by J C Ryan
“I have realized that was a cowardly decision,” she blurted. “I am going to run for election on an anti-corruption platform. There. I’ve said it out loud for the first time. That is my decision.”
Rex’s jaw dropped. If she’d said she’d decided to emigrate to Tierra del Fuego or become the first Thai astronaut, he wouldn’t have been more surprised.
“Are you serious? You’ve just endured three days of captivity and threats to your life, because of politicians, and you’re going to openly defy the powers that be? What does your family say about this?”
She tilted her little pointed chin and frowned. “They do not know. They might not like it, but they won’t stop me. I am an independent woman, and I make my own decisions.”
Rex risked her wrath by making another protest. “Sunstra, do you have any idea how brutal a political race could be? These people aren’t moral or ethical. They could do any number of things to make your life miserable. Drag your name through the mud, so you’d never get another job again if you fail to win your race, for example. You must have the support of your family, if nothing else. Think of the expense!”
“Ruan, I am not naïve. That’s why I had to spend so much time thinking it through. But my mind is made up. I’m doing it, with or without the support of my family. I do expect their support, though. I think my father will be proud.”
Rex sincerely hoped so. Having met her father, he admired the man’s dignity and his commitment to his principles. Sunstra knew her father better than he did, of course. If she thought he would support her decision, he probably would. Her older brother might be a different story, but it was her business.
He extended his hand across the table, and she shook it firmly. “In that case,” he intoned, “may I be the first to congratulate you on a bold decision.”
She smiled and released his hand. “Thank you, Ruan. I knew you’d understand. That means a lot to me.”
Rex smiled and said, “When you are elected to office and need a bodyguard, just let me know. Digger and I will be honored.”
“I might just take your number.” She laughed.
They made small talk after that until their food came, and then they were silent as they enjoyed it. As Rex was spooning the last of the sweet and sticky rice dessert into his mouth, Sunstra brought the subject back to mind.
“Elections will be held soon. I must begin my campaign immediately. Though I won’t have much free time, you are welcome to stay and see what happens. Maybe even campaign for me?” She chuckled. “I’d definitely like to continue our friendship, if you feel the same way.”
“That goes without saying, Sunstra. My philosophy about friendship is that a friendship that comes to an end has never been friendship to start with.”
“I like that. Those are wise words, Ruan. I might just use that in one of my campaign speeches.”
“You’re welcome. Just don’t tell the people they’re my words. Like you, I also have other plans, and it’s time to move on with them. I’ll watch for news of you, though. I’ll be hoping to call you with congratulations in a few months.”
“As you wish,” she said, with another heart-stopping smile. Her beautiful eyes sparkled with life and anticipation. “I’ll miss you and Digger, but I’ll probably be too busy to pine much.”
Rex laughed. “Indeed.”
He snatched the check before she could, though she reached for it. “Let me,” he said. “My small contribution to your campaign.”
As they left the restaurant to go their separate ways, Rex bent to kiss her chastely on the cheek. “I’ll never forget you, Sunstra Chevapravatgumrong. You’re a wonderful person that’ll make someone more deserving than me very happy one day.”
“Nor will I forget you, Ruan Daniel.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
BANGKOK HAD LOST its long-term appeal for Rex. He’d seen the historic sites, experienced the cuisine, learned a new close-combat technique and a new language, and had many massages. It was time to leave.
Before he left Thailand, however, he wanted to collect the stories of at least some of the seven major Hill Tribes who resided in the mountainous north of Thailand. These people were living a sort of shadow existence. Unrecognized as citizens, they were nevertheless left alone by the Thai government. They were refugees from neighboring countries, including China, Tibet, and Myanmar who’d migrated to Thailand over the past two-hundred years.
Retaining their own languages, styles of art and dress, indeed, their entire culture except where tourism had modified it, these people were shy but as hospitable as the Thai people in general. Rex though it would be remiss of him not to collect their history from oral tradition while he was still in Thailand.
Rex contacted Sunstra and donated the tuk-tuk to her for her campaign. She didn’t want to take it, but he was very persuasive and told her how much she and her staff were going to need it. In the end she accepted and gave him a kiss on the cheek, which Digger didn’t object to.
With the tuk-tuk donated for a good cause, he traveled with Digger by bus and extended thumb to one of the villages. He’d finished with that village, representative of its tribe, and was on the way to another when his secured satellite phone rang.
Rehka’s voice on the other end was full of excitement. “Ruan, I have done it! I have access to Mutaib’s and Usama’s offshore accounts! Now I need your direction for what to do with them.”
Rex reflected that he’d chosen well in deciding to employ Rehka. He was certain she was scrupulously honest. He never spared one moment on the thought that she could easily take the money for herself and disappear with her whole family. It didn’t hurt that she owed him her freedom, but even so, he had trusted her, and she had just confirmed that she had the skill and the integrity to do what he needed and then wait for his directions.
“Ruan? Are you still there?”
“Oh, sorry, Rehka. Had something on my mind. That’s really great news. So, I think it would be best if I return to Mumbai, and we’ll work through it together. I’ll see you as soon as I can get a flight. You okay with that?”
“Why do you even ask? I can’t wait to see you.”
~The End~
THE INCA CON
A REX DALTON THRILLER
BOOK FIVE
JC Ryan
Chapter One
HE’D CHOSEN THE high road, which added two hours to his route, but he was in no hurry. The roundabout route rewarded him with a lifetime of breathtaking vistas to this invigorating experience. Walking easterly from Abancay to Curahuasi, Peru, the higher peaks of the Andes were usually on his left, while glimpses through river gorges flanked by lower peaks could be had on the right. Plenty of switchbacks reversed the views in some places, and at times they walked toward the north or the south, following the steep road that would eventually lead downward as steeply as it had led upward.
Rex Dalton and his constant companion, his Dutch Shepherd dog, Digger, had arrived in Lima on the day of the spring equinox. In the intervening weeks, they’d wandered as the wind took them, exploring the rich history of the western bulge of Peru. They had just missed the best traveling weather for one of the most famous of all Peruvian destinations, Machu Picchu. Before the rainy season started in earnest, it was time.
Approaching the Sacred Valley on foot had been a whim, but after nearly fifteen hours on the road from Abancay, where he turned in his rental vehicle, Rex was committed to the plan. The difference between fifteen hours on foot and four in a car was the opportunity to stop and drink in the spectacular scenery that would have otherwise whizzed by barely noticed.
Digger seemed to enjoy it, too, dashing here and there to inspect some item of interest only to a dog. A bit of a nuisance, but a bit entertaining, was Digger’s apparent mission to catch a vizcacha. The peculiar animals, related to chinchillas but looking more like a long-tailed, rather short-eared rabbit, were plentiful along the trail. Their homes, resembling a prairie-dog colony in numbers, interested Digger a great
deal, and Rex found it amusing to see him race around after an adult, while the rest of them hurried the babies in among the rocks where he couldn’t reach them.
Rex had camped overnight, though he could have walked the entire fifteen hours in one day. He’d elected to break it up because there would be only twelve hours of sunlight. Starting before dawn wouldn’t have been an issue but descending the last set of switchbacks after dark wasn’t prudent. He planned to get to Curahuasi in time for a midday meal before finding a room for the night, and he was on target when he reached the intersection of Route 116 – the high road – and 3S, the main road. Only a little over a mile to go.
When Rex arrived in the center of the dusty little town, he looked for a café first. He’d have preferred one with tables outside, but the first one he came to had only a wide opening for a door, with tables inside. Oddly enough, it was a pizza restaurant. Digger’s nose lifted at the aromas emanating from the open door.
“Really, Digger? You want pizza in Peru?”
Digger’s mouth stretched in a dog’s broad grin, his tongue lolled out, and if he could have spoken, he’d have said, “Why not?”
Rex could think of several reasons why not, including that garlic, an essential ingredient of pizza in his opinion, was toxic to dogs. And the fact that he had no idea what a Peruvian pizza might have for toppings. But it seemed to be the only option. He’d have to figure out something else for Digger, who had made it clear from the time they became partners that he expected human food. They’d had an ongoing struggle on that subject, and Rex had become an expert on what Digger could or shouldn’t eat.
As he stepped inside, and his eyes adjusted to the dim interior from the bright sunlight outside, he realized it wasn’t the dingy, dirt-floored establishment he’d expected. The tables were draped with cream-colored cloths, brown runners placed precisely in the middle to bisect the length. A clean tile floor, devoid of animal hair, suggested the place wasn’t dog-friendly.
“Digger, you’d better wait outside. Stay.”
Digger flopped down on his belly with a sigh that Rex interpreted as dissatisfied acquiescence.
“Hey, you picked the place. I’ll bring you a slice, and if you behave, maybe more.”
Rex went on in and allowed a young woman with a sleek black bun at the nape of her neck to lead him to a table. The establishment wasn’t crowded, but a couple of other tables were occupied, one by two men talking earnestly in stage whispers, and the other by an older couple, tanned and fit for their apparent age, which was betrayed by their graying hair.
The two men could have been American or European, but they spoke English. The whispers didn’t convey an accent. Both were blond, though one was older than the other. Rex couldn’t see their eyes, and they didn’t appear to be much above or below average height.
Rex ordered the house special, wondering if it would resemble an American or an Italian pizza in any way. He didn’t particularly care. He wasn’t picky about his food. In his thirty-six years, he’d dined on unremarkable but satisfying home cooking from the German-influenced kitchen of his midwestern-raised mother, to the cuisine of countries all over the world in his past life as a field operative of a top-secret black ops paramilitary organization. It was during his time in the latter that he learned that food, as long as it wouldn’t make him sick, was fuel, which would keep him going.
Digger might turn up his nose, though. He was a real pain in the ass sometimes when it came to food.
As he waited for his order to arrive, Rex became aware that the two men were discussing a misfortune that had befallen one of them, the younger one. He would have ignored them but couldn’t tune them out as the whispers became more strident and the younger man’s voice rose. With less than a foot between the tables, which were lined up in military precision, side by side, he and the couple on the other side of the table where the men were seated were witnesses to the narrative, whether they wanted to hear it or not.
“I’m telling you, I don’t know what to do,” the younger man hissed.
“And I’m telling you, your money is gone, and you might as well accept that fact,” the older one said with exaggerated patience. “There’s nothing you can do. Unless you’ve left something out. Tell me again.”
The younger man sighed heavily. “Telling you again won’t change the outcome.” His voice raised a few decibels.
“Just humor me.”
“Okay. Now please pay attention. I was looking at some curios in the marketplace over in Abancay. They looked old, and I thought I’d buy a statue of Virachocha.”
The older man interrupted. “Who’s that again?”
“The Inca god of creation. I’ve told you this. And it isn’t important. Just that it looked old.” The younger man was becoming more agitated, and his voice was rising in both volume and pitch.
“Okay, go on.”
“So, I’m looking at this statue, and this woman comes up to me and takes it out of my hands. She says, ‘It’s a fake.’”
“Did you believe her?”
“For crap’s sake, will you just let me tell the story?”
The older man took a long drink from the brown bottle in front of him and slammed it back on the table. “Fine. Go ahead.”
“I asked her, ‘How do you know?’, and she says she’s Ministry. She hands me a card. Ministry of Culture, it says. She tells me there are more fakes being sold than the genuine article, and then, get this, she says, ‘Lucky for you. Because it’s illegal to buy or sell the genuine antiquities.’
“It freaked me out. It was like she was threatening me, just because I was looking at this old statue, you know? Like she was accusing me of robbing Peru’s cultural heritage.” He stopped speaking, shook his head, and took a swig from his bottle of beer.
“And that was the last you saw her?”
“Yeah, that was the last I saw her. But before she left, she told me to call the number on her card if anyone offered me something that could be original. Seems the shop owners have gotten smart. They don’t put the real antiquities out for people to see. But when they see an American, like me, they think we all have money.”
“You do have money.”
“That’s beside the point. They’ll offer the real deal to Americans or other unsuspecting tourists. So, I was supposed to call this Agent Gonzales if that happened to me, and she’d come and arrest the shop owner.”
“And it happened to you,” the older man prompted, earning a glare from the raconteur.
“It did. Very next day, I’m looking at stuff in the Mercado Central here, and this creepy old man comes out and whispers he has what I’m looking for in the back. I mean, could have been anything, from drugs to women, whatever. I was curious, right? So, I follow him into the back room, and there’s this gorgeous gold medallion, had to be a good four ounces of high-grade gold, right? Carved in the shape of Inti.”
“I hesitate to ask.”
“The sun god. Jeez, don’t you ever listen to anything I tell you?”
The older man made a gesture with his hand, to indicate the other should continue.
“So, I’m thinking, that’s gotta be the genuine article. I tell the shop owner, ‘Just a minute. I need to get my partner here to talk about this.’ I’m gonna call the agent, right? Gonzales? But the shop owner says, ‘You must hurry. Another buyer is coming.’
“I figure he’s playing me, but then someone else comes in to look at it. He and the shop owner are jabbering away in Spanish, and he pulls out his wallet. So I figure, I’ve got seconds to get this, and I’d better do it, or this priceless artifact will be gone forever. You should have seen the guy who entered the shop – he was swarthy.”
“Swarthy? Did you just say ‘swarthy’? The hell does that mean?”
“You know. Dark. Dark skin, dark hair, dark personality. I figure he’s a smuggler.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake.” The older guy shook his head.
Rex shared his disgust. The young guy was looki
ng more and more like an idiot. He couldn’t help but think about the old adage; since light travels faster than sound, some people appear to be bright until you hear them speak. He’d just described every native Peruvian male, except for the personality part. Rex thought Peruvians were unaccountably happy, considering their poverty.
“No, seriously. This guy was not a good guy. So I tell the shop owner I’ll take it.”
“You bought the statue.”
“Yeah, but first it was a bidding war. I had to pay almost a hundred thousand for it.”
“Dollars?” The older man’s eyebrows levitated to a spot under his shock of blond bangs.
“Soles. But that’s still a chunk of change, about thirty K US, right?”
“And you bought it why?”
“To keep it from leaving the country, of course! I figured the shop owner would get busted, I’d get my money back, and this Gonzales chick might be grateful, know what I mean?” The younger man leered as he said it.
“Shit, Junior, how thick are you? So, what’s the problem? She’s not grateful enough?”
“The problem is that the number on the card is fake.”
“And…”
“And as soon as I called and found out it was fake, I got worried. I mean, could I get arrested for buying this thing?”
“I have no idea, you might very well find your ass in the slammer.”
“Well, that’s my problem.”
“I suggest you pre-empt it all and go to the police and tell them this story,” the older man said, with a show of indifference.
“Dude, that could get me thrown in jail!” the young man continued.
“I don’t know what you want me to do about it. I swear you’ve got more money than brains. Man up.”
“But, Uncle Rich, what if they arrest me?”
Rex looked from the blond older man to the tow-headed youth. He didn’t see a resemblance, other than the color of their hair. Maybe the ‘uncle’ was honorary.
