Sea of Cortez

by Garry Ryan

  Arthur waited as Alejandro used a key to open one of the French doors on either side of the entrance. Then he said, “I think we should try the theatre room first.” They looked inside the living room, then up at the pyramid-style ceiling. The furniture was handmade.

  They took the walkway along the side of the building. Arthur counted doorways. “I think this is it.” He tried the door. It opened into a room of eight reclining leather chairs with metre-wide seat cushions. A curved two-metre screen was mounted on the wall. “There’s a space for all the electronic equipment behind that one.” He walked over to the TV and began to inspect the wooden panel to the right. Alejandro looked at the panel on the left. Arthur’s panel opened; he crouched and eased his right side in until he sat on the sill. “There’s a light switch in here.” He inched forward.

  “Anything there?” Lane asked.

  Arthur said, “Not so far.”

  Alejandro’s phone rang. Lane shivered with tension and looked at his friend as he answered in rapid-fire Spanish.

  Lane waited until Alejandro had pressed end on his phone. “Any idea how much time we’ve got?”

  Alejandro raised the phone in his hand. “The yacht will probably dock in thirty minutes near San Lucas. They have requested an ambulance. I would guess that we have at least an hour. It will take them twenty minutes to get here by car.”

  Lane said, “I’m going to take a look around. You and Arthur have lots to keep you busy in here.”

  Alejandro nodded, handing him the keys. “Just be careful. We may be visible from below and from a distance with all of the lights in this place.”

  Lane nodded, stepped outside and closed the door. Stairs on his right led to the second floor. To his left a flat sidewalk wound in and around palm trees, bougainvillea and fountains. Spotlights recessed in the tiled walk lit flowering plants. He walked toward the centre of the house and looked inside the office, which was separate from the rest of the building. He walked beyond the office as he tried to remember Emir’s floor plan and opened another French door set in a stone wall. Inside was a round table with six leather chairs. He could see bottles of wine stacked on wooden racks crisscrossing the facing wall. The room smelled of polished wood and leather with faint undertones of fermentation.

  Lane walked over to the nearest rack, slid a bottle of wine out and checked the label. It was a 1973 Chablis. He slid the bottle back and stepped away, looking for anomalies. Why did Manny and Pike leave Bonner’s art gallery with wine bottles?

  He turned to the next rack looking for unusual corks or colours among the different vintages and brands. Bonner is a numbers guy. He counted five from the top and five across, tapped the top of one bottle and slid it out. He went through the entire fifth row without finding anything unusual. It was on the seventh row that he found the Cayman Chablis. Two rows directly below that he found a Geneva Sauvignon Blanc. He set the pair of bottles on the table and sat down. He leaned one bottle over so he could see the label. How many numbers in a normal UPC code? He texted his location to Alejandro.

  Moments later the door opened. Arthur stepped inside followed by Alejandro. “What have you found?”

  Lane held up the Geneva. “This one says it’s from the Credit Suisse Winery in Geneva Switzerland.” Then he pointed at the Chablis. “It’s from the Butterfield Winery on the Cayman Islands.”

  Arthur reached out with his right hand. “Let me see that.” He looked at the label, then studied the bottom of the bottle. He examined the label again. “Can I see the other one?”

  Lane handed him the Sauvignon Blanc. Arthur repeated his examination.

  Alejandro asked, “What do you see? Are there diamonds inside of the wine?”

  Arthur shook his head. “No. It looks like the winery indicates a bank and the bar code — or at least what appears to be a bar code at first glance — is actually an account number.” He pointed at Lane and Alejandro. “Could you check whether there are any more Geneva or Cayman labels?”

  It took nearly forty minutes to check each bottle, but they ended up with twenty-two bottles of wine, which identified four banks and twenty-two separate account numbers.

  Arthur turned to Lane. “Can you call Anna? I need her to check some numbers.”

  Lane pulled out his phone, checking the face. “We’re almost out of time.”

  Arthur nodded.

  Lane dialed zero zero one and then Anna’s number. It rang seven times.

  “Lane?” Nigel answered.

  “Yes. I’m sorry it’s late but we can’t wait. Is Anna awake?”

  There was a pause before Nigel asked, “Where are you?”

  “Palmilla. Is Anna available?”

  “Palmilla?”

  Lane waited. He heard a growling noise. “Not now, fuck face!” There were more muffled sounds before a raspy female voice said, “Lane, if it was anyone else I would tell you to kiss my —” A lengthy pause. “What is it?”

  “Do you have a computer handy?”

  “Always.”

  “Arthur needs you to take a look at something.” He handed the phone to his partner, who explained the label of one bottle to Anna. He waited while she worked. He looked at Lane. “This is going to cost us a very fancy dinner.”

  Lane nodded.

  Arthur listened as Anna spoke. He pressed END and handed the phone back to Lane. “She says that she needs a couple of hours to get set up and enter the account. In the meantime she wants us to get to another computer to access some data. She also needs the information on the other accounts so she can transfer funds.”

  Lane turned to Alejandro. “Can you phone Aldo Gonzalez and ask him to get the computers set up? We’ve got work to do.”

  Alejandro pulled out his phone. “We need to move. Can you find something to put the wine bottles in?”

  They wrapped the bottles in towels they found in the bathrooms, and set them in the back of the Excursion.

  Alejandro’s phone rang as they were climbing into the SUV. He listened more than he talked. When he spoke, he turned the key in the ignition. He finished with “Gracias.” He handed his phone to Arthur and reversed. “Fuentes is dead. Pike has a dislocated shoulder. They are on their way back from the hospital.” He moved forward, reversed again, then pointed the nose of the SUV at the front gate. He reached up and used the control on the visor. The gates swung open. “We’ll go to the beach and transfer the bottles to the Jeep. We’ll leave this beast there.”

  Arthur asked, “Then where do we go?”

  Alejandro wiped tears from his eyes. “Aldo is setting the computers up in your room. They are waiting for us to get to work.”

  Lane leaned forward and put his hand on Alejandro’s shoulder. “You okay?”

  “The pendejo is dead. I have waited for this day since he killed my mother and sister. At times I thought it would never come. I’m having flashbacks about what Fuentes did to my family.” He shrugged Lane’s shoulder away. “There is much work to do.”

  Lane asked, “Any word on Bonner?”

  Alejandro said, “Just Fuentes and Pike. We saw Manny’s body at the beach. They may not have recovered Bonner’s body yet.” He looked at Arthur. “Put that jacket on. The windshield isn’t as dark as the side windows.” He drove through the open gate, then shifted into low gear so that he could drive slowly down the steep grade and around the switchback turns. At the bottom, he stopped at the security gate where the guard nodded and lifted the barrier. Alejandro waved, turned left and then right, bumping down the dirt road to the beach where he parked beside the Jeep.

  A little over thirty minutes later, Alejandro pulled up next to the loading dock at La Luna Cortez resort. Lane checked his phone. No time for sleep tonight.

  The pair pulled up in a late-model Land Rover. One was clean-shaven and wore a button-down shirt and blue slacks. The other wore a long-sleeved black T-shirt and jeans; his long salt-and-pepper hair was pulled back into a ponytail. They climbed out of the Land Rover, shut the doors, set the al
arm and walked to the front door of Franco’s. The restaurant served some of the best seafood, pasta and pizza in Calgary. They strolled through the front door and upstairs past the sign requesting they wait to be seated. They found a table for four in the corner next to the kitchen and waved the waiter over. Button-Down said, “We need two lagers, menus and Nando the manager.”

  The waiter nodded. He returned with menus and two beers; a minute later Nando arrived. He had thick black hair and a spare tire pushing against his white shirt and over the belt around his grey slacks. He stood between the men. “I’m here.”

  Button-Down sipped from his beer then set it down slowly. “We made you a business proposition last week. It’s a fair offer for security and piece of mind.”

  Nando nodded. “The owner asked me to call him when you returned.” He pulled a cell phone from his pants pocket. He pressed a button then put the phone to his ear. “They’re here.” He listened, pressed a button on the phone and palmed it. “He’ll be here in fifteen minutes. Could I buy you both the seafood linguini? It’s especially good this evening.”

  Button-Down nodded. “And refill our beers,” Ponytail said.

  Nando nodded at the waiter before turning and walking through the swinging doors and into the kitchen.

  The men waited for their refills.

  “What do you think, Robbie?” Ponytail asked.

  Robbie looked at his beer. “When we finish this deal, we’ll be close to our quota.”

  “There’s something else. A quick job.”

  Robbie leaned closer and dropped his volume. “What, Daryl?”

  “Pike upped the contract on Lane. First one to get a confirmed hit on the target gets a bonus.”

  “How much?”

  “Hundred thousand and two weeks in Cancun.”

  Robbie sat back. “Do we have a shot at it?”

  “If Lane makes it back here from Cabos. There are already a couple of full-patch members down there on the job.”

  Robbie raised his beer. “Here’s hoping the target makes it home.”

  Daryl lifted his beer and smiled. “Dos cervezas.”

  Alex Rendon stretched his legs out and picked up the phone. He watched the quartet of computer monitors in the spare bedroom of his penthouse suite atop a downtown condo.

  Nigel answered his phone. “Rendon?”

  Alex stood up. At six foot five, his head came close to touching the light hanging from the ceiling. “I’m sending you one minute of sound and video.”

  “Where was it taken?”

  “You know Franco’s in Kensington?”

  “Yep.”

  Alex took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I set up camera and sound because the Angels are trying to shake down the owner for protection money. They also discussed a hit on Lane.”

  “Who’s behind the contract?”

  “Pike.”

  Nigel took a breath. “Send the evidence to me and to Harper. Thanks for this.”

  “No worries.” Alex ended the conversation.

  FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 21

  chapter 19

  The sun was midway in the sky as Lane leaned on the balcony railing. Below, Mr. Kringle was propped on his blue chaise longue with four empty plastic glasses on a side table. He sipped from a fifth. The pool was empty. Waiters went from fresa to fresa serving drinks and collecting empties. Lane looked out over the ocean to check whether any whales were on the horizon. A savoury blend of seafood, rice and cilantro brought his attention back to the patio where a pan the size of a dinner table sat atop a grill. People lined up for paella. Kringle was on the scent. His generous belly, white mane and red shirt joined the line for food.

  Arthur came to stand beside Lane. There were dark smudges under his eyes. He took the cappuccino from Lane’s hand and had a sip. Lane asked, “Is it done?”

  Arthur handed back the cup, closed his eyes and leaned back to stretch his arms. “The cooperative in Culiacán will support the workers who make the art for Bonner and Fuentes’s shops. It will also fund the construction of two schools. Five schools in San José have similar deals arranged with budgets to sustain them, along with breakfast and lunch programs. All of the money from the various accounts has been transferred out. The way it’s structured, the money will stay to support the communities and sustain their economies. It’s been a good day.”

  Lane nodded. “Is Anna offline?”

  “Just now. I don’t know how she did it, but she was able to transfer the money out of Bonner’s various accounts and put it in the ones created in Mexico. And she declined to take a percentage.”

  Lane closed his eyes, leaning his head back to take the full effect of the sun on his face. “It’s remarkable that she is one of the most honest people I’ve ever met even though what she does is illegal.”

  “You’re worried about what we’ve done?”

  Lane shook his head. “Not at all. In fact, I feel something like relief. And I feel good, like we’ve been part of something that will make a difference.”

  “Alejandro says there will be lots of questions because the money is gone.”

  Lane looked at Arthur’s rumpled white shirt and khaki shorts. “How much was there exactly?”

  “A little over three point five billion in US funds.”

  Lane smiled. “There will be hell to pay when we get home. The Mexican government will talk to the Canadian government, and they will talk to Alberta’s solicitor general. The RCMP will probably get involved.”

  “You’re enjoying this?”

  “Why not? The money is going to the people who need it most. Three of the four guys organizing a drug cartel are out of action. A pretty good outcome.”

  “You think they’ll come after you?”

  “I know they’ll come after me. It’s time to call Harper, and then Tommy Pham, and let them know what’s happened.”

  Lane and Arthur walked along the open corridor, past the check-in desk and through the sliding glass doors. The lights were on in the courtyard and traffic rattled beyond the guardhouse and the one-armed barrier.

  “Where do you want to go?” Arthur asked.

  “Why not walk up to San José?” Lane spotted Mr. Kringle as he opened the door of a Ford van. It sagged to the curb, bouncing back when the white-bearded man stepped out and shut the door. The gold taxi began to pull away. It braked and its nose dove.

  There was the rumble of a pair of pounding motorcycle pipes. Lane, Arthur, the guard at the gate and every other person on the street watched as a pair of Harleys blasted up alongside the taxi and stopped just in front. The biker on the far side looked ahead. The biker on the inside reached into a black bag slung on the side of the gas tank. The shine of silver glowed in the streetlight as a muzzle flashed twice. The Harleys’ engines muffled the sharp explosions.

  Lane shoved Arthur behind the guardhouse. The Harleys’ engines roared and rubber screamed. Lane poked his head around the corner. Mr. Kringle lay on his side. Smoke from motorcycle rubber obscured the scene. The bikes headed west toward the cemetery.

  The taxi driver, a couple on their way back from the bar across the street and the security guard made it to Kringle’s side before Lane, who spotted two holes in the man’s red shirt. The ambulance arrived ten minutes later — three minutes too late.

  Alejandro knocked on the door and was allowed in by a pair of bodyguards. “You two packed?”

  Lane was on the balcony listening to the waves roll in. Arthur was inside checking the safe to make sure they had their passports. He turned to Alejandro. “What’s up?”

  Alejandro lifted his chin at Lane on the balcony. “Is he okay?”

  “I think so. Aldo told us that he thought the killers were looking for a guy in a beard, so he’s a bit conflicted. Lane’s happy to be alive yet feeling he’s somehow responsible for Kringle’s death.”

  “Kringle was a pendejo, if that helps. He’s been bullying the staff for years.” Alejandro walked to the patio door. “Lane?
Aldo has arranged for you two to fly to San Diego. He has an old friend who is flying back in a company plane.” He looked at the clock by the bed. “We need to hurry.”

  The men walked down the hallway sandwiched between the bodyguards. They hustled down four flights of stairs, through a set of doors, along a green corridor and out onto the loading dock where they waited outside. Lane looked up and down the lit driveway. He listened for the approach of any vehicles.

  Alejandro’s phone chirped. He looked at the screen. “Looks like they just arrested the killers. They were headed north on the highway on the way to La Paz.”

  Arthur asked, “So that’s that, then?”

  “Not exactly.” Lane read a message on his own phone. He showed it to Arthur, who handed it to Alejandro.

  A silver four-door BMW X5 pulled into the driveway. One of the bodyguards said something in Spanish.

  Alejandro put his hand on Lane’s shoulder. “This is your ride, my friend.”

  The bodyguards lifted the bags into the back. Lane and Arthur climbed inside; Alejandro sat next to the driver, whose seat was moved close to the wheel and raised to its maximum height; even so, the driver’s head just cleared the top of the wheel. “Mucho gusto, señores. I am Aldo’s brother-in-law, Fidel.” He backed up, eased up the hill to the gate, checked for traffic and drove north into San José.

  Alejandro kept his eyes moving from the traffic ahead to the side-view mirror. “A customs officer will be waiting at the plane. It’s at the north end of the airport.”

  Arthur turned to Lane. “You’re not saying much.”

  “I’m trying to plan ahead. Who will be waiting for us at the San Diego airport? How will we get to Calgary after San Diego? The Mexican government will probably say the money belongs to them. Bonner’s assets in La Jolla will probably be seized by the FBI. If and when we get finished with the FBI, the RCMP will probably investigate. I’m just trying to figure a way through it all.”