The Dragon Tree Legacy

by Ali Vali

  “Come on, Wiley, it’s hot as shit out here,” Don said through the intercom. The man with him wore a white linen suit and Panama straw hat that made him resemble a bad character from a spy movie.

  She lifted her hand slowly and pressed the lock release, buzzing them in. This was the first time Don had visited her here, but from her description of the place he wouldn’t have a problem finding her in the building. The pocket doors to the studio closed quietly behind her, and she took the stairs up to the third level and the large den across from the dining room.

  “You couldn’t have picked someplace cooler?” Don asked, stepping off the elevator. “It’s like a fucking sauna out there.”

  “Heat’s good for the skin, haven’t you ever heard that?” She waved both of them toward a seat. “But you said you weren’t going to call on me very often, so why would you care?”

  “You also agreed not to be a hard-ass when I did, so smile.”

  “Are you going to introduce me to your friend?”

  Don’s smile faded a bit when she asked, and from their history she guessed his shadow hadn’t been his idea. “Wiley, this is Walter Robinson.”

  “Are you subcontracting me to the spooks, Don?” she asked, locking eyes with Walter.

  “Very perceptive, Major Gremillion, or may I call you Wiley?”

  “It depends on why you’re here, Walter.” She put up her hand even though he didn’t appear ready to interrupt her. “And we both know you’re here to ask a favor, so let’s not get lost on the path to telling me what it is.”

  “Where would you like me to begin?” Walter sat back on her couch like he was there for a social visit.

  “As a test of your ability to tell the truth, let’s start with what agency you represent.”

  “Currently I’m working in Mexico and South America with the CIA.” Walter took a pack of cigarettes out of his coat pocket and held it up.

  “Please wait until you’re back in the sauna to light that, if you don’t mind.” She tapped the bottom of the leather driving moccasins she’d put on before coming up and almost laughed at Walter’s sweat-stained suit. He must’ve fit into the South American landscape as well as a king cobra at a two-year-old’s birthday party. “And your favor?”

  “May I?” He took the jump drive from his other pocket and pointed to the laptop on the coffee table. She nodded and turned on the large flat-screen television that hung over the fireplace so Don could see as well.

  The first images showed those killed in the drug war happening in Mexico, or at least that’s what Wiley guessed as Walter flipped through a multitude of shots without speaking. The most horrific displayed rows of decapitated bodies. If they were meant to intimidate or terrify her, he would have to go some. So far she just wanted her lazy afternoon back.

  “Anyone who watches television or reads a paper has some idea of how bad this drug shit has gotten.” Walter stopped at a picture of a nice-looking blond man smiling from between two larger men, who appeared to be his security detail. “We usually try to control situations like this from within the country we’re assigned to, but the level of violence surprised everyone. The worst part was the overflow into the U.S. border towns.”

  “You’re right, Walter, I read the paper, so this is old news. I’m sure something in this slick presentation will get to the point of why you’re here. Or are you an old Southerner who likes to take the scenic route when it comes to storytelling?”

  Walter glanced at Don before he scrolled to the next picture of the same blond man, but didn’t say anything else. She sat back and concentrated on her breathing. Patience was the foundation of her training, and she never begged, so Walter could sit there and play his mind games until Christmas and he wouldn’t break her.

  “I already told you she has top security clearance, so get on with it,” Don said, letting his anger bleed into his voice. “Stop wasting time since my superiors already have agreed to this meeting.”

  “If you’ve got clearance, then I don’t need to remind you that we’re not having this conversation, right?” Walter asked.

  “Trust me. I’ll forget you before you make it to the elevator.” She also prided herself for perfecting her sarcasm.

  “This is Roth Pombo.” Walter flipped through a variety of pictures, all seemingly shot in Mexico. “He’s an American from the Phoenix area who moved to Cancun in his junior year of college, in early 2002. In four years he’s gone from small-time hustler getting by to a major player in the Mexican cartel, with his own crew.”

  “Wasn’t Mr. Pombo arrested last week in Mexico City?” Wiley asked.

  “He’s been on their most-wanted list for about a year. Remember when two U.S. State Department employees were gunned down accidentally on their way home over the border after attending a family member’s birthday party in Nogales? Pombo started the mutilations that have been front-page news to scare off competitors, and we believe his crew shot our people.”

  “Good for the Mexican federales for catching this guy, then,” Wiley said.

  “We weren’t expecting it, considering the number of police working for the cartels.”

  The “we” Walter had used was her first clue as to what she was dealing with, and why Walter was here. “What’s Pombo doing for you?”

  Walter smiled widely before shaking his head. “You were right, Don, she is bright.”

  “I’m also busy, so answer the question.”

  “We got someone in early enough that he came up with Roth.” The change in name made Wiley think she was talking to the agent who was close to Pombo. “With time, the agency decided to have someone we could let work unhindered in the business as long as he helped us control the traffic coming in.”

  “Did he deliver?” From the number of photos of Pombo, and the settings where’d they been taken, he had done well on the working “unhindered” part of the equation.

  “When we pitched him we backed ourselves up with enough evidence that he either cooperated or landed in jail as the best-case scenario. With his cruelty the other bosses would’ve killed him slowly once we turned him over. He accepted our offer and was smart enough to benefit as much as we did by taking out a lot of the small-to-medium players.”

  “Sounds smart, since going after anyone with more muscle would’ve started a war he couldn’t have easily won or calmed down, even with your resources. By removing competition, though, he helps not only you, but himself with the higher-ups.”

  “Roth certainly knows how to work things to his advantage, but he’s under the delusion he’s untouchable.” Walter stopped at the picture of Pombo in cuffs surrounded by masked police in a Mexican hangar. “After his arrest he immediately called the embassy for a ride and bail.”

  “He wasn’t caught without some help,” Wiley said, looking at how relaxed Roth appeared despite the deep shit he was in. “What’d he do?”

  “He was under the delusion he was untouchable. Did you miss that part?”

  “I haven’t missed much so far, but that’s not important since I’m not in your den asking you for a favor. You gained his trust, you worked him, and you gave him the illusion he was untouchable so he’d be successful in helping you.” She hadn’t met many company men, but they all brought paranoia to a new level. “If he’d acted any differently you’d be looking for his head to bury along with the body someone would’ve thrown out like an old newspaper. So what did he do?”

  “After a long stretch of arrests based on Roth’s tips, he took a vacation.” Walter’s slideshow continued. “At first my team and I didn’t question it, and we relaxed when all the surveillance showed was him spending the money we helped him make. Then the shootout in St. Luis, Arizona, happened, and in two days twenty-five people were killed. Thankfully no civilians were caught in the crossfire, but we had a hard time covering that many dead on our side of the border. In the aftermath we lost sight of Roth.”

  “Did the Mexican authorities suspect his dealings with you and use Arizona as
an excuse to move in?”

  Walter laughed. “See, you don’t know everything.” He clicked to a new picture, and the Middle Eastern–looking man sitting with Roth on a yacht with his shirt off made her blink a few times. Not that she recognized him, but she couldn’t miss the tattoo over his heart. It featured a khanda sword, or the wide double-edged blades used for centuries, at the center. Two curved swords called kirpans flanked the khanda and a closed circle drawn through it at the top portion of the blade, which represented a weapon called a chakkar. An old religious symbol, the curved blade on the left stood for truth, the one on the right for a willingness to fight for the right. The chakkar stood for the one God, never beginning and never ending.

  “Arizona was Roth doing some housecleaning, along with keeping us busy.”

  “Who is that?” Wiley asked when a better picture of the meeting came up.

  “We don’t know his name, or where in Mexico he is, but Roth thought he would free him from our arrangement.”

  “What’s a member of Tajr doing on Roth’s boat?” Don asked. “Coke and the rest of what this asshole Roth sells doesn’t interest them. Their business is heroin.”

  “Getting product into the U.S. over a common border is easier than trying through the ports, like they’ve been doing.” Walter let them study the picture a few more moments before he shut the system down. “This would’ve been a big payday for Roth, and a new venture-capital stream for the Trader sect or Tajr. When I saw the proof I had Roth picked up.”

  “What would you like from me?” Wiley asked, since she knew why Walter needed her.

  “Roth knows he screwed up, and his new friends have vanished into Mexico, so he’s facing this alone. His only way out of a death sentence is to trade the last chip he has for a get-out-of-jail-free card.”

  “What lesson are you trying to teach?” she asked.

  “That his head is no match for a bullet. Considering he gets only ten minutes alone in the best maximum-security prison in the country, this will take talent. It’s a distance shot that you’ll get only one crack at, but Roth needs to be neutralized.”

  “Understood,” Wiley said, accepting his file and his handshake.

  She and Don watched Walter through the screens until he stepped outside. “You sure about this?” Don asked.

  “He’s still not being completely honest, so I have to try to find what he’s hiding before I say yes, but I do need to consider it. If I don’t accept this time, someone like Walter could make my life interesting.” She stood up and headed for the kitchen. The peanut butter sandwich had left her hungry. “Interesting, I could do without for a while.”

  “You know that’s why I’m here, right?”

  She picked up the Lebanese-restaurant menu and held it up for Don to see before placing an order. “What, to make my life interesting?”

  “No.” Don twisted off the top of the beer she slid his way. “To keep it from getting too complicated. I feel funny about this, which means you must be getting some vibe from this guy.”

  “I am, but I haven’t narrowed it down yet. Until I start, though, I won’t know which of my theories is correct.”

  “Aside from Mr. Spooky, how’s it going?”

  The label on his beer bottle became the center of his attention, and unlike Walter, she knew what it meant when Don got nervous. Granted, his sense of paranoia had been helpful in the past, but it didn’t make sense to her now. “It’s an adjustment, but I’m coping.”

  “Not to sound repetitive, but did you watch the news today?” Wiley nodded and stood across from him on the other side of the island. “Dr. Jerry Dupre had an interesting story to tell after his arrest this morning.” He opened his bag and put a copy of the police report on the counter, not rushing her as she slowly perused every line.

  “The only story he should concentrate on concerns rape and torture. I believe that’s why he was arrested, all other interesting things aside. The rest is theater meant to create a diversion from his crimes.” He’d have to wait for her to say anything else when she went downstairs to accept the food delivery. When she made it back they were silent as she put out plates and utensils.

  “What happened to him sounds far-fetched to the police, but it carries the Dragon’s markings.” She nodded as she took a bite of her chicken shawarma. “If I’m wrong I apologize, but if I’m not, I have to warn you about freelancing more than your artistic talents.”

  “What exactly are you warning me about?”

  “Wiley, the brass let you go easily because you passed all the shrink’s tests and didn’t present a problem. If six months out they find out you’re killing people, they’ll put you somewhere I can’t help you.” He didn’t elevate his voice, but Wiley could tell he was upset.

  “Don’t worry. I agreed to the consultant gig, and that’s where I plan to showcase my talents,” she said, smiling. “Anything else I do with my time is my business and won’t interfere with my responsibilities to you.” She stretched out the fingers of her right hand, since they were stiff from holding her brush for so long, and relaxed it into a loose fist. “I’m not a puppet that needs constant handling or surveillance, and I’ll never go anywhere quietly.”

  “I’m telling you this because I care about you.”

  “I know, and I hope you understand I wanted to retire because I was ready for some peace. I’m trying to find that here, but my search won’t blind me totally to things that need to be done.” She got up and grabbed them another beer. “The doctor on the news this morning needed to be caught, and it’s a good thing he was, since he probably wouldn’t have given up his true passion.”

  “Good for the police, then, and I’m sure the courts will work out the story he told after he received medical attention. Not finding any evidence of his balls in the shredder he described makes the authorities think he’s setting up an insanity defense.”

  “Back to Walter, then.”

  Instead of giving her the details of the job, Don started pushing his food around his plate. “There’s more.”

  “About the rapist?” She was aggravated now.

  “Dr. Dupre’s not my concern, so no.” Don reached behind him and removed his wallet. The card he took out was blank on the back, and he held it to keep her from flipping it over.

  “Is today intended to test my patience?” Wiley didn’t move. “I enjoy your company, but don’t push it.”

  “Aubrey called.”

  She closed her eyes, and for a long minute she didn’t breathe. It had taken five years and all of her discipline not to think of Aubrey Tarver as soon as she woke up each morning, but she’d managed it. At least that was the lie she told herself constantly to soothe the ache. She allowed the past to completely run free in her mind only when she sat at her desk and looked at the picture of them together under their tree. That was the anchor she used to keep the darkness the Dragon thrived in from sweeping her away.

  Aubrey was simply a mix of happy and painful memories she’d learned to live with and accept, nothing more. She’d had no fantasies of what could be when she drove back to New Orleans to stay, and in almost nine years she’d never picked up the phone to get in touch, knowing the possible consequences if she allowed herself that luxury. When she’d had to let Aubrey go she felt like she imagined her targets did when her bullets hit them center chest. Only Aubrey’s hit hadn’t been a kill shot. She’d left herself lingering from the self-inflicted wound, and time had only made it fester.

  *

  Army Installation outside Miami, Florida, 1997

  “Thanks for your help, Wiley. It was a pleasure having you along,” Major Billy Ewart said as the transport plane they were sharing prepared for landing. The marine was shorter than Wiley, but his bulk dwarfed her. She’d been his team’s spotter as they carried out a covert operation in South America. Her face still itched from the camouflage paint she’d used to blend into the tree she’d climbed.

  “Thanks for the invite.” She stretched her legs out a
nd closed her eyes. After an eight-mile hike through dense vegetation, they’d been picked up by helo and dropped at the airstrip. She was beyond ready to get to New Orleans and spend about four hours in the shower with Aubrey.

  “We’ll keep you in mind. With you covering our ass I felt as safe as a baby with his mama. You live up to your hype, Wiley.”

  The plane landed at an army installation outside Miami, and she’d already booked her commercial flight for that afternoon. Her assignments had been steady, but this last one had kept her away from Aubrey for three months without any contact.

  “You taking some time off?” Billy asked as she shouldered her pack.

  “I’m scheduled for a few weeks, so I’m going to New Orleans. How about you?”

  “My wife’s meeting me here so we can take our boys to the beach.” Dutifully he took some pictures from his top pocket, and from the black smudges at the bottom corners, it was obvious he gazed at them often. “My youngest just turned five and can’t wait to show off his moves in the water without floaties.”

  “Cute,” she said as she flipped through the four he’d handed over. “They look like their mom,” she said, and laughed. A year more and maybe she’d be doing the same thing in a grocery line. Aubrey always talked about kids.

  “Smart-ass.” Billy punched her in the shoulder. “Try to stay sober and out of trouble until we see each other again.”

  She nodded and smiled as she watched him jog toward the small group waiting on the other side of the fence. Judging by the three boys’ haircuts, she figured Billy was raising some future marines.