by Dale Nelson
Bartolo and his team was successful. They’d done the impossible and broken into a vault in an Antwerp diamond exchange, but the scheme unraveled quickly after. Bartolo was arrested before they could move the diamonds, and they’d never been recovered.
And Bartolo was still in jail.
Which meant the diamonds were still out there.
Vito wasn’t on the Antwerp job as far as Jack knew. He’d been rolled up in the 1997 sting and had done five years for it. But Vito knew many of Bartolo’s secrets and even more of his dirty tricks.
Had Vito figured out where Bartolo stashed them? Was he trying to get them before Bartolo got out of prison?
Jack and Vito hadn’t spoken since Jack fled Turin. He’d hoped Vito didn’t blame him for what happened, but Jack could never be certain. It wasn’t a situation that lent a lot of understanding.
But why contact him? And how’d he get Jack’s number … the one on the clean phone that Rusty had set up for him? A number that maybe ten people had.
“Have you tried many Spanish wines?” Castillo was asking, and with the emphasis he placed on the word “have,” Jack realized it wasn’t the first time he’d asked the question.
Jack snapped his attention back.
“No, unfortunately,” Jack said, trying to recover. “Though I’ve been reading a lot about the Spanish wine industry as a whole and know it has been producing some very good wines over the last few years. I’m familiar with tempranillo, of course.”
“Of course,” Castillo said, and Jack had the sense that he was aware Jack hadn’t been paying attention. “Rioja gets all of the attention, but it is from the Priorat region that you will find some of the finest expressions of Spanish wines. I think those are among the best in the world, for those grapes, of course. It is the source of much debate in my country.”
“I understand this very well. We have the same arguments in the States, but it’s not even as broad as which region, though we debate that endlessly too. We argue about what county is better, what appellation within a county is better.” Jack shook his head, smiling.
Castillo’s handing of Jack’s gaffe gave him some insight into the man’s personality—and possibly on his intentions. Castillo didn’t want Jack to feel uncomfortable or embarrassed, that much was clear from the mention of Jack’s other life as a winemaker. But even the subtle way he handled Jack’s obvious lack of attention during their conversation reinforced that. He could tell that Castillo was a skilled negotiator just from the way that he’d handled their interaction. He’d given nothing away beyond, Jack suspected, what Andelić wanted him to know. In the course of their conversation, Castillo did share their destination—Alicante, Spain. Beyond that, Jack knew little.
Jack felt his weight shift under him, and the plane began its descent. Jack put their flight time at two hours, making it just about two in the morning. They deplaned, and the crew bid them a good night. Carolina handed Jack his backpack, which she’d collected shortly before takeoff. A ground crew handed Viktor his bag on the tarmac. Castillo ushered Jack to a waiting black Audi A8 L.
The air here was dry and warm, despite their proximity to the Mediterranean. They entered the car, and Viktor took the front passenger seat and Castillo sat in the back with Jack. The fixer told the driver in Spanish that they were ready, and the car started moving. Jack didn’t know how comprehensive Castillo’s research into him was, but he decided to keep the number of languages he knew to himself for now. Castillo took his phone out typed something and returned it to his jacket pocket. Jack looked at his own.
First, he checked CNN International and BBC World News. There was nothing new on the Ritz. Four men were in custody, and some of the jewels had been retrieved. There was also nothing new from Vito. Jack had yet to respond to his initial text. They rode in silence, Jack watching the darkened outskirts of Alicante unfolding around him. The landscape appeared rocky and broken. The trip took about twenty minutes, and they rode most of the way in silence. Jack was tired, and the two scotches he’d had on the plane were starting to catch up. He had put himself through incredible stress that day with multiple surges of adrenaline. His body was close to crashing
The car had left the highway and entered a residential area. The homes here were large and expensive and mostly walled off. The streets were lined with palms, and it looked like a hastily laid out Beverly Hills. The car slowed and turned left into a drive. In his mind, Jack was picturing a massive villa on several acres of land, set far back from the street. Instead, it looked more like the home of a wealthy businessman. The lot was clearly large and was surrounded by an eight-foot concrete and stucco wall with an iron balustrade on top. Beyond the wall, Jack could see palm trees, illuminated from the ground, and the massive, modern house. The driveway was wide, but stubby, and there was just enough room for the car to pull in before it required the mechanical gate to open before it could go any farther. This was the last house on this street, and Jack surmised that the distant lights he saw in the inky blackness beyond the end of the road would be the Mediterranean.
But it was still a house on a residential street, albeit an extremely wealthy one.
It wasn’t the stereotypical Bond villain enclave that came to mind.
As the car pulled through the gate, Jack saw that the house was actually two buildings. The main house was set back slightly from the road. The driveway expanded significantly once through the gate and now resembled something of a kidney wrapping around the second, smaller building, which Jack saw to be the garage. The garage was detached from the main house and was interposed between the house and the street, like a massive concrete bouncer. The garage itself was the size of a small two-story house in its own right, and Jack counted five doors. There were two cars in the driveway, a 6 Series BMW and a Mercedes-AMG. The garage had a windowed second floor, which was, presumably, quarters for guests or permanent staff. The area around the garage and both floors were brightly lit.
The Audi stopped. Castillo said, “Here we are.” They each exited the car. Jack heard the low, metallic purring of the gate closing behind them. Jack took in the main house. The exterior was very well lit, with the lights covering the ground floor windows and nearly every space between the house and the wall. Unlike the yellow-orange of the streetlamps, the lights around the house were a ubiquitous bright white. It would be impossible to move anywhere near the main house without being seen.
Next to the driveway, there was a large cluster of trees that broke the sight lines from the ocean. Were there not several ground-level spots shining up into the trees, that would have provided excellent cover. The house itself was a large, modern villa of precise lines and equal measure of concrete and glass, some of it clear and some of it an opaque aqua, all of which seemed to be different sizes. Jack guessed it had at least seven bedrooms. It looked to be three floors, or perhaps just two but with very high, vaulted ceilings that had windows in the uppermost areas. He saw a pool off to the right. It was brightly lit above and from within. He could see the dark expanse beyond it, like vacuum. That would be the Mediterranean.
Castillo led them into the house. The driver stayed outside. The entry foyer was a white marble floor with ghost gray walls, a low ceiling, and recessed lighting. There was a long, rectangular window next to the door, covered by a white curtain. In front of the window, there was a long, thin occasional table of blond wood and gray metal. There were three vibrant orchids in equally spaced colored pots. On the far side of the entryway, a wide squared-off spiral staircase offered access to the upper floors and a basement. The banister was the same color of blond wood and gray metal as the table. On the left wall, there were three large, square art pieces on the wall, each with a dominant color of red, orange, and blue, respectively. But it wasn’t the massive staircase or the bright art that hung on the walls or the vibrant tropical flowers in pots that dominated the foyer, but rather the large man standing in the center of it. Jack put him at six-foot-two, with deeply tanned skin and steel col
ored hair that was cropped close, in the military-style cut that was fashionable in recent years. He had a large head, which rounded slightly at the edges as though worn down by time. But what he noticed most was the eyes. They were large, blue-gray, and seemed to see everything immediately. They were hawk’s eyes—a predator’s eyes. He wore a bright blue linen shirt and yellow pants. He wore no shoes, and the cuffs were rolled up above the ankles. There was a broad smile on his broad face.
“Gentleman Jack Burdette,” he said, in a voice that had almost no trace of accent. “Welcome to Alicante. I am Aleksander Andelić.”
Four
Aleksander stepped closer and took Jack’s hand in his. It was a massive, bear paw of a hand, and his grip was crushing. Andelić looked to be in his late fifties or early sixties but was still in excellent shape. Aleksander released Jack’s grip, for which he was silently grateful, and clapped him on the back once. It was a powerful move, conveying both camaraderie and physical dominance.
“I’m so glad to finally meet you,” he said. “I’ve been an admirer of your work for some time.” Aleksander briefly turned his attention to the other two. “Viktor, could you take Mr. Burdette’s things to his room, please?”
“Of course,” Viktor stepped forward and asked Jack for his backpack. Jack thought for a moment about keeping it, but that would send the very clear signal that he didn’t trust his host. Knowing there was nothing else he could do, he slid off the pack and handed it to Viktor, who took it and headed up the stairs. Castillo walked up to Aleksander, and the other put his arm around Castillo’s shoulder. They spoke Serbian in a quick, quiet tone. Jack recognized the language having been around Ozren Stolar long enough, though he only knew a few words, and most of them curses. Their conversation ended as quickly as it began, and the two men shook hands.
Castillo turned to Jack. “It has been my pleasure, Jack. I hope to continue our discussion on wine very soon.”
“I would like that,” Jack said honestly.
Castillo bid them both a good night and left.
When he was gone, Aleksander said, “Come,” in a booming voice and led Jack into the house. Aleksander walked into a large, modern kitchen, dominated by a central island. Jack saw a wine rack built into the island with enough space for about four dozen bottles. A pair of flutes filled to three-quarters sat on top of the island. Aleksander grabbed both and handed one to Jack. “I assume you’ve had your fill of France, so here is some local cava.” He raised his glass. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” Jack said. “This is an impressive home.”
“This is my paradise. Please,” he said, motioning for Jack to follow. He led Jack out through the living room to the pool deck. There was a long, low rectangular couch made of teak with bright blue-green pillows that looked like the color of the sea at noontime. This area was covered by the overhang of the second floor and would provide cooling shade during the day. “I’m sorry things didn’t go as planned in Paris.”
“I usually have a rule about working with people I don’t know. Yesterday is a perfect example of why.”
“I imagine it’s difficult to find people who don’t know you, these days. Or at least know of you.”
Jack shrugged. “That’s largely the problem,” he said. “I’ve mostly been working under a series of aliases since the Carlton job.”
“Why is that?”
“Because it’s impossible for me to bring someone new onto a crew and wonder if they’re going to try to rip me off or sell me out just to say they took down the greatest thief in the world.” Jack said that without arrogance and more than a flash of regret. “It’s very difficult to find people I can trust now, and with my old crew gone, I’ve had to start over.”
“I’m sorry,” Aleksander said, slowly and cautiously. “I can’t help but feel at least a little responsible for that. Ozren Stolar was a maniac, and I wished I’d left him in jail when I’d had the opportunity. Milan too.” Aleksander’s voice grew sad. “Milan broke my heart. I was his regimental commander in the army, and he was one of my best officers. To think what he could have done if he’d have been born anywhere but Serbia.”
“I tend not to think that psychopaths are products of their environment,” Jack said sourly.
A trace of anger flashed across Aleksander’s face, but he recovered himself quickly.
“You have the luxury of being born an American. I’d defy anyone to watch their country die and then be carved up by the United Nations, only to then be ignored by it, and not become as hard as Milan. But that doesn’t excuse what he did.”
That wasn’t even a remotely accurate representation of history, but Jack understood how it could look from a Serbian’s point of view. More importantly, he knew better than to challenge his host on it. Instead, he said, “I don’t mean to offend, but I think you’ll forgive me for my opinion of him. He and Ozren murdered my team, and then he came for me. In my home.” Jack fought hard to maintain his composure and contain his anger, but even four years later this was a raw, visceral wound.
“Well, you certainly settled that score.”
“No, actually I didn’t. The FBI did that. Radić just had the misfortune of making his move when a federal officer was about to arrest me.”
Radić attempted the ambush Jack in the tasting room of his winery, demanding that Jack hand over the money Ari Ben Hassar had paid him. Radić learned of the scheme several days before when he’d made his first attempt on Jack’s life. Only, the time before, Jack had help. Rusty and Enzo showed up just in time, with Enzo killing Ozren and Jack wounding Radić. They’d thought Jack killed him, but it wasn’t a fatal wound. Radić, it turned out, was a pretty good actor. Radić played dead and overheard them discussing how the Carlton job actually went down while they were waiting on Rusty’s cleanup crew to remove the bodies. So, when Radić showed up at Jack’s winery several days later still recovering from the gunshot wound, he knew about the money. Radić shot Katrina Danzig as she was identifying herself as a federal officer, though the wound was not fatal. Jack, never one to carry weapons, had nothing on him but a half-poured bottle of cabernet, which he threw at Radić’s head. It missed, but it gave Danzig enough time to pull herself off the floor, draw her service weapon, and put several nine-millimeter rounds into Radić’s chest.
“Milan was, in many ways, so much like a son to me,” Aleksander said finally. “And I was disappointed in his path as only a father or a commander could be. I am sorry for the hurt he caused you. Part of my asking you to come here was to apologize in person.”
“Thank you,” Jack said. That was not what he’d expected to hear. “So, I take it that it wasn’t a coincidence that Viktor ended up on my crew.”
“Not much of one,” Aleksander said. “Alonso suspected who you were for several years. There aren’t that many Americans working in Europe these days. Viktor had worked with him a few times, so when Alonso mentioned Paris to Viktor, he brought it to me. Viktor is good, but he lacks…” Aleksander’s voice trailed off. He sipped his cava. “He lacks a certain,” he rolled his hand, “style, panache, I don’t know how you say. Leadership?”
“He’s young.”
“He’s not that young. If Viktor had been in the army, he’d be a major by now. By that age, you were already one of the best in the world.”
People thought Jack was the best in the world because he’d pulled, what was currently, the largest successful score in history. He’d also never been caught. While he was good, Jack was also smart. He never took large scores. In fact, the Paris thing was so far outside of what his tolerances would normally be.
“Maybe I’m just lucky,” Jack said.
“The one thing that cannot be bought or trained,” Aleksander responded ruefully. “Still, I’d hoped that the venture in Paris would have been more successful, particularly with you at the helm.”
“A wise man once said, ‘You can’t fix stupid.’ I told them no guns. We’d have been better off without those three and just not wo
rrying about the crowds.”
“Yes, I saw that on the news.” Aleksander shrugged and drained the rest of his sparkling wine. “Well, there will be more time to discuss business in the morning—or the afternoon,” he said with a smile. “It’s late, and I know that you’ve had an interesting day.”
“And a long one,” Jack said.
“Then I will not stand between you and your bed any longer. You will find your room at the top of the stairs.”
“Good night,” Jack said. “Thank you for your hospitality, but also for the lift out of Paris. I’m grateful.”
“It was my pleasure. But,” he said with a wink, “save your gratitude for my pitch.”
Jack nodded at his host, leaving the conversation bait hanging between them, and disappeared into the villa. Despite Aleksander’s association with people who had tried to kill him, Jack found him liking the man. Admittedly, Jack had chosen a lifestyle that made it difficult for him to choose the high road. Which was to say, when picking friends, he tended to grade on a curve.
Jack found his room easily and closed and locked the door behind him. He set his phone to do not disturb and was asleep before his head hit the pillow.
Jack drowsily awoke with no idea where he was or what time of day it was.
His dreams were tortured scenes of running and evading faceless pursuers, and he found himself still exhausted when he woke. Perhaps from the restless sleep, though it could be just as likely that he would need another night to recover from the ordeal. It took a few moments after he awoke for Jack to remember exactly where he was. He just lay there in the dark for a time, collecting his thoughts and trying to get his bearings. After a few moments, Jack rolled over and clicked on the bedside light. He knew it was daytime by the glow at the edges of the metal slats over the windows, but that was all. Jack found his watch and saw that it was mid-afternoon. It started coming back to him then, and he remembered where he was.