by Evan Graver
Mango, who had just come outside with a cup of coffee, huddled with Ryan and they watched the video several times.
“Want to go to Miami?” Ryan asked Mango.
“Sure,” he replied with a shrug.
“Before we do that, we need to have a talk with Oscar.” Ryan stood and maneuvered Mango away from their hacker. “Here’s how we’ll do it.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Ryan and Mango walked into Oscar’s room and found him sitting on the edge of the bed in his boxer shorts, his cell phone in his hand.
The Venezuelan looked up from the tiny screen. Mango sat beside him, and Ryan pulled a length of cord from behind his back. He looped it over Oscar’s neck and pulled it tight. Oscar’s eyes went wide, and he immediately pawed at the rope.
As Ryan placed his knee in the smaller man’s back, Mango put a strip of duct tape over Oscar’s mouth.
“Stop struggling and this will be a lot easier,” Ryan said.
They shoved him face down on the bed and secured his hands and ankles with flex cuffs, pulling off his underwear as a form of humiliation. Next, they sat him in a straight-back chair that they pulled away from the writing desk, and Ryan wrapped the cord around Oscar’s torso and the chair back.
Oscar struggled against his restraints and tipped the chair over backward. It slammed into the floor, and Oscar’s head bounced off the tile with a thud. He groaned and his eyelids fluttered, but he didn’t pass out.
“Let’s get him upright,” Ryan said.
When Oscar was vertical again, Ryan said to him, “I’m going to remove the tape, and you’re going to answer our questions.”
Oscar nodded; his eyes still dull from the blow to his head.
“Good.” Ryan ripped off the tape. “Let’s start with an easy one.” He showed him the photo Emily had taken of the woman in Oscar’s wallet. “Who is she?”
“My wife. She’s dead.”
Ryan glanced at Mango with raised eyebrows. Then he asked Oscar, “Why did you order the hit on Rincone?”
“I didn’t.”
“Come on, bro,” Mango said. “You killed Valdez, and you had your sniper kill Rincone.”
“No!” Oscar shook his head. “I mean, yes, I killed Valdez, but we’d already gotten what we needed. We needed Rincone alive. You’re the one that didn’t account for a sniper.”
“Why take the money from Valdez’s vault?”
“Because those rich assholes can spare a few dollars.”
“Do you know who The Armorer is?” Mango asked.
“I’d never heard of him until we got the papers from Valdez.”
“I think you’ve been jerking us around and getting us to do your dirty work,” Ryan said.
“I swear, I’m not,” Oscar pleaded. “I just want to know why they killed my team.”
“Why do you have this?” Ryan held up the prepaid card. He had lied to Emily about Oscar finding it in the vault with the cash, and he was pissed that Oscar had it.
“I found it in Rincone’s place, and I took it, just like the money from the bank vault.”
“Why didn’t you bring it to us right after you found it?”
“I wanted the money off it.”
“How did you know there was money on it?” Mango asked.
“There are thousands of cards like that in South America. Drug dealers use them to send money from the States instead of using cash. No one looks at a credit card.”
“You’re a greedy little pig,” Ryan said. “I don’t think you’re telling us the truth. I think you concocted that story about being ambushed. I think you’re tracking down and eliminating anyone The Armorer thinks will talk about his business.”
“No, I swear! Let me talk to Colonel Estevez. He’ll corroborate my story.”
Ryan walked to the bedroom door and opened it. Carmen stepped inside. She walked over to Oscar, who tried to cover himself with his bound hands. Ryan knew Oscar had a crush on the woman and wanted to use her to humiliate the man. He hadn’t told her that Oscar would be naked, and she paused just inside the door. She glanced at Ryan, who motioned for her to hurry up and do her thing.
Carmen squatted in front of Oscar and used an app on her iPhone to copy his fingerprints. Then she took a photo of his face.
Ryan reapplied the tape to Oscar’s mouth before he and Mango carried him into the bathroom and set him in the tub. “We’ll be back for you soon. You better get your story straight between now and then.”
Oscar shouted something behind the tape, but the two men walked out without acknowledging him.
Outside the bedroom, Mango turned to his friend. “I hope we’re doing the right thing.”
“We need to be more careful. If he is who he says he is, then we’ll apologize and move on with the investigation.”
“And if he’s not?”
“Then we get back to our lives.”
“Then why go to Miami?” Mango asked.
“That’s a good question,” Ryan said. “Let’s see what Carmen comes up with first, then we’ll make that decision.”
Mango nodded. “It’s been fun playing detective again, but I’d like to get back to St. Thomas. Jennifer and I want to get our business started again.”
“Say the word, and you can be done,” Ryan replied.
“Someone needs to stick around and save your ass.”
With a smile, Ryan said, “Again, and again, apparently.”
“And again.” Mango smiled. “Come on. I need another cup of coffee.”
The two men went downstairs, refilled their mugs, and stepped out onto the patio. Carmen sat at her usual seat under the umbrella at the table, typing on her laptop. Emily and Jennifer sat across from her.
“What’s going on?” Emily asked.
“We’re verifying Oscar’s story.”
“What about Colonel Estevez?” she asked.
Ryan went back to Oscar’s room and retrieved the man’s backpack. He emptied the contents onto the table but found nothing more than what Emily had already discovered. If he wanted independent verification of who Oscar was, then they needed to do something other than biometric scans. He had to talk to someone who knew Venezuela and had connections there. As he racked his brain for who he could talk to, one name kept coming to the surface: Tomás Navarro, the pran, or gang leader, of Margarita Prison.
Retrieving his sat phone from his own backpack, Ryan dialed a number he had memorized more than a year ago.
A man answered the phone on the other end after three rings. “Who is this?”
“Daniel, this is David Brockhoff,” Ryan said, using the alias the missionary had known him by in prison. Shortly before Ryan himself had been imprisoned, Daniel Torrance had gone to Venezuela on a mission trip, during which the SEBIN had locked him away, claiming he was an American spy. While Ryan had escaped from the prison on Margarita Island, Daniel had languished there, with the Maduro regime refusing to negotiate with the U.S. for his release. Despite Ryan asking Landis to intercede on the missionary’s behalf, the DHS agent hadn’t been able to secure Daniel’s freedom.
“David, how are you?”
“I’m well,” Ryan said. “How are you?”
“I’ve been better.”
“How’s the ministry going?”
“Not well,” Daniel replied.
“Any news on when they’ll release you?”
“After Silvercorp tried to invade, Maduro ordered the SEBIN to interrogate all American prisoners again. He cut off the Red Cross visits and all petitions for our release.”
“I’m sorry.” Ryan felt guilty for having left the man in prison while he was walking around free.
“It’s not your fault,” Daniel said. “Although the SEBIN interrogated many prisoners after your escape, including me.”
“I didn’t mean for you to get involved.” Now he felt bad for calling Daniel to ask a favor.
“To what do I owe the honor of this call?” Daniel asked.
“I was wond
ering if I could speak to Papa?”
“You’re a brave man. I will speak to him for you. Call me back in an hour.”
“Thanks, Daniel. Is there anything you need?”
“I need to get out of here,” Daniel said curtly.
“I’ve spoken to several of my government contacts on your behalf. They all told me it would be difficult to secure your release, but they’re still working on it.”
“Thank you, David. I’ll talk to you soon.”
Ryan ended the call and looked around the table at the inquisitive faces staring back at him. “I have to call back.”
He glanced at his watch, stood, and left the table. The memories of his days in prison had come flooding back, and he needed a few minutes alone to deal with the raw emotions. He walked down the steps to the sea. The water always had a soothing effect on him.
Before he had a chance to take a deep breath and push back the demons, his phone rang. He saw it was Daniel and answered before it could ring a third time. “Hello?”
“Brockhoff, if you were here, I would kill you,” Tomás Navarro said in Spanish.
“Good to talk to you, too, Papa,” Ryan replied, continuing the conversation in the pran’s native tongue.
“What do you want?”
“Have you heard of Armond Diego?” Ryan asked.
“He is a low-level government official.”
“Really? I heard he was the assistant to the Undersecretary of Defense and involved in a shoot-out that killed a team of Marines.”
“I am unaware of that.”
“Who can I speak to that would know about it?”
“No one will talk to you, Yankee spy.”
“That’s why I called you.”
“What will you do for me?” Navarro asked.
Ryan glanced around to see if anyone was near him. He didn’t want them to overhear this conversation. Yes, they all knew he’d been in a Venezuelan hellhole, but he wasn’t about to tell them about the things he’d done to survive. He lowered his voice, even though he saw he was alone. “I did some wicked shit for you. Doesn’t that earn me some goodwill?”
Navarro laughed. “No, that went out the window when you escaped without me.”
“It wasn’t by choice,” Ryan lied. “They were taking me to the Helicoide, and I saw my chance to escape.”
“You think you can lie to me, David? I know you had outside help, maybe even from the SEBIN. So, what will I get for helping you?”
“You told me once that you were loyal to your country and its people, not the politicians.”
“I did, and I still am,” Navarro said.
“The politicians who run your country are as corrupt as any there have ever been. They’re siphoning billions of dollars out of the economy and crippling it in the process. The information I’m asking for will help put a stop to that.”
“Patriotism, David?” Navarro chuckled. “You know me better than that.”
“How’s your connection to the Aztlán Cartel doing?” When Ryan had worked for the pran, the cartel had been one of the prison’s main pipelines, moving drugs off Margarita Island and bringing back food, clothing, medicine, and money.
“I heard there was a gringo who destroyed the cartel’s drug labs and helped assassinate the leader.”
“And who do you think did that?”
Navarro was silent.
“I did, Tomás. My friends and I went to Mexico and destroyed the cartel because they put a hit on me. I’ll come back down there and slit your throat while you’re sleeping in your bed beside your little punta. My gift to you is to let you live.”
“Such threats. I always knew you were a man after my own heart. Why don’t you become my man in America? We could make a fortune together.”
Ryan gritted his teeth. He wanted to tell him it wasn’t ever going to happen, but he figured he could catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, so he smiled and lied. “You help me; I’ll help you.”
“There’s the man I know.” Navarro laughed. “I have your number. I will call you when I need your help. Now, Diego worked for a man named Victor Quintero, the Undersecretary to the Minister of Defense. He established many of the drug routes through Venezuela, and he pushed the minister to purchase vast quantities of military hardware from the Russians to prepare for a U.S. invasion.”
“Would he ever go into the field?” Ryan asked.
“Quintero? No, he would never soil his hands. That is why we have subordinates.”
“Did they have a route through the Orinoco River Delta?”
“I’ve heard Quintero’s associates have been smuggling both cocaine and illegally mined gold through the delta to ships that stop just offshore.”
“What about an ambush on Marines working in the delta?”
“No. But it wouldn’t surprise me if they ordered the Marines wiped out for interfering with one of their drug routes.”
“Do you know of a Colonel Mario Estevez?” Ryan asked.
Navarro snorted. “I did battle with him before I was arrested. He is a member of the Army Special Forces.”
“Does he work for the drug smugglers?”
“He’s an honest man. I have never heard of him taking a bribe. He certainly wouldn’t take one from me.”
“Last question, Papa. Do you know a man code named The Armorer?”
“I am sorry, David. I do not know that name.”
“Thanks, Tomás. Do me a favor? Take care of Daniel.”
“He causes no trouble as a man of God. No one messes with him except the soldiers. You know I have ordered it so.”
“Gracias and adiós, Papa.” Ryan ended the call.
He had more pieces of the puzzle. Now, he just needed to fit them together.
Chapter Thirty-Five
After Ryan recounted his conversation with the pran of Venezuela’s infamous Margarita Prison to his friends at the patio table, Mango asked, “Do you suppose The Armorer is Quintero?”
“I don’t know,” Ryan said.
“What about Oscar?” Emily asked. “Does any of this exonerate him?”
“No. I only confirmed that his contact, Estevez, is a straight arrow,” Ryan said.
“How long are you going to leave him tied up?” Jennifer asked.
“Have you drained his prepaid?” Ryan asked Carmen.
“Yes, but there’s been nothing so far. My guess is that they give these cards out as payment and don’t track their usage.”
“Are we still going to Miami to check out the buyer?” Mango asked.
“Yes,” Ryan confirmed. “There’s more to this than just Oscar. Speaking of which, what else have you found out about him, Carmen?”
She nervously drummed her fingers on the table. “Uh … Venezuela put an Interpol Red Notice out for him.”
“When did they issue that?” Ryan asked.
“Yesterday,” Carmen replied. “They want him in connection to the murder of Rincone. They claim he’s now working with an opposition group, killing former members of the Venezuelan government.”
“How convenient,” Emily said. “If Superintendent Whittaker sees that, he’ll come looking for Oscar.”
“We need to get out of here,” Mango said.
“I have the name of a guy who flies cargo around the Caribbean,” Ryan said. “I’ll call him and arrange a flight for this afternoon. Everyone, get packed.”
The group dispersed to get their bags, and Ryan glanced at Carmen when she didn’t move with everyone else. “What’s wrong?”
“They put a Red Notice out for you, too.” She turned the computer so he could see the screen.
Ryan stared incredulously at it, but it made sense. The Venezuelans wanted him for murder and escaping prison.
He grabbed his phone and called the pilot, who told him to be at the airport in two hours.
Ryan hurriedly packed his kit and then packed Oscar’s. When he finished, he stepped into the bathroom and peeled the tape off Oscar’s mouth. The Venezuelan g
lared at him.
“There’s an Interpol Red Notice out for you. They claim you killed government officials. I’m going to cut you lose, and you’re going to shower and get dressed. We’re leaving in a few minutes.”
“Screw you,” Oscar said. “I trusted you, and this is how you treat me? You tie me up like I’m a common criminal.”
“I’m sorry. You gotta see how this looks. The circumstantial evidence points to you being involved in something other than what you’ve told us.”
“And now?”
Ryan sliced off the flex cuffs. “We’re getting out of here and you’re going to call Colonel Estevez. Once we talk to him, Mango and I are going to Miami to track down the guy who bought the prepaids.”
Oscar looked puzzled as he rubbed his wrists. “You’re going to continue the investigation?”
“There’s a lot more to this than a few Marines dying in the jungle.”
“I’ve been telling you that all along.” Oscar stood and set the chair outside the tub before pulling the shower curtain closed. “I won’t forget this, Weller.”
“No, I don’t suppose you will,” Ryan said as Oscar turned on the water. He’d be pissed off, too, if his ‘friends’ had tied him to a chair and left him. That said, Ryan had apologized and the only thing he could do to make up for it was to find The Armorer, but right now, they had to get out of the Caymans.
When Oscar was downstairs, the group piled into the rental vehicles and drove to the airport. They cleared Customs and were on their way to the plane when three RCIPS vehicles slid to a stop, boxing them in.
The officers jumped from their vehicles and surrounded Ryan and his friends.
“Hands in the air,” Whittaker shouted from behind a car, his service weapon aimed at Ryan.
Slowly, the team let their bags fall as they lifted their hands into the air.
“This ain’t good, bro,” Mango said.
Ryan glanced at Emily. She met his gaze. Behind the steely resolve in her cornflower-blue eyes, he could see the fear.
“What’s this about Whittaker?” Ryan demanded.
“You’re under arrest. Now shut up and get in the car.”
One by one, the group got into the police cars, and the officers drove them to a detention center complex on Fairbanks Road.