The Grace Bay Agreement

by D. Alan Johnson

  “Good morning, Maria,” she said, barely noticing the secretary.

  Past the score of tiny classrooms where instructors sat with one student each, through the empty main classroom and into the kitchen, she paused to pour herself a cup of coffee. Back in the corner, beside a door marked “Personas Authorizados Solos”, Renee punched in a number and the door clicked open. She checked behind her to see if any curious students followed, and then pushed through to the main part of the building.

  Escuela Abraham Lincoln had been a private school teaching intensive English classes. When it had come up for sale a year before, Renee recommended purchasing the school because of the huge unused office in the back. The Unit director toured the facility, agreed that the location and security met the requirements, and the deal closed for cash within fourteen days.

  Within sixty days the group was able to lease the apartment building next door with its six apartments. They drove out the residents with rent increases or simply a large payment of cash. The renters all assumed that part of the drug cartel wanted the building, so all left willingly. The offices and the apartments were then joined by knocking a hole in the shared wall, and the Unit began moving in personnel.

  The school still taught students, but the advertising stopped, and most instructors were let go. Now, only a small group of instructors, mostly from the Unit, taught the remainder of students. Renee enrolled just enough youngsters to give the impression that Escuela Abraham Lincoln was still a going business.

  After walking down a short hall, she swung her purse beside the last door, her access card coming close enough to the sensor that a buzzer sounded and she pulled open the heavy door and strode into the command center. But her long legs could only take short steps due to the tight skirt of her gray business suit. A tall man in a dark suit stood to meet her.

  “We’ve got a problem. Some other agency has a man down here, and I don’t know who he is. He could gum up the works for us,” she said putting down her styrofoam cup.

  “What, no kiss?”

  “Phil. I’m not kidding around. This guy is one of ours and he’s not coordinating with us. We could have a real train wreck here.”

  “He’s probably a contractor for the cartel.”

  “No way. This guy is a good guy. Says he used to be an Army pilot. Then he tells me he’s from New Zealand!”

  “Calm down. I’ll get a man on it.” He took her elbow and guided her toward her chair.

  “I already did that. Last night Hector tailed him back to his hotel in the wharf district. This morning he followed him to a moving company where he apparently works as the manager.” She glanced down at a three-by-five card she pulled from her purse. “Using the name William Peter Douglas.”

  “Sounds like you don’t need me. You already have the mystery solved.”

  “But he’s not part of the Unit. If I find out the Agency is backdooring us, there’ll be hell to pay.”

  “An agency guy would be staying at the Sheridan with a cover as the head of sales for some multi-national. And having a real job at a moving company? Doesn’t fit,” Phil said.

  Renee nodded her head feeling much better. I don’t know how Phil always manages to calm me down, she thought.

  “If you’d like, why don’t you arrange to run into him again,” Phil said.

  “No, I think I’ll get Levi to meet up with him. He’d have a reason to go to the moving company more than I.”

  Wednesday

  03 December, 1999

  La Oficina Café

  Santa Marta, Colombia

  Levi Fernandez sipped his third coffee and watched the front door of Dos Hermanos Moving and Storage. Nearly noon, and Andres Gonzales finally walked out on his way to lunch with his wife.

  Levi paid his bill and ambled over to the front door, hesitated, and then went inside. Pete Douglas sat in a small glassed in office with his head in a ledger.

  “Hello, I need to see someone about moving some stuff to Texas. Do you guys do that kind of work?” Levi said in English. Pete came out of the office and stood at the counter across from Levi.

  “Yes, sir. We can give you a quote right away. I just need to get some information from you.” Pete picked up a pad and pen.

  “I’ve bought some nice furniture here and I need to move it back to my home outside of McAllen, Texas.”

  “Texas, huh? I’ve worked a lot in that part of the world. I’m Pete Douglas.” Pete held out his hand.

  “Levi Fernandez.” They shook. “Good to meet another Texan down here.” Levi saw Pete’s face get a sort of worried look. This guy is not a professional, Levi thought. He’s not into his new identity. He still dresses and talks like a Texan. He should be protesting that he’s from New Zealand, and trying to use that accent.

  “I’ve got some living room furniture, about a thousand pounds. Won’t even take up a twenty-foot container.”

  “Well, the way that these ships are around here, you’re much better off to have your own container. Even if you don’t fill it up. Too much chance of damage if you sent your furniture as bundle cargo. You’ll be surprised at the price. Almost the same as a bundle. We’ll have to ship the container to Houston first and then truck it down to McAllen.”

  After getting all of the information needed for a formal bid, Levi turned to go out the door. Just as he grabbed the knob, he turned.

  “What are you doing for lunch? It’s so nice to talk English, and to talk with another Texan. There’s a great café just down the street.” Pete hesitated just a little, then shrugged.

  “Sounds good. Just let me lock up here,” Pete said.

  In ten minutes, they sat at a small table in the back of an old building. Too hot to eat outside, the air conditioned dining room was dark and decorated with seascapes and antique nautical compasses, diving helmets, and harpoons. White table cloths under crystal and china lent more of a formal atmosphere than the outside of the building would indicate.

  “So what brings you to Santa Marta?” Pete asked after they had ordered.

  “I import jewels into the US.”

  “That sounds interesting. I’d think that you would already have your shipping arrangements all worked out with your business.”

  “Well, I don’t really ship anything. I carry the jewels in my pocket. I fly to the States once or twice a week with a few jewels in my pants pocket, and it provides me with a good living.” Levi leaned back and paused, thinking that since he had provided some information, Pete would now give him back something.

  “That seems like too little amount of jewels to make it worth your while.”

  “Oh, it’s very profitable. You see, I buy the stones right, and then I don’t pay the Colombian export taxes.” Pete’s eyebrows went up.

  “What if they catch you? Wouldn’t that mean a long stay in a Colombian intensive Spanish course?”

  “Well, yes. But the Colombians have an unwritten rule that they’re not gonna go through your pockets. If it fits in your pocket, it’s overlooked. They’re really looking for the guys smuggling out the ancient artifacts, you know, the museum stuff.” Levi squirmed in his seat a little. I’ve got to get the subject changed to Pete’s business and his background. This guy is getting a lot more than he’s giving out.

  “How did a Texan get into the moving business in Santa Marta?” After he asked the question, Levi could see Pete struggling to come up with a believable story.

  “Oh, I’m not really a Texan. Not anymore. After I got out of the US Army, I married a girl in New Zealand, and became a citizen there. So, I guess I have to say that I’m a Kiwi now.”

  “Colombia is a long way from New Zealand.”

  “Yeah, well, uh, my wife died. I decided to travel around the world. But I miscalculated how much money I’d spend. So, I’m only working here until I get enough money to continue on my way to the US to visit some relatives.”

  “Does the moving business pay well?” Levi asked. Pete laughed.

  “Hard to fi
nd a job here. I worked for free for the first week just to prove my worth to the guy. Now we’re negotiating what my pay will be.”

  The food came. Levi picked up one of his “Shrimp Diablo”, medium shrimp boiled in a spicy broth that dyed the shrimp red and imparted a Cajun-like pepper taste. Eating will give me a minute to think. I need to find out more about this guy. While he seems like an American, and he has something to hide, he just doesn’t scream out pro to me. How can I reel him in?

  “So where do you get the stones that you import?” Pete asked.

  “I buy them from a list of suppliers that I’ve developed over the years. Emeralds and diamonds, mostly.”

  “I didn’t know that Colombia had diamonds,” Pete said, between bites of his hamburger.

  “The diamonds come from Africa. They bring them over in someone’s pocket on the direct flight from Angola to Brazil. They’re smuggled across the Colombian border, and I get to purchase them in Bogota.”

  “Don’t you have problems with fakes?”

  “Oh yes. I’ve paid my dues. I had to learn quick, before I lost all my money,” Levi said as he remembered the first emerald that he had purchased. It was huge, flawless, and dark green. When he took it to his dealer in the states, he found out that the jewel was from the bottom of an old 7-Up bottle with a perfect cut and polish. Two thousand dollars down the drain on that one.

  “Look, maybe you could do some part-time work for me. Can you travel to the States?”

  “Yeah, there’s no requirement for a visa for Kiwis.”

  “How would you like to take a couple of diamonds to Houston for me? I would pay you well.”

  “Why do you need me? You make more money if you go alone.” Levi could see Pete’s suspicions. Maybe this guy is a pro. This will smoke him out. If he gives me some excuse about staying, I’ll know that he’s got an assignment.

  “I’ve made lots of trips this year,” Levi said. “I’m getting a little too well known to the Colombian immigration, the airline stewardesses, and the Houston customs. I can take care of business better here, and still have my stones moving to market.”

  “Why should you trust me? Maybe I’ll steal your jewels,” Pete said. Levi laughed and leaned forward.

  “My man will accompany you to the plane in Bogota. Then my buyer will meet you at the Houston airport. There’ll be little or no opportunity for you to run off with the stones. Besides, you’re a smart guy. You’d rather make several trips and make good money with no one chasing you, than just one trip and be on the run for the rest of your life.”

  “OK. That makes sense. Sure. When do I start?”

  With this answer, Levi leaned back in his chair to think.

  Well, now. This could be interesting, Levi thought. As a contractor for the Agency, they let him keep whatever profits he made running the business that gave him his cover. I could really ramp up my monthly profits if I get this guy making a couple of trips per month. Renee can settle down now. This guy is on the run from something. He’s not another operator.

  04 December, 1999

  Wednesday, 1715

  DEA Intelligence

  Alliance Airport

  Dallas, Texas

  Tuffy DuPree knew was going to be long night. He still needed to sift through the reports of the Turks and Caicos fiasco and then write his own report. Why can’t the Washington pukes read the agent reports and make their own judgments? No, they want the raw report, my report, and my boss’s report. Well, we did screw this one up. But who would have figured that they’d send their top hit man against a contract pilot?

  It should have worked out so that we let the cartels set up in T&C, and then we could have captured the big players and the big money. Now, we’ve scared the cartels back underground, and there’s no way to know where they might surface again. Plus we have a contract agent accused of two murders. Messy.

  Mary Warner came into his office with a cup of coffee.

  “I thought you might need this.”

  “Thanks, that’s very nice of you. I miss the days when I could ask a secretary to bring me a cup of coffee. But then, I’m just an old dinosaur.” He laughed. “I could probably get a counseling letter just for saying that to you.” Mary Warner smiled and sat down in the big leather chair across from his desk.

  “I miss those days, too. When I first started, I enjoyed taking care of my boss. There’s just too much tension in government offices these days about stupid stuff like coffee and complimenting a woman on her new dress.”

  “Tell me about it. Say, why are you here so late?”

  “Oh, I punched out, but I don’t really want to go home. Living alone is, well, lonely. I saw your light on, and I thought maybe I could help you some. I know you’re flooded with work after that Turks and Caicos thing.”

  Tuffy’s stomach flipped. This woman’s not supposed to know about the Turks and Caicos. Eileen Greenburg has been talking again. A spear of recognition went through his brain. Mary was hanging around late the other night, too. No one stays late just because they are interested in operations. He felt a tiny sting like electricity inch up his back and put his hair standing on end. Something’s fishy. I know it. I can feel it.

  “If you’d like to dictate your report to me, I’ll type it up. I’m really fast, you know,” Mary said, looking down at her fingernails. Tuffy took a big drink of his coffee to hide his reaction and to give him a minute to formulate an answer.

  “Mary, you’re a treasure, but I can’t. It’s against policy. Thanks for the offer, though. You go on home. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She smiled and got up. Did he see disappointment in her eyes? He saw her out of the building, then came back and locked his heavy door. After a minute he decided he had to do something and made the phone call.

  “Johnny. I’ve got a bad feeling about one of my secretaries. I need surveillance on Mary Warner. A team if you need it.” Pause. “Yes, Mary Warner. I want phone taps on her home and cell, photos of anyone she meets, anyone going into her house. The works. Yes. I’ll get you the authorization in a few minutes by email. She’s leaving the parking lot now. I want her followed. Now.”

  06 December, 1999

  Monday, 0750

  El Dorado Airport

  Bogota, Colombia

  Pete sat at the gate feeling better than he had since before the murders. Here was a chance to make some money on his own. Baranski hasn’t answered any of my emails. No telling when that credit card will max out. Besides, getting back to the states will be good. Then I can start my search for Jose Leal.

  He shivered. Bogota was cold, colder than he had expected, and the light sports jacket didn’t keep him warm at all. I am going to freeze in Houston, he thought. Actually, the bank did a great job shopping for clothes while they were hiding out in Providenciales. It’s just that they got all tropical stuff.

  He touched the pocket of his gray dress pants again, and felt the two diamonds in the left, and the three emeralds in the other. I wonder how hot these stones are. The biggest diamond was the size and shape of his thumb, clear with a yellow hue. The other one was only about half the size and white. The three emeralds looked identical, each as big as a nickel and half an inch thick.

  Passing through Colombian immigration was a snap. I guess that’s a good passport. We’ll see when we hit Houston. He sat down next to a businessman who was already asleep.

  The five hour flight passed with the help of the inflight movie and a midmorning snack. In Houston, immigration and customs went like an assembly line, the agents processing a mass of people from the Korean Air 747 arriving at the same time as their flight.

  At 1:59 p.m., Pete pushed the door open that divided the customs area from the unsecure lounge where hundreds waited for friends or relatives arriving from overseas. He saw a man fitting the description of his contact: Medium build, bald, a playful smile and wearing a black cassock. The priest approached Pete and held out his hand.

  “You must be Peter Douglas. I am Father Kirk, but y
ou can call me Kirk. When did your train come in?”

  “Hi, Kirk. It wasn’t a train, it was a goat.” They both laughed and started walking toward the parking garage.

  “Whoever came up with that one deserves a prize,” Kirk said.

  “Well it fits all the rules for a passphrase. A question that’s not liable to be asked by anyone other than your contact, and a reply that no one else would ever say.”

  “This is my van. Here, throw your bag in the back.” Pete tossed his roller bag up into the back of a fifteen passenger van with ‘Our Lady of Sorrows Catholic Church’ painted in black letters on the side. Then he got into the right front seat. In three minutes they were out of the airport and onto the Beltway.

  After a few miles the priest exited, drove down a seedy looking boulevard and stopped at a storage unit complex. After driving inside, he pulled into one of the alleys, and got out. Keys in hand, he looked both ways before opening the lock and walking into the unit. Pete hesitated, and then followed.

  Father Kirk turned on the lights, and Pete had to squint in the brightness. Kirk locked the door behind them, and Pete noticed the extra reinforcement around the door and walls. The interior of the storage unit was insulated and air conditioned, looking more like a laboratory than a giant closet for one’s extra stuff. A workbench ran along the right side, and a strange apparatus sat on the bench. Next to it, Pete recognized a microscope.

  In the back, there was a nice kitchen, a small room that Pete assumed was a bathroom, and a twin bed with matching bedspread and pillowcases. The living quarters were better decorated than the lab section, even to having pictures on the wall.

  The priest unbuttoned the thirty-three buttons of his cassock, each button representing a year of the life of Christ. He wore a white button down shirt and Levis underneath.

  “Man, this outfit can get hot. It’s one of the reasons I left the priesthood.” Kirk held out his hand. “May I see the stones?”