by Carmen Amato
As the knife sliced close, Eddo stepped back. In the dark it was hard to see anything beyond his opponent’s hands and Eddo didn’t realize how close they were to the edge of the pool until both fell through the torn fabric cover.
The fabric closed over them as they exploded into the inky water. The total immersion into the drumming blackness was both astonishing and disorienting. Eddo felt himself touch bottom and the disorientation partially lifted. He kicked upwards, losing his shoes, only to hit his head against a portion of the pool cover that was still holding fast against the thundering rain. There were only a few inches between the level of the water and the straining fabric and he desperately gulped moist air. Then as the crown of the Asian’s head broke the water Eddo lunged for the knife hand and pulled the man back to the bottom.
They twisted and wrestled under the water, the knife’s silver flash and the Asian’s bared teeth the only things to be clearly seen in the murk. Eddo managed to get a foot against the Asian’s chest and bore down. The other man hadn’t been able to get a lungful of air and Eddo hadn’t run eight miles a day for nothing. His lungs burned like halftime at La Marchesa and his eyes stung from the chlorine but he kept his hand clamped around the Asian’s wrist as he stomped the Asian to the bottom of the pool. When the knife arm slackened, Eddo forced the knife hand toward its owner’s chest and drove it in up to the hilt. The water bubbled thickly around the shaft and the Asian went limp.
Eddo found the tear in the pool cover and hauled himself out of the water and onto the deck. For a moment all he could do was lie there and gulp air, the rain rinsing his face.
“Cortez.”
Stemmer was sitting by the railing, looking chalky but defiant, the gun he’d taken off the guard on the pier back in his right hand. There was a black clad body in a heap by the door and the deck beneath was bloody. “Was that El Toro?”
“His enforcer,” Eddo managed. He sat up, feeling the sting of a cut by his left ear. His chest ached and his teeth started to chatter.
“Maybe he’s run out of guards.”
'
Eddo and Stemmer found Gomez Mazzo alone in the main cabin, an overly decorated space with a symbolic red and black mural that wasn’t anything anyone would have ever called art. The room was the sort of space expected of a yacht, lots of built-ins and nothing out except two large trays stacked with bottles of rum coolers sweaty with condensation.
“We weren’t expecting company,” Gomez Mazzo said from behind his pistol as Stemmer and Eddo dripped on the carpet.
Stemmer’s side was stained with blood from the slug in his shoulder but his hand was steady enough as he pointed his own gun at Gomez Mazzo.
“Where’s Hugo de la Madrid Acosta?” Eddo asked.
Gomez Mazzo shrugged. “Why should I know?”
“That’s right,” Eddo said. “You’re just a simple businessman from Panama. On vacation here in Antigua.”
“Whose new business partner has paid him a visit?” Gomez Mazzo’s lip curled as he took in Eddo’s bare feet and wet clothes.
“Business partner?” Stemmer asked.
“So now you think you have tricked El Toro?”
“What the fuck’s going on here, Cortez?” Stemmer growled.
“We made a trade awhile ago,” Eddo said, still staring at Gomez Mazzo. “So the army could shut down de la Madrid Acosta’s operation. He thought that meant he’d bought me, too.”
A foghorn blared out of the night and a voice ordered the Sheba to halt and prepare to be boarded. The yacht shuddered violently, the engines suddenly screaming. The tray of rum coolers tumbled onto the carpeted floor with a clatter of glass. Eddo and Stemmer were thrown against the wall. Stemmer grunted in pain and staggered, smearing the paneling with blood.
Gomez Mazzo, seated in a chair that was bolted to the deck, was merely jolted to the side.
Time slowed as Eddo watched Gomez Mazzo right himself and take aim at Stemmer and then Eddo was falling across the DEA man, grabbing the gun as they both went down and he fired with Stemmer’s hand still wrapped around the trigger. He fired again and again as the yacht rolled with the engines at fever pitch. The shots still echoed as the Sheba stopped with a tremendous crash like a train coming off the rails.
Eddo spilled to the opposite side of the cabin, tangled up with Stemmer and dozens of bottles. The Sheba wallowed heavily and Eddo managed to pull himself up in time to see Gomez Mazzo, a look of surprise in his face and one scarred hand over his stomach, pitch forward onto the carpet.
The Sheba rolled again. Cabinet doors damaged by Eddo’s wild shots began to pop their latches. A tall door by Gomez Mazzo’s chair creaked open, the wood splintered at the top. As Sheba rolled to the other side, sending the rum cooler bottles tumbling across the carpet in the other direction, the door swung wide and the body of Hugo de la Madrid Acosta fell out.
Chapter 86
Luz was in the car with her attackers. Eddo was in the car, too, and the noose was around his neck instead of hers. The leather bit into his throat, breaking open the veins, and blood gushed down his white knit shirt. Luz screamed and struggled to fight, to save him, but she was pinned down and the men were a dead weight on top of her. She kept screaming as the car sped and the men laughed as Eddo’s eyes rolled back and there was a bell in her ear, a bell that was drowning out--.
Luz woke up with a gasp, drenched in sweat and tangled in her bed sheets. Her cell phone was on the pillow next to her face and it was ringing.
She sat up dizzily. “Bueno?”
“Turn on the news, corazón!”
“Eddo?”
“Did you forget what my voice sounded like?”
“Yes,” she choked out. “Where have you been?”
“I just got back to Mexico City,” Eddo said. There was a lot of background noise.
“Are you at a party?”
“We got him, Luz.” Eddo replied. “Gomez Mazzo. Yesterday. Go turn on your television.”
The phone still clamped to her ear, Luz stumbled to the living room and turned on the television. Cartoons. She found a morning news show and stared at the screen in disbelief. Gustavo Gomez Mazzo, aka El Toro, had been killed on his yacht off the island of Antigua during a sting operation conducted jointly by the local Coast Guard and a norteamericano drug enforcement agency.
“Por Dios,” Luz breathed, eyes glued to the television. “He lived on a boat?”
“I didn’t make the connection until you drew that picture in San Miguel,” Eddo said.
“I can’t believe it,” Luz said. She was dizzy with excitement and relief. “I mean, I knew you’d get him. I just--. I don’t know what I thought! I’m so proud of you!”
“I’m a little banged up,” he said.
Luz felt her heartbeat surge. “How banged up?”
“Nothing that’s going to keep me from celebrating,” he said. “We’re all at Tomás and Ana’s house. Everybody’s pretty wound up.”
“I can hear.”
“Wait, let me close the door.”
Luz went back to her room and climbed onto the bed as she heard a door close on his end of the connection.
“I know we said tomorrow but I can’t wait one more day to see you,” Eddo said, his voice coming through clearly now. “When can you be ready? The security team can drive you today.”
Last week’s La Gente section was on the bedside table. Carolina Porterfield still gazed reverently at Eddo; they still danced like movie stars. “There was a picture of you in the newspaper,” Luz blurted.
“Because of El Toro?” Eddo asked sharply.
“No, from Arturo Romero’s daughter’s wedding.” Luz fought to keep her voice steady. “You and a lovely woman in a blue dress.”
“It was a color picture?” Eddo said, as if that mattered. There was a gurgling sound as he drank something.
“Yes,” Luz said. “Front page of Reforma’s La Gente section.”
“Can you save it?”
Luz’s phone sl
id through nerveless fingers and landed on the bed.
“Luz? Luz? Are you there?”
Luz picked up the phone. “You want me to save this picture for you?”
“Why? Does it look bad? Am I using the wrong fork?”
“No. You both look . . . stunning.”
“Then could you? I mean, I’m just her old uncle, but I’m sure Pilar would want to have it. She keeps everything. Carolina’s school pictures, ticket stubs, report cards.”
The bed tilted like a ride at La Feria. Luz closed her eyes and teetered helplessly. Carolina Porterfield was his niece. The daughter of his sister Pilar who married a gringo and lived in Atlanta.
“Is there still going to be a despedida?” Luz asked. The despedida would decide. She drew her knees to her chest, hugged her ribs, and mentally gabbled a prayer to the Virgin.
“Absolutely,” Eddo said.
“I can be ready by noon,” Luz said.
'
Luz walked out of her room carrying her pink purse, the suitcase Eddo had bought her in San Miguel, and the dress for the despedida in the garment bag from Liverpool. She wore her best jeans, a simple black top, and black flats.
Tío, Lupe and the girls were at the kitchen table. Tío looked vaguely hung over.
Luz fought down anger. She hadn’t heard the front door open. Tío hadn’t just come in. No, he and Lupe had probably spent the night together in the shed. He was slipping back into the house by degrees.
“How’s this?” Martina slid a drawing across the table to Tío.
“Make this part smaller.” Tío moved his finger around a line. “Otherwise it’ll fall over. The top will be too heavy.” He slid the paper back to her and guzzled some coffee.
Martina had drawn a candleholder for Tío to make in the forge.
Chapter 87
Eddo looked around the hotel suite. It was decorated in shades of cream, coral, and gold, which struck him as a little feminine, but the hotel had a pool and a spa and a gym and all the other amenities he’d wanted. It was also close to the new campaign headquarters in Polanco.
The living room contained a plush chenille loveseat, matching armchairs, a flat screen television, and an elegant dark wood dining set. A small kitchenette was fully stocked with china, crystal, and an ice maker.
He set his laptop and an armload of newspapers on the desk and walked through the French doors to the bedroom. Besides a king-sized bed and gilt bedside tables, another armchair could accommodate someone sitting at a mirrored vanity table. A second flat screen television was angled so it could be seen from the bed.
“This is the suite you specified, Senor Cortez,” the concierge said from the doorway. “You’re all unpacked.
“Thank you,” Eddo said. Yolanda had managed his move to Mexico City. Pilar and Ana had managed everything else. The concierge withdrew, reminding him to call when he wanted the dinner and flowers to be sent up.
Eddo sank into a chair. All he had to do was relax and wait for Luz.
He’d landed in Mexico City before dawn, his system still humming with adrenaline. His nerves were so taut and raw that his hands were shaking.
They hurt like hell, too, a reminder of the fight with the Asian guy. His face was still a mess, although the swelling had gone down. The cut by his ear had bled like crazy but a small butterfly bandage had taken care of it. He and Stemmer, who’d been amazed when told the full story of the deal with Gomez Mazzo to shut down Site 1, had been treated at the hospital. Stemmer would be fine. Dowd was a new man and Crispell was a national hero.
The room phone rang. Totally startled, Eddo shot out of the chair. The phone rang again. Eddo took a breath and answered it.
“Señor Cortez, your guests are here.”
“Please send them up.”
He opened the door and waited in the entrance. He heard the elevator swish open and a security guy stepped out, followed by Luz carrying that pink purse and a garment bag. She was flanked by another security guy. A third carried her suitcase.
Edo smiled, feeling his face twinge. Luz’s eyes widened at the bruises. “Hello,” she said softly.
“Come on in.” Eddo stepped aside so the whole retinue could walk into the suite. He waved a hand at the French doors. “The closet is through there.”
Luz looked at him a little uncertainly, but she went through to the bedroom and Eddo heard her gasp. “This is beautiful,” she called.
“I’ll be right there,” Eddo replied. He took a moment to talk to the security team. There hadn’t been any problems during the trip or in Soledad de Doblado. The team would stay in Mexico City while Luz was there and he gave them instructions for meeting up with the rest of the detail and handling the despedida before thanking them and seeing them out of the suite.
Luz must have heard the door close. She walked back into the living room and Eddo got his first real look at her.
“You look great,” he heard himself say.
She touched his face, taking stock of the black eye, the purpled cheekbone, the bandage by his ear. Her fingers lingered on his jaw under the bruise. “Always the head.”
“Concrete,” Eddo said. “No lasting damage.”
She gave him a watery smile and slid her arms around him. Eddo held her close, his face in her hair, fighting for air around the tightness in his throat.
“I want you to tell me everything,” Luz said into his shoulder and he knew she was crying. “But not when I’m so shaky.”
“Later,” Eddo said with a gruffness he hadn’t intended.
“It’s all right to be tired now, Rodrigo,” Luz whispered.
It seeped away, then, the fear and the adrenaline and the violence. The spring inside him unwound, one turn at a time, and Eddo closed his eyes and let it happen.
Chapter 88
“So who is the despedida for?” Luz asked as the big black SUV pulled away from the hotel. The event that would determine the rest of her life was about to begin. Luz hoped she wouldn’t have a stroke first.
The last three days had passed too quickly. The hotel had been an oasis where they’d talked and made love and eaten food that was delivered to the room on a skirted table. By mutual agreement, discussion of her decision was put off until after the weekend. Luz wondered if Eddo also secretly knew that the despedida would decide it all.
At least she looked nice, the product of a visit to the spa in the hotel that Eddo had arranged. Fully expecting to be asked to leave, she was instead there for hours, emerging as shiny as she was ever going to be, with flawless skin and subtle mauve nails. Her hair gleamed in a French knot.
The turquoise silk Marina Rinaldi dress had narrow shoulder straps, a figure-hugging bodice, and a full skirt. Luz’s birthday necklace was centered in the plunging V of the neckline. Eddo had complimented her 20 times already.
The beaded purse she’d bought to match the dress was in her lap. The chain handle gave her nervous hands something to toy with. The white stone was in her dress pocket. For luck. Or something.
“Who?” Eddo kept his eyes on the road as the car turned west on Reforma. The bruises on his face had faded to yellow. “Oh. Arturo’s former personal assistant. He’s going back to Oaxaca.”
“Oh.” Luz admired her shiny toenails in an effort to distract herself. The tall Bruno Magli turquoise suede slides made her ankles slim and her calves shapely. “Did Arturo get a new assistant?”
“Yes.” Eddo’s eyes flickered to her and then back to the road. “Great guy. Real asset to the team.”
The team. The team she’d meet in just a few minutes. The people who would decide her future. “So what have you told them about me?” she asked as her stomach churned. “Anything I should know?”
“Well,” Eddo considered. “They know your name is Luz de Maria. That you’re an artist. Think you’re amazing from Elsa’s show.”
“Did you tell them you proposed?”
“Oh yes.” Eddo started drumming on the steering wheel, an uncharacteristic nervous mot
ion. “Everyone you meet tonight will know I’ve asked you to marry me.”
Eddo was wearing a white shirt, an impeccably tailored tan suit, and a Pineda Covalin silk tie that had probably cost 700 pesos. Luz had picked it up while he was in the shower, intrigued by the design of tiny purple flowers on a yellow background. Below the tag reading Pineda Covalin, Mexico, a second tag said Edición Especial, Violetas.
Luz thought about the conversations to come. How did you two meet? In front of the Tamayo Museum. Have you been seeing each other long? We met in October. Didn’t I see you once at Selena de Vega’s house, wearing a gray dress and serving cocktails?
They were still in the Chapultepec Park area, cruising the northern fringe of Lomas Virreyes. Most of the houses were embassies or ambassadorial residences.
At the end of Alpes Eddo turned right onto Montes Auvernia. They continued a little way then he turned right again, this time into a wide driveway. Huge black double doors, each centered by a brass knocker as big as Luz’s head, were set into a tall salmon-colored stucco wall. The wall was topped with iron spikes. Eddo tapped the horn. The doors slowly swung inward.
Luz was nearly panting with the effort to stay calm. She thought wildly of shouting that he had to take her back to the hotel. She was ill. Leprosy. Having a heart attack.
The big SUV crunched over gravel. A man in a snappy security uniform stepped out of a guard house set into the stucco wall. He threw Eddo a crisp salute. Eddo nodded and the SUV rolled forward.
“Dios mio,” Luz gasped suddenly. “We didn’t bring a gift.” Upper class people always brought hostess gifts. She’d blundered horribly before she even got to the despedida.
Eddo looked at her. “I . . . uh . . . sent champagne ahead.”
“Champagne?”
“The hostess enjoys champagne.” Eddo swung the SUV into a circular drive, parked behind two other big vehicles, and helped Luz out. Several chauffeurs and bodyguards were standing by the other vehicles. They all nodded at Eddo.