“You come back soon, okay, El Toro? I need more of that crazy love you got,” the smoker said, her tone professionally flirtatious.
“We’ll see.”
He pulled the door closed behind him, ready to be rid of the whores, and then moved to the darkened stairway. A radio crooned a plaintive song downstairs, where a cleaning woman was scrubbing away the prior night’s debauchery from the lounge area. He was just about to take the first step when two iron hands gripped his arms from behind and a black cloth sack descended over his head. He screamed and struggled, and then a sharp stab of pain shrieked from his neck. His legs turned to jelly and he drifted away, his last thought that somebody had made a mistake.
~ ~ ~
Colonel Campos took a final swig of black coffee from a china cup and placed it on its saucer, finished with his meal and ready to face the new day. The paper had been filled with the story of Gaspar Soto’s daring prison break and subsequent crash, as it no doubt would be for many weeks. Those kinds of headlines rarely happened and were a dream come true for the news outlets, which sensationalized and distorted as well as any of their North American brethren.
The planted piece about an antiterrorism offensive in the mountains north of San Felipe was below the fold on the front page, where it would ensure visibility. As intended, it was long on speculation and short on detail, other than getting across that there were prisoners being held at a nearby military outpost.
He pushed back from the table and rose. His housekeeper stood by the kitchen entry, waiting to clear the table.
“Will you be home for dinner, sir?” she asked.
“Yes, I expect so.”
“Very good. Shall I make your favorite? I can pick up some fresh fish this afternoon.”
“That would be wonderful, Mari. Expect me by seven.”
He strode to the living room and collected his things – his briefcase, a stack of reports he’d brought home to study several days before, his overcoat. It would take the rest of the week for him to feel completely normal after the sleep deprivation of the last few days, but he could manage, and it had certainly been worth it. Franco would have to be extraordinarily generous this time, and Campos knew exactly what he was going to demand – an additional percentage of the take from the smuggling activity through the port. Franco would bitch and moan, but in the end he’d concede. At this point it was purely ceremonial; Franco was about to become far richer, and Campos saw no reason he shouldn’t share some of that wealth. After all, it had been his soldiers who’d done the dirty work, and without Campos’s help Franco would have still been losing men at the mouth of the mine.
Campos swung the heavy front door open and walked down the steps, but stopped near the bottom when he saw the four armed military policemen on the sidewalk, their expressions stern. He recognized the officer with them – a particularly hateful prick from Santiago whom Campos had always considered a meddler and a fool. Major Ariana, he remembered, as the man approached.
“Colonel Campos, you are under arrest.” Ariana turned to the nearest soldier. “Place him in restraints.”
“What is the meaning of this? This is preposterous,” Campos protested as the MPs wrenched his briefcase away from him and twisted his arms behind him as they cuffed him. “I’ll have you broken, Major,” Campos spat, his tone as menacing as an attack dog’s growl.
“I’d keep your mouth shut, Colonel. Just some advice. Save it for your trial.”
“You have no right–”
The major stepped nearer, his voice quiet. “I said shut up.”
“Under whose authority are you acting? I want to know. It will go very badly for you, Major, and I want to know who else to ruin for this outrage.”
“Not that it’s any of your concern, but my orders are signed by the commander-in-chief of the army. So you can start your ruining at the top.”
Campos seemed to deflate as he absorbed the information, and his complexion turned gray as he glared at Ariana and saw nothing but confidence. Something had gone very wrong if the charges had come from the commander-in-chief, and Campos smelled Soto all over it.
But it was only a matter of hours until Franco found out, and then the tables would be turned. If Alejandro had managed to get to the higher-ups, they’d soon be swayed by reality once they fully understood the new lay of the land.
Campos squared his shoulders as the detail led him to a van, his dignity intact even under the difficult conditions. Irritants like Arianas were ants in the scheme of things, and now that the elder Soto, with whom all the personal relationships and power rested, was out of the way, this was nothing more than a road bump by some fools who would be very sorry for their impudence by day’s end.
~ ~ ~
Antonio could barely sit still as he listened to the report on the speakerphone in his father’s office. Franco’s face had aged ten years through the morning as bulletins had arrived from the field – his strongholds in Santiago had gone dark an hour and a half ago, and he suddenly couldn’t get anyone that mattered in the police department or with the government to accept his calls.
The voice of one of Franco’s lieutenants sounded panicked. “Two of the ships that we’re loading weapons on in Valparaíso have been seized by the military and the cargo searched.”
“Get Campos involved. That’s his backyard.”
“I tried. He’s not picking up. And my contact on the dock says he doesn’t recognize any of the officers directing the raid, so they aren’t his men.”
“What do you mean he’s not picking up? I’ll ask him myself. We have a meeting at my club in half an hour.”
“I tried calling Arturo in Santiago earlier to check through his channels, but he also didn’t answer,” the lieutenant said. Arturo was one of their most influential fixers in the capital.
“Stay where you are. This will be resolved within the hour,” Franco snapped and stabbed the call off.
“Any word from Bastian?” Antonio asked, a tremor in his voice.
“No.”
“What about that buffoon Rodrigo? Perhaps he can get some useful information from his network?”
“I expected him to call by now, but he’s probably sleeping it off somewhere. You know what he’s like. Worse than useless. Hard to believe he shares the old man’s genetic material.” Franco shook his head. “And the other one? Alejandro? If they’re mounting a counterattack, it’s got to be him pulling the strings now that Gaspar’s toast.”
“I’ve had my men looking everywhere. Some have yet to check back in, but all reported a substantial increase in the number of Soto enforcers on the streets. They couldn’t get near his usual haunts. Too dangerous.”
Franco looked at Antonio disgustedly and then eyed his wristwatch. “You can stay here and use my office as your base until I return. I need to sort out this idiocy at the wharf with Campos. There’s no way he knows about it,” he said, rising. He smoothed his oxford shirt and Hermès tie and angled to the coat rack where his blue blazer was hanging. “I want you to talk to the men you can get in touch with and have them plan to move on Alejandro’s likely headquarters. He’s no fool, but he’s got to be running this from somewhere.” Antonio began to speak, but Franco cut him off. “Saying you don’t know for sure where he is isn’t good enough, Antonio. You’ve had eighteen hours. Start producing results and not excuses. Do I make myself clear?”
Antonio nodded glumly at his father’s words. The rebuke was all the more painful since Antonio had assured him that he’d have Alejandro neutralized by morning – which had come and gone.
“Now, if you need to reach me, I’ll be at the club for brunch and then at the boat. I’ve got one of the engines being overhauled, and it’s taking twice as long as it should.”
“Don’t you think–”
“What I think is that I need people around me who can do their jobs, because if I have to do it for them, I don’t need them taking a cut,” Franco interrupted, not about to be scolded by his impudent offspri
ng. “Now if you don’t have any objections, I’m off.”
Franco was seething as he made his way to the elevator, accompanied by two somber bodyguards in dark suits. His mood wasn’t improved by the realization that his son didn’t have the grit to lead the organization when he retired. Antonio was fine dealing with the day-to-day, but in this, the first real time of crisis where Franco had needed to rely on him, he’d failed. There was no other word for his lack of performance with Alejandro. If he hadn’t been Franco’s son, Antonio would have already been floating in the harbor.
The underground parking lot was quiet, cars just beginning to arrive as the nearby offices came to life. Their footsteps reverberated off the polished concrete slab as they walked to his platinum Mercedes sedan, its chrome rims glinting in the fluorescent light. He normally maintained a low profile, but there were some things that warranted splurging for: his yacht, his car, his villa and vacation homes, his platinum A. Lange & Sohne perpetual calendar watch. The things that confirmed to him that the sacrifices he’d made had all been worth it.
The bodyguards stood on either side of Franco as he opened the car door, their eyes roving over the few surrounding cars, shielding him with their bodies. A uniformed security guard at the entrance waved at them, and one of the men nodded, preoccupied by monitoring the area for threats.
Franco’s cell phone rang as he slid behind the wheel, the AMG leather interior still exuding the rarefied aroma of new car. He waved his men away and looked at the number, but it was blocked. When he thumbed the call to life, all he heard was the sound of breathing on the other end.
“Who is this?” he demanded, his voice cracking on the last syllable.
Silence. Only the hum of the phone line.
Franco hung up and twisted the ignition, disturbed by the call. The Mercedes seemed to plump like a frank on a hot grill before it exploded in a fireball, and the doors blew off and hit the wall with enough force to gash a deep chunk in the reinforced concrete. Car alarms sounded throughout the space as flames belched from the vehicle, the thick clouds of black smoke billowing from the burning chassis creating a toxic fog in the garage that would prevent the fire department from putting out the fire for half an hour.
The security guard hurried from his position at the gate and dropped his red peaked uniform cap in a trash can as he made his way from the area, rushing against the pedestrians gravitating toward the blaze. A van skidded to a stop at the corner, and he hopped into the passenger seat, offering Hector a grin as the older man pulled away. He looked into the cargo bed, where two of Hector’s men were sitting, Rodrigo’s hooded unconscious form prone on the steel floor next to a large roll of heavy chain, and shook his head.
“You’d think he would have at least tried to scrub his call log.”
“Not the smartest. He really believed he’d get away with it,” Hector said. “But look at the bright side. It’s a lovely day for a boat ride.”
Chapter 41
Santiago, Chile
Jet hugged Hannah tight and then held her at arm’s length and looked her in the eyes. “You need to promise to listen to Matt. Just like it’s me, okay?”
“Otay.”
Jet rose to her feet and gave Matt a long kiss. “I’m going to miss you. Try to stay out of trouble on that luxury cruise. I’ve heard about how those cougars get.”
“With a broken wing, I’m not much danger.”
“You did all right.”
A single tear leaked from the corner of her eye. Matt wiped it away. She hugged him and whispered in his ear, “I’m so tired of this. I just want it all to be over.”
Matt stroked her hair and nodded. “Don’t worry. Everything will work out. Just be careful and take care of yourself. Don’t do anything stupid. Hannah and I are depending on your coming back soon.”
She sighed and cleared her throat. “Count on it.”
~ ~ ~
San Antonio, Chile
Alejandro gazed out over the water at the black and red hull of the cargo ship inching toward the harbor mouth, the tops of the cranes on the massive jetty beside it hidden by low-hanging fog. He’d personally arranged for Matt and Hannah’s departure two days after he’d officially taken over the Soto organization, refusing to allow subordinates to see them off. He’d given the woman his word that they’d make it onto the ship safely. Now that he’d discharged his obligation, he was free to focus on more pressing matters.
Gaspar was recovering nicely and would be smuggled out of the country later in the week, having chosen to remain dead in the eyes of the Chilean authorities and thus free to enjoy his remaining years and considerable fortune incognito in Spain, where one of his untraceable shell companies had invested in an oceanfront home southwest of Málaga.
Alejandro and Gaspar had never spoken of Rodrigo, and Alejandro preferred not to know how his father had handled the difficult matter of determining his guilt and meting out punishment. He had other issues vying for his attention, not the least of which was dealing with the army of attorneys that were already battling the government for Gaspar’s sprawling estate, more for symbolic reasons than anything else – “To keep it out of the clutches of the thieves,” Gaspar had said. And of course, cleaning up the remainder of the mess the Verdugos had left behind in Valparaíso.
Antonio had disappeared, which was just as well, Alejandro thought. There had already been too much killing. It was better to build bridges and incorporate the Verdugo crew into his organization than to continue on a vendetta. His father had preferred a scorched-earth policy, but had relented when Alejandro had argued the wisdom of allowing even those who had once been enemies to find prosperity under the Soto mantle.
Alejandro walked slowly back to the car, silently wishing the voyagers well, intuiting that the road ahead of them would be more difficult than for most. He hoped he’d never get a call from the woman, but knew in his heart that if he did, he’d move the earth to help her, just as his father would have – just as she’d done for them both.
~ ~ ~
“Where Mama?” Hannah asked Matt, her tiny hand nestled in his as they watched the port fade into the fog bank behind them. They were standing on the stern of the ship, the steady rumble of the engines beneath their feet reassuring, the black and blue bruises on Matt’s face already fading to yellow and orange.
“Mama is going to join us in our new home. In a little while. Like she told you this morning.”
“Why no Mama?”
“She has something very important to take care of.” Apparently Hannah’s selective two-and-a-half-year-old’s memory was hard at work.
“I want Mama.”
Matt’s jaw clenched as the big vessel’s bow swung north on its long journey up the Pacific coast of South America, ultimately bound for Long Beach, with an unscheduled stop off the coast of Panama to rendezvous with a local fishing boat that would take them to Panama City.
“Me too, Hannah. Me too.”
~ ~ ~
Jet stepped onto the tarmac at Chacalluta International Airport in the northernmost reaches of Chile and shielded her eyes from the sun. Gaspar’s plane had made the trip in two hours and would take off moments after landing for the return trip to Santiago, where it would become Alejandro’s toy. As Gaspar had suspected, the authorities had made a last minute inspection of the plane. Finding no Sotos on board and assured that it was a private charter, they’d disembarked, leaving her to her business.
A forest green Toyota 4Runner was waiting in the small parking lot next to the passenger terminal, just as she’d been told it would be. A pudgy man, badly in need of a shave, was sitting inside reading the paper, munching from a bag of chips. Jet approached and leaned into the passenger-side window.
“Estefan?”
The driver looked up with hungover Bassett hound eyes. “Ah. You must be…my fare.” He squeezed out of the Toyota and opened the rear cargo door. “You can throw your bag back here.”
Jet did so, wondering how the rusting conv
eyance was going to make it over the Andes – a route that would exceed sixteen thousand feet at its highest point. Estefan smiled as if anticipating her skepticism.
“Don’t worry. It has the heart of a condor and the soul of an eagle.”
She eyed the vehicle. “I’m more worried about the tires of a jalopy and the engine of a lawn mower.”
“I’ve done the trip many times.”
“In this?”
“Don’t worry, be happy.”
The road to Bolivia was largely empty and in far better condition than she’d expected. At one of the two volcanic lakes near the summit, Estefan pulled over next to a waiting semi-rig. “This is your ride across the border.”
She looked at the sad truck, which was easily older than she was. “Really?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be right ahead of you. Going into Bolivia doesn’t take that long, so no more than an hour.”
They got out, and the driver of the semi-rig greeted Estefan like a long-lost relative, and then showed Jet her berth – a slot barely a half meter high by two deep, with little more width than could accommodate her shoulders.
“I hope you don’t get claustrophobic,” Estefan said as the driver helped her inside the compartment, her bag wedged by her feet.
“Let’s get it over with.”
The ride, even though not long, was excruciating due to the truck’s poor suspension, and by the time she saw the sun again on the other side of the border, she felt as though every one of her fillings had been jarred loose, and she badly needed a shower.
Estefan was waiting when she crawled out, a wide grin on his meaty face, and she couldn’t help but laugh. The rest of the trip was anticlimactic after that save for herds of alpaca in the high plains and a breathtaking view of the twin snow-capped volcanoes, Parinacota and Pomerape, in the distance. The road stretched to the far mountains like a runway to the stars, the air crisp at the high altitude and clean in a way Jet couldn’t remember. True to his promise, the 4Runner chugged along valiantly, and they arrived in La Paz as twilight shadowed the sky.
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