beef, and Steven had no beef whatsoever about her selection – so beef it would be. They ordered and discussed the battle plan while they waited for the steaks to be seared to their liking.

  “I need to interview a private investigator, and do some research on this Terrasol company. If I’m lucky, we’ll know what’s going on within a few days, and we’ll be able to figure out where we go next on our adventure,” Steven told her.

  “I can help you,” Antonia reasoned. “My Spanish is good, whereas yours is abysmal. Let me come along…”

  “It’s true. And while I appreciate the offer, as we saw in Anguilla there’s some real danger involved, and I won’t have you exposed, honey.”

  Steven wasn’t going to endanger her. He had no idea what lay ahead in Buenos Aires, but he had no intention of letting Antonia be anywhere near when he was ‘working’.

  “I suppose eating dinner with you is too risky, then, because that’s what we were doing when we were attacked,” she observed through narrowed, hazel eyes.

  Ouch.

  “Look, you’re now the most important thing in my life, and if these animals think they can get to me by hurting or using you, they will. I won’t take that risk. I need to keep you away from anything I’m doing here, Antonia. Sorry.”

  He was determined not to let her convince him otherwise.

  She considered him for a long time. “That’s sweet. Maybe you are more than just a sex toy after all.” She took a sip of water, then her eyes brightened. “If I can’t play super spy with you, then I’ll go shopping. I’ve heard Buenos Aires has amazing shopping. Maybe I can even find you some reasonable clothes,” she suggested.

  Their steaks arrived, big and bad and tender as could be – every bit as wonderful as Argentina’s reputation promised. They ate ravenously, making noises of approval as they gourmandized together.

  Steven waved a forkful of the succulent, marbled beef. “Let’s see if there’s someone who can escort you from the hotel to the shopping areas, while I deal with the detective. I thought I heard you complaining that you needed more clothes.”

  “Oh, caro, that’s a wonderful idea. Two sweaters won’t last me very long. And perhaps I can even find you something that doesn’t look like hand-me-downs!”

  They finished their platters and took a leisurely stroll back to the hotel. Antonia arranged for a shopping guide while Steven called the number Gordo had given him.

  “Buenos dias. Ferreira Investigationes.”

  Steven asked to speak with Mr. Ferreira: “Buenos dias. Es posible hablar con Senor Ferreira?”

  “Si. Momento.”

  “Hola,” a male voice greeted.

  “Hola, do you speak English?” Steven asked.

  “Yes. May I be of help?”

  “I’m looking for a private detective to investigate a company in Buenos Aires. Is that something you can do?”

  “Yes, we specialize in corporate investigations. Would you like to come in and discuss the matter, Senor...?” Ferreira asked.

  “Cassidy. Sure. Would today be a good day?”

  “Si, of course. Do you know where my offices are located?”

  “Yes, I can find them,” Steven said. “I’ll be there in an hour.”

  “Bueno. Until then, Senor Cassidy.”

  Antonia was in an animated discussion with a woman from the hotel concierge staff. As Steven walked over, Antonia introduced her as the shopping director.

  He introduced himself. “Nice to meet you. I’m Matthew.”

  Antonia glanced at him, didn’t miss a beat. “Isabella is going to show me where I can buy anything I can think of. She’s Italian!” she exclaimed, eyes bright as diamonds.

  “How wonderful. Antonia, can I interrupt for a second?” he asked.

  “Of course. Isabella, just a momentito, okay?”

  They walked a few feet away while Isabella studied the walls.

  “Sorry about the Matthew thing, but we can’t be too careful. We should have discussed this earlier. As long as we’re here in the hotel, I’ll be Matthew, okay?”

  “Okay, Double-O-Seven, Matthew it is. Should we speak in code, too? The red lion sees the white bird flying overhead?” she asked, deadpan.

  “I know it seems dumb, but I just want to make sure you’re safe. Will you please do this for me?”

  She softened. “Oh, caro, I was playing. Of course I will. Hmmm. Will you still be Matthew when I’m…” and she whispered in his ear. “Why, Matthew, I think you’re blushing! Do you have a fever? Maybe it’s a cold, eh?”

  And she spun around to go shopping with her newly-discovered relative. She blew him a kiss. “Ciao, Matthew!”

  Shortly after they left the hotel, Antonia stopped and asked her new guide-friend if there was a phone from which she could make an international call. There was a long distance service bureau a block away. So they made their way to the glass-fronted building.

  Antonia excused herself once she was inside.

  “I’ll only be a few minutes. I just need to take care of some loose ends back home,” she explained.

  “No problem. I completely understand.”

  Antonia retired to one of the booths. Once inside, she opened her little purse, withdrew an address book and placed it on the shelf under the phone, carefully considering her next move. Steven had explained more of the detail of what he was doing, and how he hoped to get out of this mess, but she wasn’t convinced he’d thought it through. He needed help. Of course, she’d never come right out and say it, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t take some steps, make some calls, and see if she could nudge fate into a more compliant direction. She was the owner of a well-respected publication, and that world, especially the New York literary and publishing world, was small.

  She had a burgeoning idea of sorts; vague and amorphous, but the outline of a tandem effort that could help had crystallized in her mind as they’d spent more time together. The trick would be in executing it so she didn’t introduce any more complications into his life or give away any information, or put them in any danger. This would be delicate; something she preferred to do on her own.

  She hoped it was the right thing.

  One commitment she’d made to herself after the fight on the island was never again to be passive and let events carry her along. This wasn’t Italy, and she wasn’t a child anymore – and there was no way in hell she was going to just stand by in silent horror as the world came crashing down on a loved one; with evil men ruling the day yet again. Antonia needed to do something, but something subtle, leaving the brunt of the heavy lifting and chest pounding to Steven. If she could improve his chances of ending this, could help in unseen ways by making surgically precise moves, she was going to pull out all the stops she could get her hands on.

  She dialed the first number.

  Checkmate: Chapter 8

  Steven’s taxi stopped in front of a severe, four-story office building of concrete three miles from the hotel. Steven paid the driver, and ducked under the building’s awning to dodge the afternoon drizzle. Consulting the directory, he found t
he entire third floor was held by Ferreira Investigations. He proceeded upstairs and introduced himself to the receptionist; a stunning twenty-ish Latin beauty wearing a skintight top and pants that looked like they’d been airbrushed on.

  Argentina. So far, a great country.

  He was escorted to a large office in the back, where a medium-sized balding man with a mustache rose from behind an obviously expensive desk to greet him.

  “Senor Cassidy. Nice to meet you.” They shook hands.

  “Senor Ferreira. A pleasure.”

  “Please, call me Domingo. Or Dom.”

  “Ahh, Domingo. Then please call me John.”

  Steven was going to have to start writing all his names down. Matthew. John Cassidy.

  Yikes. This was getting complicated.

  “Well, then, John. What brings you to my humble firm?”

  “Domingo, I have a laboratory equipment export company I’ve been approached by a local group to partner with. I want them checked out, thoroughly.”

  Steven had decided that unless he had attorney-client privilege he wasn’t going to tell a straight story, no matter how highly recommended the PI.

  “Of course, that is what we do. A full investigation, including photos of the principals and a full company background check is three thousand dollars.”

  That was interesting. Photos. “Why do you take photos?”

  “Ah, well, in Argentina, sometimes the people representing themselves to be, shall we say, in business, turn out to not be connected with the company they are claiming to be with. We’ve found it helpful to take pictures of all the senior officials to verify who you are talking to is who you should be.”

  Domingo knew his business.

  “Sounds like a good idea.”