RAMIREZ'S WOMAN

by Beverly Barton

  Diego nodded. "Yes, I understand, el presidente."

  "Good. Good. Now that this is settled, come, join us for a late lunch. And tonight come back to the palace. I believe we will have much to celebrate then."

  "Regrettably I must decline the offer of lunch. My mother is greatly concerned about my young sister who has left home. It is a family crisis and I must do what I can to help my poor mother and bring my sister back to her family."

  "Yes, yes, of course." Hector rose from his chair and patted Diego on the back as he walked him to the door. "Be sure to watch television this afternoon at four-fifty. That bastard brother of yours will once again address the nation. But this time he will be saying what we want to hear."

  * * *

  At four-fifteen, just as Miguel and Dom entered Mario Lamas's office at the television station, Dom's cell phone rang.

  "I cannot believe this has happened," Mario said. "There must be another way to handle this. You cannot withdraw from the presidential race."

  Dom stepped outside into the hallway to answer his cell phone. Miguel prayed that the call was news about Jennifer. Geoff Monday had joined Vic Noble, who had in turn called in Will Pierce and every contact either man had in Mocorito had been assigned the job of finding out where J.J. Blair had been taken. So far, not one lead had panned out. Time was running out. In thirty minutes, he would have to make the most difficult speech of his life. He had truly believed that he would always put Mocorito first, above everything and everyone. Had he not been willing to risk the lives of his family and friends in order to save his beloved country? How was it that now he planned to forsake every pledge he had made to his people in order to possibly save one woman?

  Jennifer.

  Dom came back into the office, a look of disappointment on his face. He glanced at Miguel and shook his head.

  "If I refuse to do as the kidnappers asked, they will kill Jennifer," Miguel said to Mario.

  "You are being asked to choose between the woman you love and the country—the people—that you love." Mario shook his head. "No man should be asked to make such a choice."

  "You know what J.J. would tell you to do, don't you?" Dom said in English, knowing Mario would not understand him.

  Dom Shea's words fell on deaf ears.

  "And I wish I had the strength to do what she would want," Miguel said. "But I do not. I cannot let them kill her."

  "Damn it, man, don't you know that no matter what you do, they're going to kill her."

  No! He could not bear to hear the truth. And he knew, in his heart, that what Dom had been trying to tell him for the past couple of hours was the truth. No matter what he did, unless they could find J.J. soon, she would die.

  If she were not already dead.

  And if she could make the decision for him, she would tell him not to give in to threats, to tell her kidnappers to go to hell. She would expect him to stay in the presidential race and win.

  Suddenly Miguel's cell phone rang. All three of them stared at the phone clipped to his belt. With a slightly unsteady hand, Miguel removed the phone, flipped it open and took a deep breath.

  "This is Miguel Ramirez."

  Silence.

  "Who is this?"

  Silence.

  "Is someone there?"

  "This is Diego Fernandez."

  Miguel swallowed hard. "What do you want?"

  "I realize you have no reason to believe me, no reason to trust me. If I were in your shoes, I would not trust you."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "I know where Señorita Blair is being held."

  Miguel's heart stopped. "Why have you called? To torment me? I am here at the television station right now, preparing to announce my withdrawal from the presidential race at approximately four-fifty. What more can Hector Padilla ask of me?"

  "To hell with Padilla," Diego said. "I am asking you not to withdraw from the race. And I am telling you that if you come now, you can save the American woman. I can tell you where she is."

  "Why should I believe you?" Miguel's pulse raced, his heartbeat accelerated alarmingly. "Why would you want to help me?"

  Mario's eyes widened inquiringly. Dom Shea came over and mouthed, "Who is it?" as he narrowed his gaze and frowned at Miguel.

  "When you are elected president, I want a full pardon for any crimes I may have committed, in ignorance, on behalf of President Padilla," Diego said.

  "If I swear to give you what you ask for—"

  "I am only a few yards away from where she is being held," Diego told him. "Give me your solemn vow that you will pardon me unconditionally and I will tell you where she is."

  "I swear to you, Diego Fernandez, that when I, Miguel Cesar Ramirez, am elected president of Mocorito, I will pardon you for any and all crimes."

  "Come to Colima," Diego said. "They are holding her at the old Cristobal canning plant on the waterfront."

  The line went dead. Miguel closed his cell phone, then faced Dom as his mind went into overdrive trying to figure out what had just happened.

  "She's in Colima," Miguel said.

  "What the hell was that all about?" Dom asked. "You were swearing some kind of oath to your half-brother?"

  "Mario, go on television at four-fifty and tell the people that Miguel Ramirez will speak to them shortly, that his car has been held up by the thousands of supporters who are lining the streets and blocking traffic."

  "Yes, Miguel." With a stunned look in his eyes, Mario nodded. Miguel headed for the door, calling out to Dom without slowing down. "Let's go. I know where they're holding J.J."

  Following behind Miguel as he ran down the corridor, Dom called out, "How do you know that Diego Fernandez isn't sending you off on a wild goose chase?"

  "Why would he try to stop me from publicly withdrawing from the presidential race?"

  "Hell if I know."

  Dom kept pace with Miguel as he shoved open the front door and pushed his way through the horde of supporters who descended upon them.

  Once they finally made it to Dom's rental car, Miguel held out his hand. "Give me the keys. I will drive. I know where we are going."

  Dom tossed Miguel the keys, then rounded the trunk and got in on the passenger side. Miguel revved the motor, backed the car out of the parking slot and nearly ran over several people blocking the street.

  "Call Vic Noble and Will Pierce," Miguel said. "Tell them to meet us in Colima as soon as possible."

  Dom started dialing his cell phone immediately. "Exactly where in Colima do you want them to meet us?"

  "On the waterfront. At the old Cristobal canning plant."

  * * *

  Chapter 17

  « ^ »

  When he was a child, Miguel had come to Colima often with his grandfather and they had sat for hours fishing off the pier. Sometimes his grandfather's old friends would drop by and bring a bottle of tequila or some domestic beer and the men would reminisce about when they were young. Without fail, a man named Joaquin would recall one of his amorous moments with this or that young lady and Miguel's grandfather would have to remind him that there was a child listening.

  Joaquin would always rub Miguel's head, mussing his hair, and say, "Someday this one will be quite the man with the ladies."

  "Miguel will have more important things to do with his life than charm the ladies," his grandfather had said.

  The others would laugh and ask what could possibly be more important.

  The memory filled Miguel's mind as he parked the rental car in the middle of the desolate street in Colima.

  Dom glanced over at him and asked, "Is this it?"

  "No, the old canning plant is up at the end of the block." He pointed the direction. "I think it best if we walk the rest of the way. I have no idea exactly where Diego is waiting for us."

  "If he's waiting for us."

  When Miguel got out of the car, Dom followed him.

  Glancing over his shoulder as he headed up the street, Miguel replied, "You
think we could be walking into a trap, don't you?"

  "Anything is possible. We need to be prepared." Dom patted his hip where his holster was attached to his belt, then paused, bent down and hiked up his pants leg. There attached to his thigh was a small holster containing a 25-caliber pistol, at most four inches long. He withdrew the automatic and held it out to Miguel.

  "Take this and keep it on you," Dom said. "It's loaded. It holds a six-shot magazine and it's a single action."

  Miguel paused, turned and took the gun. After looking it over, he pocketed the pistol and continued walking. Since every building within a two-block area was empty, some in crumbled ruins, others dilapidated and on the verge of ruin, it was highly unlikely they would run into anyone. When they neared the end of the deserted street, Miguel paused and scanned the area around him, carefully looking and listening.

  "You stay here. I'll go the rest of the way alone," Miguel said. "If Diego is here and he was telling me the truth—"

  "There you go again, playing God, issuing orders and thinking you have to do this alone."

  "If Diego did set us up, there is no sense in both of us taking a chance, is there? If you hear gunfire, feel free to come to my rescue. Besides, if Diego was being honest with me, then J.J. is in that building and we're probably going to need backup. You should wait here for Will Pierce and the other Dundee agents."

  "Nice try," Dom said. "But I'm not buying. We've come this far together, we'll go the rest of the way side by side."

  Miguel would have argued, but time was of the essence. "If Diego is waiting for us, he is probably in the alley between these two buildings."

  Alert to every sound, prepared to act on a moment's notice, they crept down the shadowy alleyway between the old canning plant and the three-story brick building beside it. Halfway down the alley, Miguel caught a glimpse of a man's silhouette slinking along the wall, then disappearing into an alcove.

  Miguel glanced at Dom, who nodded and drew his 9 mm. They found Diego Fernandez pressed up against a closed door in the alcove. Miguel grabbed his half-brother by the lapels of his tailor-made sports jacket and yanked him out into the alley.

  "Where is she?" Miguel demanded.

  "In there." Diego nodded toward the canning plant. "I'm not sure exactly where."

  "If you're lying to me, I'll kill you," Miguel told him.

  "If she's not here, then Hector Padilla lied to me," Diego said, pulling away from Miguel. "He's the one who told me where they are keeping her."

  "Why should we believe you?" Dom asked.

  "Because I can go in there and take Miguel—or you—straight to her, past any guards. Everyone knows that I am a close friend of el presidente's."

  "Yeah, so we've heard," Dom said. "So why change horses in midstream?"

  "What?" Diego stared at Dom quizzically.

  "He is asking why, if you are such good friends with Hector Padilla, would you help me, a man you profess to hate?"

  "I do despise you, Ramirez," Diego admitted. "But President Padilla has proven that he is not my friend. I hate him far more than I do you."

  Miguel had to trust his gut instincts because there was no time for second-guessing. And his gut instincts told him that Diego was telling him the truth. He turned to Dom and said, "I will go with Diego. You stay here and wait for the others."

  "What others?" Diego asked.

  "You did not think we would come here without arranging for backup, did you?" Miguel's gaze clashed with his half-brother's.

  "Very wise of you." Diego nodded.

  Dom grabbed Miguel's arm. "I don't think you should—"

  "I have to be the one," Miguel said. "Put yourself in my place. If she was your woman…"

  Dom huffed out an exasperated breath. "Okay. Okay." He let go of Miguel's arm. "You two go in first, but if I hear one gunshot or get a gut feeling things are going down all wrong, I'll be a one-man cavalry to the rescue. And the minute the others show up, we're coming in."

  Miguel patted Dom on the shoulder, then turned to Diego and said, "I am ready."

  * * *

  The pain in J.J.'s side had grown progressively worse, but she hoped it was now about as bad as it was going to get. She figured she'd been here a couple of hours or close to it, since coming out of her drugged stupor. The outside light spilling through the high windows had begun to fade, which told her the sun would soon be setting. So far, she had seen only three men. Two goons that she pegged as flunkies and a third man who had ordered the other two outside to act as guard dogs.

  "I will keep Señorita Blair company until after the broadcast," he had told the others. "El presidente will telephone me personally when the time comes."

  "What broadcast?" she had asked.

  He had smiled wickedly, and she wondered why she had never noticed that evil glint in his eyes before now. "Miguel will make an announcement withdrawing from the presidential race at four-fifty this afternoon." He had glanced at his wristwatch. "In approximately three minutes."

  "Miguel will never—"

  "He will do it to save your life."

  "No, he won't," she'd argued. "Miguel knows that I would not want him to sacrifice the future of his country to save me." She had glowered at her captor, the man Miguel had called a friend. "Besides, he knows better than to trust his enemies. He knows I will be murdered regardless of what he does."

  "Love is blind, is it not, señorita?"

  If she had thought talking to this man, reasoning with him, would do any good, she would have talked her head off, but she knew he would show her no mercy. No matter what Miguel did, whether he withdrew from the presidential race or not, his dear and trusted friend, Roberto Aznar, was going to kill her. And she suddenly realized that the son of a bitch would enjoy killing her, would take pleasure in destroying someone who meant so very much to Miguel. How he must hate Miguel. But why?

  A loud knock sounded on the closed door.

  "Señor?" one of the guards called out. "You have a visitor. Someone sent from el presidente himself. He wishes to see the señorita."

  "Perhaps Miguel has already made the announcement," Roberto said as he walked toward the door.

  When he opened it, J.J. strained to see who their visitor was. But before she caught a glimpse of the new arrival, Roberto laughed and shook the man's hands.

  "Come in, Señor Fernandez, come in."

  "President Padilla has sent me to watch the execution," the man said. "He thought perhaps seeing you kill Ramirez's American whore would amuse me."

  When Roberto returned to the room, the other man came with him. She recognized him instantly. Diego Fernandez!

  "How do you plan to kill her?" Diego asked as he looked her over contemptuously.

  "I'm going to slit her lovely little throat." Roberto walked over to the chair in which he'd been sitting, reached down beside it and picked up a long, leather sheath. He removed a knife with a gleaming twelve-inch blade.

  "Why do you hate Miguel so much?" The question popped out of J.J.'s mouth before she realized she's spoken.

  Roberto glared at her. "Are you speaking to me or to Señor Fernandez?"

  "To you, you damn Benedict Arnold. I know why Fernandez hates Miguel."

  "Americans have such a strange way of speaking, do they not?" Diego chuckled, then glanced at her.

  What was that odd look Diego Fernandez just gave her? Had she imagined it? Or had he actually tried to communicate to her with that peculiar expression?

  "You, Diego, hate Miguel because he is your father's bastard son," she said.

  "I hate him for that, yes." Diego swooped down on her, his face right up in hers. "And I hate him for believing he, the son of a harlot, has a right to be president of my country." Eye-to-eye, his warm breath on her face, Diego whispered, "Be prepared."

  Be prepared for what? For Roberto killing her? No, that wasn't it. He would have shouted his comment from the rooftops if he hadn't wanted her alone to hear it. God, this didn't make any sense. If she didn't k
now better, she'd swear that Diego Fernandez intended to try to help her.

  He rolled his eyes and tilted his head backward ever so slightly as he backed away from her, then turned to Roberto, chuckling in a good-natured, buddy-to-buddy manner.

  "I am also curious, Aznar, as to why you hate my bastard half-brother. The whole world believes you are his good friend."

  J.J. glanced toward the closed door, wondering if Diego had been trying to signal her to expect someone to come through that door.

  Was she losing her mind? Had she become delusional? What made her think that Diego Fernandez would help her, that it was even remotely possible he had brought help?

  "I hate Miguel because he is a fool." Roberto placed the knife on the chair. "When we first became friends, I knew he would one day run this country, but what I did not realize was that he actually meant all the things he said, that the promises he made the people were actually vows he took seriously. He wants this country to be a great democracy, with equal rights for all. Even women." He glared at J.J. "He would make all people equal under the law."

  "And that is not what you want, is it?" J.J. asked.

  "I want money and power. I believed that Miguel was the man who could give me these things, that they were the things he wanted. But I was wrong. I thought as he gained more power, he would realize how foolish his lofty ideas were, but he did not. He was not the man I thought he would become. I now know that only Hector Padilla can give me what I want."

  Diego placed his hand on Roberto's shoulder and led him away from J.J. "You did bring a bottle of wine, did you not, my friend, to celebrate later?"

  "No, but I can send one of the men to a nearby cantina to pick up a bottle."

  He's taking Roberto's attention away from me, J.J. thought, and he is physically moving him as far away from me as possible. Was she right about Diego or was this simply wishful thinking on her part?

  Suddenly the outer door burst open. She caught a glimpse of Miguel as he stormed in, Dom Shea and several other men behind him. Roberto whirled around and knocked Diego aside, grabbed the deadly knife off the chair and lunged toward her. As he came down over her, aiming the knife directly at her heart, a single shot rang out. The bullet hit Roberto in the back of his head. Blood suddenly shot everywhere, spraying the floor and the walls and raining down on J.J. She clenched her jaws tightly to keep from screaming. As Roberto's body dropped to the dirt floor, the twelve-inch blade fell from his hand and landed on the ground only seconds before he did.