“Wait! Wait! It would be great if that were to happen and they were surrounded by Harry’s Triad friends.”
Every fist in the room shot high in the air.
“I’d give my last dollar to see that,” Dennis said.
“Me too, and I’ll even throw in my beachfront properties.” Abner thought about what he’d just said for a second, then corrected his statement. “At least one property!”
“Are you going to mention the girls’ names?” Charles asked.
“Only if they want me to. They’re used to the notoriety and handled it pretty well when the news of their escape years ago first became public. In the end, it’s up to them. If you are asking for my opinion then it’s yes, they are not going to shrink or hide. They’ll want to be right up front with their stories. It’s how they’re recovering, getting it out there, talking about it. I will say this, those young women are survivors.
“There is one more thing. My source came to me by way of Pearl Barnes. So we owe her a bit of thanks here for that. When it comes to Pearl, we all have to understand she would give up her life to protect the people of her underground railroad. Her . . . whatever you want to call it with Kathryn is personal, between the two of them.”
“Now what?” Allison asked.
Charles looked at Harry, who was half asleep in his chair. “Harry, can you give us an update on your Triad friends? What’s happening across the world?”
“So far nothing. I should be hearing from Ky in the next half hour or so. Is there something else you want me to do? If not, I’m going to take a nap.”
The team talked it up, and there was nothing else that needed to be done.
“I did say there would be free time. Ferg and I will be cooking for our feast this afternoon. The rest of you can do whatever you want. Allison, I imagine you will want to go out to the barn to be with your children. Jack, that leaves you,” Charles said.
“Cyrus and I will head back to the house. I need to check my roof and the downspouts with all the rain we’ve had the past few days. What time is dinner?”
“Six o’clock, and don’t be late,” Fergus said.
Within seconds, the room emptied out.
“It’s just you and me, Ferg. What’s your feeling on all of this? You getting any vibes of any kind?”
“Not the kind I want to talk about, mate. This whole thing is a conundrum wrapped up in an enigma.”
“Avery is on his way over to the Sofitel to check things out. He’s going to make one stop along the way to pick up a few of his operatives. He said he’d check in a bit later. With nothing else on our plates, no pun intended, I say we get on with our cooking. What’s your thinking on homemade biscuits versus a dinner roll?”
“Biscuits. Fresh string beans or peas?”
“Peas, of course. Are you listening to the two of us? We’re cooking or talking about cooking, and our chicks are out there doing all the work. What’s wrong with this picture, Ferg?”
“We’re just not used to all this waiting time. A mission in the past ran like clockwork; we worked by minutes and seconds. Here we’re working in hours and days. Too much time in between. Wasted time. The other thing is we always had background. The Karas brothers appeared on the scene one day, as one of your chicks said, hatched from an egg. We can only work with the information that we have.”
Charles lifted the heavy twenty-three-pound turkey, slid it into the oversize oven, then set the timer.
“Our mistake was not going after whoever it is who put the Karas brothers in business in the first place. That’s who we want. We don’t even have a clue as to who that might be. Shame on us, Ferg.”
“I hate shelling peas. I’d rather snap green beans. It has to be some cartel. My guess would be El Salvador. We need to locate the hydra and kill it.”
“Chop off one head and another one grows,” Charles muttered.
“Then we torch it.”
“First we have to find it. We have plenty of time to kill today, so let’s go down to the war room and make war. I’ll call all the people I know from our days in service, and you call yours. Something is bound to come up. For all we know, it did, and we missed it because we were concentrating on the Karas brothers.”
Fergus washed his hands as Charles handed out treats to the dogs, accompanied by his usual warning: “Watch the house, Lady.” The golden retriever took up her position in front of the door, her pups at her side. Pinewood was safe now.
On the way down the moss-covered stone steps, Fergus asked Charles if he thought a trip to El Salvador was on the horizon. Or some other godforsaken country.
“Not by either you or me, but possibly by Avery and his people if we manage to turn something up. There was a name, Ferg, that I heard a while back. Maybe a year or so ago in regard to drug cartels. It was a kind of . . . I know this sounds silly, but a singsong kind of name. Do you remember anything like that? The man supposedly is the head or was the head of something, and billions, that’s with a b, go through his hands yearly.”
“You think he’s the hydra?”
“Right now it’s all I can think of. The feds seem to be on top of all the other cartels and watch them for a misstep. I never heard anything about that particular name again. I forgot all about it until just now.”
“Well, mate, maybe you need to go over there and sit down in Myra’s chair, close your eyes, and think about it.”
“You’re a mind reader now, too? I was just thinking the same thing. If it looks like I have fallen asleep, wake me up.”
“Righto, mate.”
One hour and thirteen minutes later, Charles Martin bounded out of Myra’s chair like he’d been shot from a cannon. “I’ve got it, Ferg. I’ve got it! Beteo Mezaluma! His people call him Beets. That’s all I know, though, and I don’t know if he hails from El Salvador or some other country. See what you can find out and check him out while I call Avery.”
There was no sound in the war room except for the clicking of computer keys and soft, murmured questions for over two hours when Charles called for a coffee break and said he wanted to check the turkey.
Fergus made the coffee as he talked. “Afghanistan is the biggest opium producer in the world. They belong to the Golden Crescent. Burma is next. Some guy named Khun Sa, the leader, was called the Opium King. Some of the product comes from Vietnam, Laos, and Thailand. Three-quarters of the world’s heroin supply comes from there. Khun Sa died in 2007, so now a bunch of other guys run the empire.
“Next is Mexico. Joaquín Guzmán, also called Shorty, actually made it to the Forbes list as one of the richest men in the world. We all know what happened to him. This is all part of the Sinaloa, Juarez, Medellin, and Cali Tijuana Gulf cartels.
“Then comes Colombia, where the Medellin Cali cartel operates, followed by Peru, which is the biggest producer of cocaine in the world. Last on my list is Bolivia, but I ruled them out. So take your pick. Where do we start?”
“Let me share all this with Avery and see what he says. Pour me a cup, will you, Ferg.”
Charles hung up the phone with a strange expression on his face. “Avery recognized the name. Can you believe that? He thinks—he’s not sure—but he thinks Beteo was with the Peruvian cartel but relocated to Mexico when Shorty was captured. He has some of his people on the way there already. And he knows of a guy who set up a security consulting firm in San Diego. He used to head up Special Forces when he was in the military. The kind of guy who can get the job done is what Avery said. He’s reached out to him but warned me that if he agrees to help us, it will cost some big bucks. From what he said, this guy Beets is an okay guy to the people in the town where he resides. He takes care of them. He’s their patrone. He walks about with no security, just like the rest of the residents. Knows all the kids by name, goes to christenings and weddings. Plays kickball with them in the open fields. Just a regular Joe. I’m having trouble wrapping my head around all of that, but if that’s the story, then that’s the story. Avery thinks a sna
tch and grab would be a piece of cake. Avery also said he doesn’t know if Beets has the smarts to go into human trafficking. But he also said Beets might partner out and be involved anonymously. He said anything is possible.
“Now, if we could somehow find a tie between him and the Karas brothers, that would help. I think we should wake Abner to see what he can find out about our newest find. We need to know if Beets travels. And if he does, was he anywhere near where the Karas brothers were at specific times. I think we might be onto something, Ferg. I really do. Hold the fort while I go upstairs to wake Abner up.”
“You’ve got it, mate.”
Chapter Fifteen
Forty-eight angst-driven hours passed before Charles sent word to the team to meet at the farm.
The team grumbled as one, with Maggie and Jack being the loudest and the most outspoken as soon as they arrived. Charles shut them down with a withering stare. “Rome wasn’t built in a day. When you all left here the other day, I said we needed to make this airtight. Nothing has changed in that regard, but now we have concrete proof of certain things, and, most importantly, the Karas brothers are still registered at the Sofitel. How many times do I have to tell you, it’s all in the planning?
“Avery is not here, but I just spoke to him not ten minutes ago. He’s in Chula Vista, California. As you all know, in our line of work you meet people who cross your path or someone will introduce you to someone else quite innocently that at the time you have no idea how pivotal they will be to you later on in life. That has just happened with Avery. Which is a good thing for us.
“There is a gentleman in Chula Vista, not that far from San Diego, who runs a security consulting placement service. He operates here and overseas. His roster of employees are all ex-military, like himself. Sterling, honorable personnel, unlike the people the Karas brothers surround themselves with. He himself is ex–Special Forces. When he retired, he formed the company, which, fortunately for him, took off like a rocket. He places his teams all over the world. He’s got a triple-A, five-star rating as far as his company goes. He charges incredibly high dollar amounts, but Avery says he is worth every penny. Right now, money is not a problem for us. Or am I wrong about that?”
“No, you’re right,” Allison said before anyone else could say anything.
“Where is this guy in Mexico?” Abner asked.
“Tijuana. You just walk across the bridge from where Duke Callahan, that’s his name, has his offices. When Beets is not traveling, he lives in a small village and blends in as one of the locals. He’s mid- to late sixties. He’s fit and trim, weathered to be sure. Strong like a bull, Avery said, because that’s how the locals describe him, strong like a bull. A virile man, to be sure. He’s married to a very pretty young woman, maybe late thirties, early forties. They have a small daughter. I’d say maybe seven or eight. There was a picture of her, which Avery said he found during his research, making her First Holy Communion, which tells us he’s Catholic. Right now, we are waiting for Avery to call back. He’s meeting up with Mr. Callahan to see if a snatch and grab is possible. Be patient.”
Abner waved his arms about. “I’ve only been on this ten minutes, but the guy is not shy about hiding his money. I think he owns the banks where he keeps some of it. There are so many trails, it’s going to take me a bit of time to give you any kind of total. That is what you want from me, right?”
“Yes,” Charles said succinctly.
Abner went back to what he was doing, clicking furiously at the keys on his keyboard.
“So what we’re saying is this Beteo Mezaluma is the hydra?” Jack said. “And just like that, we found him! And all because you suddenly remembered a name and ran with it. What are the chances of this actually panning out for us?” Jack asked, skepticism ringing in his voice.
“It happens that way sometimes. Everything points to Mezaluma. If we’re wrong, then we’re wrong, and we start looking again. Right now, it’s all we have. With what Abner is digging up and with what Mr. Callahan knows, everything appears to point to Mr. Mezaluma. Waiting a few more hours for further confirmation is not going to break or build our case.”
“You’re right, Charles. As usual,” Jack said grudgingly.
Charles shrugged and directed his next question to Maggie. “What was the reaction to the print list you published yesterday?”
“The switchboard crashed. We were down for hours. You would not believe the snippy and downright rude people who called in according to Terry, our switchboard operator. She said over two dozen people had called in before it went down to inquire what they would have to do to qualify for the five remaining open invitations. As far as I know, the Karas brothers did not call unless they tried after the switchboard went down.”
“Maybe we’re barking up the wrong tree where they’re concerned,” Dennis said. “And, yes, Maggie, I just used a hated cliché, but it damn well fits.”
“Maybe they’re waiting for orders from the hydra,” Ted volunteered.
“Anything is possible,” Charles said.
“Maggie, when are you going to deliver the handwritten invitation to the Karas brothers for the private luncheon with Annie that she won’t be attending?” Harry asked.
“It’s ready to go. I was just waiting for you all to tell me it was okay to call a messenger service to pick it up. Which means I have to go back into town. This is just my opinion, but I think once they get the invitation, they won’t know what to do so they will have to make contact with the person who is behind all this to see if they should or should not attend. They’re still at the hotel, so that almost has to mean they’re waiting for something. If Avery is right, and it is that guy in Mexico, what’s our game plan then?”
“I can’t give you an answer to that until Avery gets back to me. Patience, people.”
Under his breath, Charles repeated, over and over, “Come on, Avery, make this happen for us.”
* * *
Avery Snowden looked around and was not impressed with his surroundings. He was standing in front of a plain glass door covered on the inside with a bamboo blind. He rang the bell and waited. CALLAHAN CONSULTING was the name on a small brass plaque that was weathered with age. The building was in a busy business complex of two-story buildings in an area called Triangle Square. Avery took a moment to wonder how the hell a triangle could be a square. These Americans were so strange sometimes. A voice squawked from the intercom next to the weathered plate, “Your name, please.”
“Avery Snowden. I have an appointment with Mr. Callahan.”
Avery heard the snick of the lock opening. He turned the handle and walked into a well-lit waiting room. It had colored plastic chairs, fake plastic trees, dog-eared magazines. The wall art was just that, pictures purchased at Target or Walmart for fifty bucks a pop. They were as colorful as the plastic chairs. The room looked just like his dentist’s waiting room. Except for the crystal bowl of individually wrapped peppermint candies.
“Mr. Callahan will see you now, sir. Just follow me,” an elderly lady with bluish hair said. Being the astute detective that he was, Avery deduced the lady was Callahan’s mother. Duke Callahan’s office was as shabby and barren as the front office. Obviously, this guy wasn’t into appearances. Avery watched as Duke Callahan got up from behind an enormous desk and walked around to greet him. He was a bear of a man, with hair growing everywhere hair could grow. He also had a ponytail pulled back with a red bandana. Six-five at least, and he probably weighed in at about 275 pounds, give or take ten. All solidly ripped flesh. He was decked out in jeans that needed to go to Goodwill and a military olive-colored T-shirt that strained across his chest and upper arms. He held out a hand that was bigger than a catcher’s mitt. Said hand, Avery thought, was attached to an oak-tree limb. This was one big hulking dude. The handshake was normal.
“Something to drink, coffee, tea?”
“No thanks.”
“All right then, let’s get down to it.”
“I need some help. You
come highly recommended.”
“That’s always nice to hear,” Callahan said jovially. “Talk to me.”
When Avery finished his tale, a full three minutes passed before Callahan spoke. “I’ve heard about Sir Charles Martin in today’s time. I knew him personally back in the day, but his name wasn’t Charles Martin then. Not that names are all that important. No, let me back up. What I said is not quite accurate, certainly not the whole story. I should say that not only did I meet him, but that he saved my life. He pulled me to safety, bandaged me up, told me I’d live to fight another day and not to whine about it. He left me lying where I was for someone to come and get me. I heard later that he went on that same day to save Prince Charles’s life. It’s true, it’s documented and all. If you had more time, I could show you the scrapbook. I’m in. But I have to tell you, I only have one team of five available. Three men and two women. All superior in their fields. You say you have six men with you. If you count me and you, that makes thirteen, and please don’t give me any crap about thirteen being an unlucky number. I don’t see how we can fail.”
“Murphy’s law,” Avery said sourly.
Callahan laughed, a great, booming sound. “That law doesn’t apply to me or my people. Let’s hear your ideas first, then I’ll tell you mine. Remember now, I know this area. I know Mexico inside and out. Been there in the dead of night more times than I care to remember. Flash money, and you’ll make so many new friends, you won’t be able to count them all. But there are other ways, too, and I know them all. I do have a question. How the hell did you guys manage to snag the CIA’s top rogue agent?”
Snowden laughed. He was about to give a flip answer but thought better about it. “She found us through a few mutual friends. Right now, she’s not a rogue agent, or any kind of agent, for that matter. She’s first and foremost a mother who is pissed off that those scumbags abducted her kids. Need I say more?”
“Hell no. You see that little lady out there when you got here? That’s my mother. If she even thought you had evil thoughts where I’m concerned, you’d be dead right now, and I would be mopping up your blood. I know all about motherhood,” Callahan drawled.
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