by Kylie Brant
Sully tipped the wine to his lips and swallowed. “If I told you all my trade secrets, you wouldn’t have much need for me.”
The man’s face was expressionless. “Not very trusting, are you?”
Running his fingers along the stern of the glass, Sully countered, “I doubt either of us are.”
Vargas inclined his head slightly. “Thomas.”
Conrad started, his wine splashing dangerously close to the edge of the glass. “Sir?”
Without removing his gaze from Sully, Vargas said mildly, “That large man in your employ. The one at the door when I arrived.”
Conrad looked from Vargas to Sully, then back. “Toby?”
“I didn’t care for his manner.”
Seeming at a loss, Conrad asked, “He...he was rude to you?”
“I didn’t care for his manner,” Vargas repeated. This time he did look at his employee. “Please take care of it.”
Sully’s muscles bunched as Vargas’s meaning became clear. Conrad rose from the table silently, and left the room. Then the other man’s attention returned to Sully, and he picked up their conversation as if there had been no interruption.
“I would imagine that one could learn many ’trade secrets’ in a federal prison.”
Taking a long swallow of wine, Sully answered, “A few.”
“You were convicted of possession, were you not?”
Sully knew what had been in the file Conrad must have compiled on him, as well as did the man before him. He’d helped design it himself. “Possession with intent to deliver. Five to eight, out in three.”
“Let’s hope you picked up enough tips there to help you avoid going back.”
Sully’s eyes met Vargas’s over the rim of the glass. “Don’t worry. I have no intention of getting caught again.”
The man’s glass was empty, and he indicated for Sully to refill it. “It doesn’t matter, really,” he said once the glass was full again. His gaze met Sully’s. “You’re much too valuable for us to allow you to return to prison.”
A chill trickled down Sully’s spine. Those words were much less comforting than they sounded. As this man’s employee, he wouldn’t be allowed to go to prison, wouldn’t be given a chance to talk to the police. If things didn’t go well, he’d join Toby, and no doubt a long list of others who disappeared completely.
And if his true identity were ever discovered, he could anticipate a painful, brutal death. The Colombian drug lords were noted for their cold-blooded ferocity.
Vargas shifted the conversation smoothly into business, as if he hadn’t just threatened the life of the man seated next to him. “With Thomas’s help and—” he inclined his head in Sully’s direction “—with yours, my operation has become hugely successful. So much, in fact, that I’m looking to expand it.”
Sully reached out and poured a healthy amount of wine into his own glass. “How so?”
“I take an enormous risk to bring my cocaine to your country, where it is sold to dealers, who, in turn, sell it at a ridiculous markup.” He took a long drink from his glass and watched Sully closely. “Tell me, Roarke. How would you advise increasing profits?”
Feeling his way carefully, Sully said, “You increase profits by reducing production costs or raising prices. But raising prices when there is a plentiful supply not under your control only makes you less competitive.” He stopped, his mind grappling to figure out the direction of Vargas’s thoughts. Slowly he continued, “You could eliminate the middlemen, deal the drugs directly yourself.” It would be unheard-of for Vargas to do so. With each additional link of the chain from producer to user, he’d increase his visibility, and thus increase his risk. But for the life of him, Sully couldn’t tell what the man was planning.
A slight smile curved Vargas’s lips, and he leaned back in his chair, cradling the wineglass in his palm. “You are as intelligent as Conrad has reported. And you are partially correct. Some of my associates have established new markets in Japan and Europe, and I have an interest in doing the same. But I also have a plan for a more direct pipeline to a U.S. market, which will eliminate many of the middlemen, and raise my profit margin, without substantially increasing my risk.”
“And that market would be?”
“The Midwest.” The crystal teardrops adorning the chandelier overhead prismed the light, throwing a rainbow over the fine glassware on the table below. “The appetite of that population has been slower to increase, but as the coasts go, so goes the Midwest, is that not true?”
Inclining his head, Sully murmured, “So I’ve heard.”
“The heartland of your country is crying out for what we can supply them. And by selling directly there, I estimate we can increase our supply into the country by ten percent, without driving the price down.”
Sully thought about it for a moment. “It will be costly to develop a direct pipeline to the Midwest.”
Vargas shrugged. “One must look at the big picture. A kilo that costs me one hundred dollars to produce is worth fifteen thousand when it arrives in the United States. A dealer buys it and takes it to the next city, and sells it for twenty-five thousand. If I take that ten-thousand-dollar profit per kilo for myself, I can afford a few more employees, some extra costs. Once the route has been established, if supervised well, I stand to make a tidy sum.”
“Where do I come into this?”
“You were suggested by Thomas as the man to set up that pipeline for us. I wanted to meet you myself before deciding.”
The longing for a cigarette was powerful. “And what did you decide?”
There was a long pause, in which Vargas sipped from his wineglass, and surveyed Sully over the rim. “You’ll do, I believe,” he said finally. “You’ll do.”
It was apparent that Vargas had discussed all the business he intended for that night. Sully followed the man to the front door. There was no sign of Conrad, but when Sully stepped outside, he saw the same car he’d arrived in waiting for him. A man he’d never seen before stood at the back passenger’s door.
He was halfway to the car when Vargas’s voice stopped him.
“Roarke.”
Sully stopped, looked back over his shoulder. Conrad had appeared at the door in back of Vargas, alone and visibly shaken. “Be sure you don’t disappoint me.” A moth dive-bombed past the Colombian’s face and was batted away. One of the security spotlights caught him in its beam, and seemed to envelop him in an unholy glow.
“I don’t care to be disappointed.”
The debriefing was only slightly less harrowing than the meeting itself. After Sully had been dropped where he’d met the car, he’d immediately started walking. Six blocks away he ducked into a tavern and wound his way through the tables to a room in the back. Ted answered the door when he rapped on it, and Sully entered the crowded room. A denim-clad agent named Hathaway, with whom he’d worked years ago on a heroin buy-bust clapped him on the shoulder.
“Way to go, champ.” He crooned the next words. “Was it good for you?”
Sully finally lit the cigarette he’d been longing for all evening. “Any one’s good that you walk away from, right?” The man laughed and slipped outside the room. He’d make sure no one unauthorized came near the back room while the meeting was in progress.
Dropping into a chair, Sully surveyed the people in the room. Kennedy was there this time, seated by Lowrey, along with Ted, O’Shea and two individuals Sully didn’t recognize. One of them, Ziesmer, was introduced as a highranking DEA official. The other man was the head of Florida’s Customs Service Special Investigative Division.
Sully gave a silent whistle. The big guns all seemed to have an interest in this case, and the fact couldn’t help but make him nervous.
“Have you heard from Constantine and Hansen?” he asked O’Shea.
The man grinned. “Your good-luck charm worked perfectly. They were never more than a mile from you. From the location they gave, you must have been at Conrad’s estate.”
&nbs
p; He unbuttoned his shirt and loosened the adhesive tape he’d used to hold the transmitter in place. “Tell me the damn T-4 worked.”
O’Shea crossed the room and lowered himself to a chair beside Sully. “Constantine said you were coming through loud and clear.”
“He filled you in?”
O’Shea nodded. “He gave me the highlights. But I want to hear your take on it.”
Sully proceeded to tell the now quiet room exactly what had transpired that night. He wasn’t interrupted until he got to the part of Toby’s disappearance. O‘Shea looked at Ted. “Get word to the other agencies, the local police. When that body is found, I want to be notified immediately.” Ted nodded, and O”hea gestured for Sully to continue.
When he’d finished, the men in the room were silent for a moment. “This Vargas has got guts, I’ll say that,” one of the suits muttered.
“A man can be made pretty fearless when he has powerful friends backing him,” Sully said to OvShea. “I’d sure like to know who those friends are.”
The other man nodded. “Maybe pinning down the real identity of this Vargas will give us some hints.” He turned to a briefcase he had on the table and snapped the locks open. Taking out a file folder, he handed it to Sully, who flipped through the pictures inside. Halfway through the pile, he tapped one.
“There’s your man.”
O‘Shea took the photo and studied it, the other men in the room gathering around him. Turning it over, he said, “Well, ’Vargas’ is one of his many aliases. His real name is Enrico Mendez. Born in Cali, Colombia, he owns an import-export business there.”
“I’d guess he’s university educated,” Sully said. “Maybe even in the States. His English was almost flawless.”
“You win the gold ring,” O’Shea replied. “Graduated from UCLA. We’ll do some checking on just how often he’s been visiting the States.”
The talk in the room turned to how much cocaine could be seized when the case went down. Excitement simmered at the possibility that the case might have connections to El National Cartel, a rumored organization believed to rule whole countries and control millions of lives. Sully barely managed to hold his tongue. They had no evidence linking Mendez, alias Vargas, to the cartel, nor any firm evidence that the cartel even existed. He let O’Shea make the argument.
“Let’s not let ourselves get sidetracked. This investigation has always been more than a buy-bust. We’re going after the top people in the organization, and right now that’s Vargas.”
Sully scrubbed both hands over his face, tuning the voices out His apartment beckoned like an impoverished oasis, and he felt a sudden longing to go home. That no longer meant Ellie. She wouldn’t be next door, wouldn’t be anywhere nearby. An entire city lay between them, and he tried to tell himself that was a good thing.
He’d been pretending to himself all these years that he could exist on the sidelines of Ellie’s life and that it would be enough. But their night together had proved him a liar. It had taken only the opportunity to touch her for him to forget the careful boundaries he’d always observed. The ease with which she shredded his control scared the hell out of him.
“Sully.”
He jerked his attention to O’Shea, who was standing close to him, ignoring the discussion going on in the room. “You did good tonight, buddy. We’re going to have to be twice as careful now to be sure this case doesn’t unravel on us. You can’t think of any loose ends, can you?”
Sully thought of Ellie, across the city in her new apartment. The distance had never seemed greater, and represented more than mere miles.
“No,” he said bleakly. “No loose ends.”
Chapter 9
Elizabeth looked at her bankbook again. The thrill hadn’t lessened despite her having gazed at it for over an hour. Depositing Simon’s check had made her feel like the riches of the world had been handed to her. The opinions of friends, and earlier, of instructors, were warming, but this first check was a milestone of a different sort. She let herself daydream for a few moments of a time when she actually could support herself with her pottery, and quit her job at the gallery.
The smile on her lips grew rueful. She was a long way from that time, if, indeed, it ever came. But this first check marked a step forward in her career, and yet another milestone in her path of independence.
She looked at the phone then, tempted yet again to call Sully and share her news with him. She’d told herself she wouldn’t push, and she hadn’t. But, oh, it had been hard to back away, even a little. In the week since he’d helped her move, she’d had to be satisfied with a quick phone call from him when he’d been on his way out of his apartment.
It was telling that in this time of her greatest success, the person she most wanted to share it with was Sully.
Quickly she crossed to the telephone and dialed his unlisted number. She waited impatiently as it rang three times before the machine turned on. Without leaving a message, she hung up. Talking to a machine was no match for speaking to Sully himself.
Her doorbell pealed then, and when she took the precaution of looking out the peephole, she mentally groaned. Her ex-husband stood in the hallway, tapping a file folder against one suit-clad leg. Drat the man, she’d been quite happy not to have to deal with him at all in six months, and now he’d inflicted himself on her twice in three weeks. It occurred to her suddenly that he’d seemed to have little trouble discovering her new address, and her eyes narrowed.
She pulled open the door. “Carter,” she said flatly. “Again.”
“Beth.” He offered her that toothpaste-ad bright smile that had so dazzled her years ago.
She leaned against the doorjamb and crossed her arms. “You didn’t seem to have any trouble coming up with my new address. Would you like to explain that?”
The smile increased in wattage. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable inviting me inside? This may take a while.”
She deliberately misunderstood him. “Shouldn’t take too long to describe how you found me.” Her smile was mocking. “Even for a lawyer.” Because her gaze never left his, she saw the quick flare of irritation in his eyes.
“We employ all kinds of investigators in our office, Elizabeth. Discovering your new address wasn’t even a challenge for them.”
She drew in a breath, released it slowly. “You sicced the county’s investigators on me? Isn’t utilizing their services for a personal matter a complete misuse of county funds?”
“Not when I’ve discovered that the man my ex-wife has long associated with is a known criminal.” He paused, as if to enjoy drawing the moment out. “Your John Sullivan.” Flicking a glance over his shoulder at the couple walking down the hallway, he inquired, “Are you sure you don’t want to discuss this inside?”
He took her silence for assent, and brushed by her to enter the apartment. Elizabeth wiped suddenly wet palms on her shorts. Never before had she had the sensation of actually being able to feel her blood pressure rise. The heat of anger sprang up nerve endings and spread through her entire body. Even her ears seemed to burn.
She shut the door behind Carter with more force than necessary, and turned to lean against it. He was making himself comfortable on the love seat, taking rapid inventory of her new home.
His gaze met hers. “I’m happy to see that your taste in living quarters has improved since the last time we spoke.”
“Explain.” Her voice shook with the rage gnawing away inside her. “Try to explain why you would come here and trash the most decent man I’ve ever met.”
Carter’s voice was cool as he crossed one leg over his knee, carefully avoiding wrinkling his trousers. “Really, Elizabeth, one would think you doubted my motives.”
“Believe me, you don’t want to know what I think right now.”
His smile never wavered, but his eyes turned gelid. “Very well. I came to warn you about your friend. Seems I’ve been right all along about what an unsavory individual he is. My office ran a check on him and
found out he has quite a past.”
“You bastard.” She all but spit the word as she clenched her fists and fought the urge to spring toward him. Temper sang up her body, and her muscles fairly vibrated with it. “Anyone is fair game to you, aren’t they? No insult is too slight, no offense too petty not to avenge.”
Disapproval was in his voice, on his face, when he replied, “I’ll blame the deterioration of your vocabulary on the company you’ve been keeping recently. This new attitude of yours is most unbecoming.”
She took a long, deep breath, and worked on banking the fury. Temper had never been an adequate weapon with Carter. He was too cool, too remote. It only served to point out the difference between emotion and logic. His logic.
“All the information is right in here.” Carter gestured with the file folder. “Imagine my surprise when I was told that the only other tenant on the floor of your old building wasn’t called John Sullivan at all, but someone by the name of Roarke. This thug that you consider your friend has lied to you since the beginning, Elizabeth, and not just about his name. He has a long history of crooked dealings, but there was no need to dig through those, once I found out about the three years he spent in prison for possession with intent.”
“Your information is wrong.” There was no doubt, no hesitation in her voice. There may have been times in their friendship when she hadn’t seen Sully for months, times he’d explained he’d been moving around. But always, at some point, he’d contacted her again.
The time frame aside, Sully simply wasn’t capable of the kind of crime Carter was describing. He had a basic decency about him that he tried to hide from the world. She thought he did a good job of hiding it from himself most of the time.