“I’m sorry for crying but you scare me.”
“Amando Segura, you’re the only man on this earth, outside of my sphere of influence, who knows of my efforts to seek the man in question. Shall I verbalize what might happen if I hear tale of this escaping to other interested parties?”
“No, señor,” Amando answered with a strong shake of his head.
“Are you certain?”
“I will never, ever breathe a word of this to anyone.”
Xavier extended his hand to Amando, helping him up. “How’s the jaw?”
“It pops when I open it,” Amando said, his lip quivering.
“Well, I apologize for my temper.”
Amando seemed surprised but pleased. “Thank you, señor.”
Xavier retrieved the envelope and handed it to Amando.
“Is there anything else, señor?”
Cocking his eyebrow, Xavier asked, “The lady with you, she is your second wife?”
“Sí, señor.”
“What happened to your first wife?”
“We divorced, señor.”
“Ah,” Xavier said with a nod. “It just didn’t work out?”
Amando narrowed his eyes. “Sí, señor, something like that.”
“I’d advise you not to lie when I ask you this.” Xavier waited with an open face until Amando nodded. “That woman out there, your current wife…did you have sexual relations with her while you were still married to your first wife?” Xavier quickly spiked a finger into the air. “Don’t lie, Amando, because I will know, and there will be further retribution.”
Seeming aghast at the line of questioning, Amando nodded.
“Very good, Amando,” Xavier said. “Well, since you failed me, since I didn’t get what I wanted and, since I compensated you and, since…well, I’m just in the mood, I’d like you to step out there and tell your adulterous wife that I intend to make love to her.”
Amando’s lips parted but no sound emerged.
“I want her today. Now.”
“But…”
“Tell her that I want her to be naked,” Xavier pointed to a decorative chaise covered in wine velvet, “on that couch, right there, in precisely ten minutes.” Xavier tilted his chin upward and studied the small man.
“Señor, are you…are you serious?” Amando asked, attempting to smile.
“I never joke about making love.”
“But…but she’s my wife. I love her and how could I ever explain such—”
Xavier moved toe-to-toe, glaring down at the executive. “The same way you convinced me you would get me Navarro’s exact position, you little gusano. The same way you convinced your first wife that there was no one else until you left her high and dry for that woman out there.” Xavier’s voice had risen but now he brought it back down. “You’ve taken twelve thousand euro from me, for shit, and the very least you can do is open your wife to me, so I can regain some measure of satisfaction.”
Amando trembled for a moment before whirling and vomiting in the same planter he’d used to extinguish his cigarette. Gripping the heavy edges of the gilded planter, he turned, a string of saliva hanging from his pink lower lip.
Xavier clicked his Breitling. “You now have exactly nine minutes to make your impassioned pitch. And, when my timer runs out, she’d better be on that couch, naked and willing.”
Motioning Amando up, Xavier said, “C’mon, Amando, that blue suit is actually quite nice and you’re getting puke on it.” Once Amando was standing, wavering, Xavier glanced at his watch. “You’ve already pissed away thirty more seconds. Oh, and if you start getting ideas that this is some silly fool’s errand, and that I might forgive you if you fail to convince her, you’d be wrong. Along with your home on that pathetic little hill at Pedralbes, I know about your son, the cerebrito, zit-faced mathematician wannabe at Zaragoza…and your daughter, pre-med and promiscuous…in the event you didn’t know…studying at the charming Universidad d’Oviedo.” Xavier menacingly flashed his teeth. “If you do not come through, they’ll be getting visits from me. And the daughter’s visit with me will be lengthy, Amando, if you know what I mean.”
Amando’s expression couldn’t have been more horrified if he was ordered to slice his own throat with a razor. With a glance at his watch, Xavier coolly pronounced that seven minutes remained. He called out to Amando when he reached the double doors. “Amando! When she’s on the couch, I don’t want her demurely covering herself.” He lowered his chin. “Ready—and—willing.”
With a resigned nod and tears on his cheeks, Amando disappeared.
* * *
Raeford, North Carolina
At that same moment, 4,232 miles away, Gage Hartline, hungry again, tore into a late breakfast. Having already doused it with hot sauce, he forked an egg white omelet, briefly regretting his decision to go with the healthier version of the incredible, edible egg. Gage had flown in on the earliest flight out of Dallas/Fort Worth and arrived in Raleigh ninety minutes before. With only a tiny bag of salted peanuts in his stomach, he sped straight to the Fort Bragg area without eating.
The restaurant Colonel Hunter had suggested they meet at was known as PK’s Grill & Pub. The small restaurant was unique because it was situated at the Raeford Parachute Center, one of the busiest skydiving drop zones in the world. Nestled a few miles from sprawling Fort Bragg, Raeford is a training center, and recreation spot, for many of the world’s elite covert operatives. Gage had spent many, many days training here. Back during Gage’s military training, Raeford Parachute Center had been owned by the venerable Gene Paul Thacker, a skydiving pioneer and legend who had recently passed away.
The world was less interesting without good ol’ Gene Paul.
Despite all the military, anyone could visit Raeford and enjoy themselves by watching the bevy of skydivers. And one would never guess that a number of the jumpers are members of the Special Forces, Delta Force, and all manner of shadowy operations that have hatched from the world’s nest to special operations.
Skydiving is an open, friendly community. At Raeford, it isn’t at all uncommon to find a group skydive populated by civilians and military alike, their common bond being the hair-raising sport they all share.
Inside of three minutes, Gage finished his omelet and plain wheat toast, gulping down his water as Colonel Hunter ambled back over. Hunter had eaten before Gage had arrived and, just as Gage had sat down, Hunter was summoned to a quiet corner of the restaurant by a distinguished-looking older gentleman Gage didn’t know.
“Know who that was?” Hunter asked, sitting back down and using a toothpick on his teeth.
Gage reached across the table, pointing to Colonel Hunter’s two uneaten pieces of toast.
“Take ‘em.”
“Who is he?” Gage asked before devouring the first piece of toast.
“Name’s Harwood. Was in Fifth Group in ‘Nam. Had a helluva career. Back when I was tabbed to assemble our team, Harwood was in the running for the job. We’d jumped together before, out here actually, and also gone to a few schools together.” Colonel Hunter stared out the window as a student flared high under canopy, tumbling to earth and performing a nice parachute-landing-fall. Hunter’s voice became distant. “Man, I thought Harwood was gonna knife me the next time I saw him, judging by the way he looked at me.”
“Jealous?”
“Bah,” Hunter said, dismissing it. “You know how competitive it all was. Soon after, we got shipped off post, he went to the Pentagon, and that was the last I saw of him.”
“And?” Gage said, searching the table but finding no more food.
“Got himself three stars up in D.C. He was just telling me about the paper war that went on after Crete.”
Gage pulled in a breath through his nose at the mention of Crete. He’d been a member of a special team, commanded by Colonel Hunter, that had been designed to perform the blackest of missions. Once chosen, the members of the team had assumed new identities and could not be officiall
y traced back to the United States. For a number of years the team had performed as designed—defusing potentially deadly situations around the world. It was not uncommon for them to kidnap, to destroy and to kill, all in the interest of the United States.
But one blazingly hot day in June, on the rocky island of Crete, changed all that. Two children had died that day, and with them died Colonel Hunter’s team. The entire affair had been a regrettable accident, and truly not the team’s fault.
But, as usual when politicians are involved, someone had to take the fall.
Although the government kept the team’s existence quiet, the team was scuttled and each of its men censured. Colonel Hunter was ungraciously sent to his retirement. Gage, like most of the others on the team, floundered. Special operations were all he knew, and now he practiced his skill privately.
“You okay?” Hunter asked.
“Yeah,” Gage said, shaking the memories of Crete from his head. After years of torturing himself, he’d learned to put it behind him.
“Anyway, Harwood fought like hell for us up there in D.C.”
“You believe him?”
“Yeah, I do. He’s a leathery old pecker…but, then again, so am I.”
The two men shared a smile.
Colonel Hunter still looked like he could lead a platoon up a well-defended hill. In his early sixties now, he was tall and continued to wear his steely-gray hair well inside Army regulation standards. Hunter’s icy blue eyes and Oklahoman accent fit perfectly with the man who men naturally wanted to follow. He’d been toying with a salt shaker before smacking it on the table.
“Get enough to eat?”
“I might have another omelet,” Gage said. “While I decide, want to tell me about this job?”
Colonel Hunter glanced around. Several members of the Army’s precision skydiving team, the Golden Knights, were reviewing a jump video in the corner. A few students, easily denoted by their hideous billowy jumpsuits, were up at the bar buying Gatorade. Otherwise, everyone else was outside enjoying the mild late spring morning, jumping, preparing to jump or watching the skydivers.
“Ever heard of Los Soldados?” Hunter asked Gage.
“The Soldiers?”
“It’s a huge crime syndicate in Spain.”
“No.”
“Well…their boss wants to hire you.”
Gage tilted his head. “Sir…”
“I know,” Colonel Hunter said. “But, from what I was told by a person I trust implicitly, this fellow isn’t all bad. And though I have no idea what he’s wanting you to do, he’s willing to pay you ten grand, plus expenses, just to come listen to him.”
“Wow,” Gage said, leaning back.
“Yeah.”
“In Spain?”
“Yeah, Catalonia. That’s the state Barcelona’s in. Don’t know where you’ll meet, though. They were cagey about that but they did mention the Costa Brava.”
“And this is all because you owe someone a favor?”
“Don’t let that influence you. I simply said you were my best contact. The decision’s yours and it won’t bother me a bit if you don’t go.”
“Ten grand,” Gage murmured. “No catches?”
“Nope. You can take his cash and walk if you want.”
“Northeast Spain in May,” Gage said, glancing outside.
How could Gage say no?
They discussed the proposal for a half hour, with Gage learning little else than he’d already been told. They walked outside just as Raeford’s Super Twin Otter roared into the warm air with a full load.
“When was the last time you jumped?” Colonel Hunter asked.
“A while.”
“Got time for a hop and pop? Get our knees in the breeze outta the Cessna, clear the cobwebs out?”
“Are you serious?”
“Do I joke?”
Gage chuckled then glanced at his watch. “You said he’s paying my fare?”
“The itinerary they sent routes you from Fayetteville to Kennedy, then on to El Prat. Leaves around six this evening.”
“Rain check on the jump,” Gage said. “I need to do a wash, get a shower, and throw some things in a bag.”
“I’ve got your cash, your ticket, and the phone number I was given, all back at the house.”
“Just so we’re clear, sir, I’ll go and listen to him, but I’m not taking a job from some Spanish mobster.”
“I know, son. Just take the man’s money and enjoy a free trip.” Hunter eyed Gage. “They told me they’re sending someone to pick you up at El Prat.”
“Meaning, you told them I was coming.”
Hunter smiled with his eyes only. “Ten grand is ten grand. In fact, I’ve already got your money.”
“I may have to run a little deception at El Prat. I don’t like courtesy limos.”
Hunter nodded his head knowingly. “Just call the man once you’re in country.”
“After this, sir, wait a few weeks before you do any more favors.”
“At least you’re flying business class,” Hunter added.
Gage had been stepping into his truck but stopped. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
“This’ll be the easiest job I ever turned down,” Gage said just as a bevy of skydivers began to swoop in under canopy.
Gage Hartline had no idea of the temptation that awaited him in Spain.
* * *
Barcelona, Spain
Back at the gala wedding, Xavier chuckled contentedly after sending Amando back to his wife with the incredibly indecent proposal. Popping a mint into his mouth, he strode back into the main hall. Across the room, up on a platform, the bride and groom were embroiled in the ridiculous tradition of smearing cake on each other. Though he’d never been married, and would never entertain such a notion, Xavier briefly imagined what he might do if a girl smeared cake on him. Too cultured to mete out her punishment in public, he would handle things afterward, making sure she—
Is that Redon? he asked himself, interrupting his pointless train of thought.
Cortez Redon was the top acusador in the region of Catalonia—his position was similar to a state attorney in the United States, yet more powerful. A balding, petite man, Redon was outwardly pompous—yet Xavier knew that, behind closed doors, Redon was easily bought. In fact, they’d recently finished a transaction that had netted Redon a pile of money in return for his not pursuing a case involving one of Xavier’s most productive smugglers. Redon’s obese wife was talking to two other ladies as the acusador visibly slipped backward in the throng, no doubt trying to find more interesting company to speak with.
Xavier looked left, spotting Amando far across the ballroom, away from the crowd and near the bandstand, gesticulating as he made his urgent point to his wife. Feeling his arousal coming up, especially when the wife slapped Amando, twice, Xavier turned back to Redon the acusador, reading his lips. He’d settled in with a busty, striking young woman of no more than eighteen, telling her he’d “been noticing her all day”, dazzling her with his embossed business card and fancy title, urging her to call him if she “ever needed anything at all.” Xavier shook his head as he closed the distance.
“Acusador,” Xavier said loudly, standing directly behind Redon.
Redon’s neck and ears immediately reddened at the interruption. He turned, his brow line shooting up upon seeing Xavier. Gathering himself, cutting his eyes in both directions, he whispered, “What are you doing here?”
“Watching these two young lovers get married, acusador. Is that now a crime?”
“We shouldn’t be seen talking,” Redon hissed.
Xavier moved around Redon, smiling at the young woman. “Call the acusador soon, darling. He will do anything in his power to help you…so that you might help him.” Xavier let his eyes focus on her juicy décolletage, repeating, “Anything.”
The young woman’s lips parted as she eyed Xavier dreamily, tilting her head to look at his Leones tattoo.
&nbs
p; Disregarding her, Xavier turned to Redon.
“Your tastes haven’t changed, I see.”
“What do you want?”
Xavier glanced to the spot where Amando had been “speaking” to his wife. Only Amando was there now, glumly staring toward the rear of the grand hall. Xavier’s brown eyes tracked across the parquet floor, seeing Amando’s wife trudging to the rear concourse, mopping her eyes with a tissue.
Perfect.
Turning the other direction, Xavier spotted his Swedish date standing alone by the wine bar. She was looking at him, so he motioned three minutes and pointed to the rear doors. She nodded, winking at him before running her long tongue slowly over her upper lip. His exit now secure, he turned back to the corrupt government attorney.
“If you’re uncomfortable speaking with me, Redon, please turn and watch the festivities while I ask you a question.” Redon obeyed, standing close to Xavier. The newly wedded couple had made their way off the platform and were heading to the bandstand as slices of cake were being distributed to the guests. Xavier glanced at Redon to make sure he was paying attention. Though he had his eyes on the procession, he clearly was.
“Who that you know might have access to satellite data, in regard to satellite phones?”
Redon put on a broad smile when the emcee called all unmarried men and women to the stage for the tossing of the bouquet and garter. “I’m not sure I follow,” he said naturally.
“Simply put, I want to know the exact location of someone I’m certain is using a satellite phone. I want a contact who can track the person down to the meter.”
Redon began slowly walking with the crowd toward the stage. Numerous women formed a crescent around the bride, laughing and jockeying for position. “I’m not sure,” Redon said casually. “But I’ve no doubt such a task would require,” he cleared his throat audibly, “tribute to numerous people. It would be muy caro. What else can you tell me?”
“The person I seek is here in Spain. He’s very careful. Just find out how it can be done and reach out to me as soon as possible.” Without another word, Xavier turned and walked to the rear of the grand hall.
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