by Trevor Scott
“Gomez has instructed us to fly them to their location, but then to return to Portugal,” she said, her Catalan accent seeping through.
“Understood,” Jake said. Gomez must have had someplace in mind for Jake. He pointed his finger at the pilots and said, “Make sure I know where they go.”
The chief pilot gulped and said, “Yes, sir.”
Jake had intimidated both of the pilots in the past, and he was certain that they had found out a few things about Jake over the years. Enough to make them fear Jake.
Shaking the hands of the two pilots, Jake turned to the flight attendant and kissed her on both cheeks.
Then Jake stepped out into the sun and put on his sun glasses. Despite the bright orb, the air temperature was not as warm as he would have suspected. After picking up his large go bag from the concrete, he stepped across the tarmac toward a black Skoda sedan.
The tinted driver’s window powered down and Jake had to look twice to recognized the driver. Finally, when he realized it was Sancho Eneko, he smiled at the younger man and said, “Holy crap. What the hell happened to you?”
Sancho Eneko was a former hacker who Jake had liberated from hiding and hired into the Gomez organization to run their secure communications. He was a Basque, but had grown up in the cowboy country of Northern Nevada. Nearly every law enforcement agency in the world was searching for Sancho. Most European governments wanted him dead; the others simply wanted to exploit his talents.
Sancho rubbed the stubble on his head. “This is much easier to wash than the long hair.”
Jake laughed. “When I first met you, I thought you might be a cross between the missing link and Sasquatch.”
“That’s harsh. But true. You need some help with that bag? Of course, you don’t. You’re a big stud. Balls the size of lemons.”
“Just pop the trunk, asshole.”
9
Douro Valley, Portugal
Port wine was king in this area of Portugal, Jake knew. He wasn’t a huge fan of the commercial products shipped to the undiscerning palate, which were mostly unimpressive, sticky and more inclined to be a rendering agent for a nice steak glaze. But Jake had been given a number of really fine Port wines while living in the Azores. And he had enjoyed sipping a good Port after dinner as he watched the waves of the Atlantic come ashore at his house on the coast. Now, of course, those would just be memories for his old age, thanks to those Chinese intel officers disturbing his peaceful existence.
Sancho Eneko drove slowly along the ridge of the hills overlooking the plush green hills, where vineyards seemed to be everywhere from the top of these hills to the Douro River below.
The two of them had not said much since the younger man picked Jake up at the airport. Most of that was Jake’s fault. He still had a bit of trepidation being forced to leave his home in the Azores. It wasn’t like he had been entirely content, though. His heavy doses of alcohol each evening had given way to day drinking, and that was never a great idea.
Now, Jake glanced at the right rearview mirror, noticing a car that had been following them since they got off the freeway miles ago. But it wasn’t like drivers had a lot of choices in roads to travel along the Douro, so it could be just a coincidence, he guessed. Still, he felt the Glock under his left arm and felt comfort in its presence.
“Alright, Sancho,” Jake said. “Tell me about how you’re doing in Porto.”
“My God. I thought you might be dead over there.”
“I’m not dead yet.”
“First off, was that Sirena I saw at the airport?”
“Sure was.”
“Gomez didn’t call her to this meeting?” Sancho asked.
Jake said nothing.
“It looked like her sister with her.”
“She’s just a friend,” Jake said.
“A hot friend.”
“Easy, computer boy. She’s too old for you. And experienced. Besides, I thought you were more asexual.”
Sancho shrugged. “The women of Portugal might have cured me.”
Good to know, Jake thought. “What do you know of this meeting?”
“Nothing. Gomez told me to pick you up at the airport and you would know where to go. I punched the GPS coordinates into my phone and here we are.”
“I understand you’ve compiled a decent team.”
“Decent? I have the best people from Europe and beyond. You should come by after this meeting to see how our place looks.”
“What do your people know about us?”
“None of them know your real names,” Sancho said. “We’ve given each of you code names.”
“Really. Why am I just hearing about this?”
“It’s an internal issue. It insulates them from knowing too much about you.”
Interesting. But a good idea. “So, what do they call me there?”
Sancho cleared his throat and shifted his eyes toward Jake briefly. Finally, he said, “We simply call you Scary Dude.”
“Could be worse. And Sirena?”
“Hottie One.”
“Is there a Hottie Two?”
“Not really. We have other women working in the organization, but they have more prosaic monikers. The two of you were the first hired, so it makes sense that we’d give you special treatment.”
“Awesome. I wonder if we’ll have a Christmas party next year.”
“That would be really cool.” After a brief pause, Sancho continued, “By the way, Gomez has purchased two more G5s to handle the additional security operatives.”
“That should keep things running smoother,” Jake said, his eyes shifting toward the car following them. “Did Gomez tell you he was in town?”
“No. But when I was told to pick you up, I had a feeling Gomez was close. He said that you and Sirena were nearly killed on Pico Island. You barely escaped. Four dead.”
“I’m guessing you know more than you’re saying,” Jake said.
“Has anyone said you’re like a human lie detector?”
“Are you trying to lie to me?”
“No, no. I’m just saying. You seem to know what I’m thinking.”
Jake had been told. Some of that was innate, but he guessed much of his insight came from decades of sifting through lying liars. “Tell me what you know about those we were forced to kill.”
“How do you. Never mind. Anyway, I hacked into the Madalena Police database on Pico Island. They still haven’t identified the four men killed at your place. Their fingerprints and DNA are not in any European system, including Interpol. So, I checked into the Chinese diplomatic system in Portugal. By the way, the Chinese ambassador to Portugal in Lisbon is pissed.”
“How do you know this?” Jake asked.
“Oh. Well, we have a Chinese hacker from Taipei on the payroll. We sent the ambassador’s emails to her. Totally encrypted, of course.”
“Obviously.”
“Anyway, I was finally able to access the Ministry of State Security personnel database in the People’s Republic of China. Bureau Two. The International Intelligence Division.”
“Are you serious?”
“Dead serious,” Sancho said. “I knew you would want this information.”
“Damn straight.”
“I pulled their files, which were sketchy at best. And our lady in Taiwan sent me a brief breakdown on each man. They’re part of a para-military branch of Bureau Two. Very deadly. Former Chinese special forces.”
“Well, they weren’t that special.”
“That’s because they went up against Scary Dude and Hottie One.” Sancho shook his head as if he were listening to his own soundtrack.
Jake wasn’t surprised by the identities of those he had been forced to kill, but he was still unsure who had sent them his way. He still thought it could have been something to do with his activities in China over the years. The Chinese were patient bastards.
Sancho angled down toward the river and crossed a bridge to the south side of the Douro River. Jake no
ticed that the dark SEAT sedan continued to follow them, which was now becoming less of a coincidence. Unfortunately, the driver stayed back far enough so Jake couldn’t identify the individual. Soon they wound around a corner and Jake could see a familiar object docked at a pier along the river. It was the massive yacht owned by Spanish billionaire Carlos Gomez.
“The boss is here,” Sancho concluded. “We heard rumors that he might be buying a vineyard in the Douro Valley. Maybe this is it.”
In a quarter mile, the GPS had them turn right onto a private road, which would lead them up the hill to an estate. The car following them had continued up the river.
At the top of the hill was a stone entrance with an electric sliding gate, which was open. In Portuguese and English, a sign read that the tasting room was closed for the season.
Sancho parked and shut down the engine. He turned to Jake and said, “I wasn’t invited to this meeting. So, I guess I’ll just hang out here for you.”
“No. You can at least wait inside.”
“Are you sure?”
“Scary Dude says yes.” Jake smiled and got out, heading toward the front entrance of the estate.
Sancho Eneko caught up to Jake and said, “Have I mentioned I like hanging out with you? Except for all the bullets that seem to fly your way. You’re like a walking MRI, sucking up lead with your magnetism.”
A couple of large security guards deferred and gave way to Jake and Sancho as they entered the estate.
“Seriously,” Sancho whispered. “Last time I came across those guys, they practically gave me a prostate exam. They felt me up like San Francisco TSA agents.”
The two troglodytes followed Jake and Sancho into a main reception area, with a long tasting bar on the left side. Scattered about the room were tables made from old oak barrels, plants to soften the tile floors, and wicker chairs with views of the vineyard and the Douro Valley in both directions. Carlos Gomez didn’t buy anything but the best, Jake knew.
Gomez appeared from a side door and came directly to Jake, embracing him and kissing both cheeks. “Thank you for coming, Jake.”
Then the billionaire greeted Sancho Eneko the same way, as if each man were equally important to his organization. And Gomez meant it.
“Sancho, this meeting deals as much with you as it does with Jake,” Gomez said.
Without prompting, a tall woman in high heels and a sun dress went behind the bar and found a bottle of Port that had been opened to breath. She poured three small glasses of the dark red liquid and brought them to the three of them, handing one to each.
Gomez lifted his glass to the light to view the contents. Then he swirled the Port in the glass before taking in the bouquet. Before sipping, Gomez toasted to their success.
Jake took a sip and realized it had to be the best Port he had ever tasted. Maybe he could change his mind even more about this wine.
“Very good,” Jake said.
“This place is not just an investment to me,” Gomez said. “It’s a passion. I own vineyards in France, Germany and Italy. As well as my home country of Spain.”
“And now Portugal,” Jake said. “We should get down to business. What’s up?”
Gomez pointed his finger at Jake. “That’s why I like you, Jake. You get right to the point. Okay. My organization is under attack.”
“No shit,” Jake said. “They tried to kill me and Sirena.”
“I know,” Gomez said. “I’m afraid some were not as skilled as the two of you. We lost three of our people over the past few days—two in Lisbon, and the third in Dublin.”
“Why am I just hearing about this?” Jake asked.
“Because I needed to speak with you in person. In Lisbon we lost Fausto Crespo and Gilda Freitas.” The billionaire’s eyes shifted momentarily toward Sancho.
“You think we have a leak or a mole in our organization?” Sancho asked.
“I don’t know,” Gomez said. “That’s what I need you to find out.”
“You suspect someone in particular wants to bring down your organization,” Jake surmised. “Who?”
“Let me explain,” Gomez said, and then took a healthy sip of his Port wine. “The Chinese are trying to buy me out.”
“But you’ve said no,” Jake guessed.
“Many times. So, they started to play dirty by working back-channel public relations campaigns against us.”
Jake had read a few negative stories in the online press recently, but he guessed those were normal for most large companies. “Leaking bullshit stories is one thing, but actually trying to kill people is quite another.”
“The Chinese are also funding protests at our headquarters in Barcelona,” Gomez said. “As well as our plants in Ireland and Lisbon. It’s obviously a coordinated campaign to make us look bad, driving our stock price down worldwide.”
Jake was starting to get the picture. “They tank your stock and piss off your board of directors. If they’re successful, they can swoop in and get a buyout at rock bottom prices.”
“Exactly,” Gomez said. “That’s business as usual. Hardball tactics, to be sure. But killing my people is quite another issue. I can’t let that stand.”
Jake had a feeling he knew where this was going. It would become his job to track down those killing his people, and expose the Chinese for what they are—a bunch of thugs and killers. But Jake had a bit of an issue. He had already told the former CIA director that he would look into the Chinese. Perhaps he could blend both missions, he thought. Double dip.
First, Gomez turned to Sancho Eneko and said, “You need to scrutinize everyone with access to our systems.”
“I already started that process,” Sancho said. “Personally, and without anyone in our group knowing.”
“Good,” Gomez said. “Once he narrows that down and finds the culprit, I need Jake to make sure that person pays for their indiscretion. Understood?”
Not exactly, Jake thought. “You want me to put a bullet in their head?”
Gomez raised his hands and said, “No, no. Nothing that drastic. Just turn the person and evidence over to the local authorities.”
“That’s great if they’re from this country,” Jake said. “But if they’re Chinese nationals, they’ll just claim diplomatic immunity and hop on the next plane to Beijing.”
Gomez was in deep thought. Finally, he said, “I obviously can’t order you to kill anyone. I just need the Chinese to know I won’t be bullied by their actions.”
Jake smiled and let out a breath of air from his nostrils. “I know how to send a signal. Pico Island should have been a wake-up call. But some people need a little more persuasion.”
“I thought you would understand,” Gomez said and then finished his Port. “Now, I would have liked Sirena working on this case with you, but I understand she has to deal with a private matter in Israel. Is there anyone else you might need?”
“When will the jet be back for my use?” Jake asked.
“I could redirect one of our new jets,” Gomez said. “I’ll have to see where they are at this time.”
“Not necessary,” Jake said. “Besides, I’ll be in Porto for at least one night until Sancho can get me my information. Also, I like my flight crew. I trust them.”
Gomez smiled. “I understand. I’ll have them stand by once they return.”
“Have them meet me in Lisbon,” Jake said. “I’ll look into those murders first. Wait. Who did they kill in Ireland?”
Glancing at Sancho for help, the younger man said, “James Leary.”
Jimmy? Damn it! Jake had personally hired that man directly out of retirement from J2—the Irish Directorate of Military Intelligence.
Gomez shook Jake’s hand and then embraced him in a hug and kissed both of his cheeks. Then he pulled an envelope from his inside pocket and handed it to Jake. “Some running around Euros.”
Feeling the heft of the stack, Jake guessed it was at least ten grand worth of the colorful cash. He placed the envelope into a pocket
inside his leather jacket and then headed toward the front entrance.
Sancho Eneko shuffled to catch up to Jake. Once they got to the car, Jake put his hand out for the keys.
“I can drive,” Sancho said. “Remember, I’ve ridden with you. You’re a maniac.”
Jake said nothing, his hand still out. Finally, Sancho handed over the keys and Jake got behind the wheel. Before Sancho could get himself buckled in, Jake burned rubber and slapped the hacker back into his seat.
“Man, those are new tires,” Sancho complained.
Jake made it through the gears, traveling a bit too fast down the curvy road toward the river. When he got to the bottom of the hill and started to turn left, he noticed the SEAT sedan waiting alongside the river. Just as he suspected. Now, the race was on. Jake burned the tires as he pulled out onto the main road and headed back toward Porto. Glancing in his rearview mirror, he saw the SEAT pull out behind him.
10
Jake kept the fact that they were being followed to himself, not wanting to see Sancho go into hyper-paranoid mode. The man had been on the run for a decade when Jake found him and brought him into the Gomez organization. Trust was hard for Sancho to understand.
But it soon became obvious that they were being followed. Jake was flying through the gears like a Formula One driver, cutting the corners on the two-lane narrow road through the middle and nearly hitting oncoming cars.
“What the hell, Jake,” Sancho complained.
“Did anyone know you were going to meet Gomez?” Jake saw the bridge ahead and was trying to decide to take it or not.
“I didn’t even know we were going to meet with Gomez,” Sancho said, glancing over his shoulder at the car behind them.
“Well, you picked up a tail at the airport,” Jake said, downshifting.
“No way. I was careful.”
“Do you know these roads?”
“I don’t get out much.”
“Pull up the GPS map on your phone,” Jake demanded.
Instead of pulling out his phone, Sancho found a larger tablet in his small satchel at his feet. Within seconds, he had the map up and was linked to GPS.
