by Alta Hensley
A few hours later, he was back in his hotel room. After leaving the Alvear, he’d walked a few blocks before entering the garage at another hotel. A few minutes later, he was pulling up to the Four Seasons and knocking on the door of Suite 502. His father’s old friend, Richard Latham, answered the door.
“I didn’t expect to see you so early,” Richard said. Anson had called him earlier that afternoon, asking him to rent a tuxedo for him. Instead, the senator had insisted Anson borrow his instead.
“Hell, it’s just hanging in the closet.”
“I appreciate the gesture, sir, but I’m not positive I’ll be able to return it,” Anson had told him.
“Doesn’t matter. You’d do me a favor and take it out and give it a spin.”
Anson had not only accepted, he’d made use of the Lathams’ shower and changed at the hotel. Elizabeth was taking advantage of the hotel’s extensive spa services so the men had the suite to themselves.
Now, stepping from the bathroom again, this time dressed in his own clothing, Anson accepted the drink Richard held out.
“What else can I do to help?” Richard asked.
Richard had not only loaned him the tux, he’d arranged for the jeep that Anson was presently driving. “Sir, you’ve done enough,” Anson said.
“Look, son, I’ve known your father for years and I’m very well aware of the Steeles’ lack of confidence in the government. I’m not speaking as a member of that government; I’m asking as a family friend. I don’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to know that despite the fancy suit, whatever the reason is that brought you to Argentina, it isn’t for pleasure.”
Anson wouldn’t—couldn’t—in good conscience, involve this man. “And as a family friend, I appreciate it, but I will not involve you or Elizabeth. I hope you understand.”
“Perhaps it’s a good thing Elizabeth and I are leaving tomorrow morning. Otherwise I’m not sure I could keep from butting into your business.” The older man chuckled. “Forgive me… at my age, I miss the chance for a little excitement.”
That, Anson could understand. Richard had not only helped him get an acceptance into the Air Force Academy, he’d served for twenty years before exchanging his uniform for a seat in the Senate. “No need to apologize, sir. When we both get back home, come on out to the ranch. I know Pops would be glad to see you again and catch up.” It was Anson’s way of stating that once the operation was over, his mission completed and Natalia safe, he’d finally share some of reasons why he was in Argentina. Granted, he’d most likely not tell everything, but the man had not only helped Anson without question, Latham just plain had Anson’s respect.
“I’ll do that, son. You just make sure you get your ass safely back to Texas.”
“I’ll do my best.”
The two men finished their drinks and Anson took his leave, again promising to call once he got home.
Anson had seriously considered stopping at one of the many bars along the way to knock back a few stiff drinks. Knowing it would do nothing to change the facts, he’d decided to bite the bullet and make a call that would be totally opposite of what he’d been hoping to report. Leaning back against the headboard, he listened to Stryder’s disbelief coming across the sat phone.
“What the hell? You’re telling me you had an opportunity to get her out and didn’t? You left her there with that sick fuck Montez? Why the fuck didn’t you just throw her over your shoulder and haul her ass out of Argentina, bro?”
Stryder’s words were not exactly doing anything to make Anson feel better. In fact, they were seriously pissing him off.
“Aren’t you listening to me? If I’d tried to go that route, she would have screamed her bloody head off. Forget my ass being killed. If a hundred men poured out of that hotel, you can bet someone with a few too many tequilas under his belt would have taken a chance to play the bloody hero to gain Montez’s respect. I wasn’t about to take the chance that Natalia would be shot.” Anson swung his legs over edge of the bed, stood, and began to pace, too agitated to sit still. “Don’t you think it fucking killed me to leave her there? My entire goal for the past six months has been to get her out of that fat fuck’s clutches. And, bro, I don’t fucking appreciate you telling me how to run my mission so back the hell off!”
A moment of dead silence passed before it was broken. “You’re right,” Stryder said, his tone a lot quieter. “I have no right to attempt to run your mission or second guess your decisions. I’m just finding it hard to believe that she wouldn’t leave. I guess it didn’t help that she recognized you.”
“You think?” Anson said before losing the sarcasm. “Look, there has to be something we’re missing here. We’ve relied on Zoya’s knowledge of Natalia from their time they were both in captivity before the auction, but that’s just it… they spent no more than a couple of weeks together.”
“Perhaps she’s afraid Montez is going to take a page from Poplov’s book and will kill her family if she attempts anything,” Stryder suggested.
A new voice joined the conversation. “Son, you don’t think it might be a case of Stockholm Syndrome, do you?”
Anson didn’t instantly blow off his pop’s question but said, “Perhaps, but I don’t think so, Pops. Every instinct I have is telling me she wants out. I want you to dig deeper. Go back, find out every detail you can.” He paused in his pacing, looking out the window but not seeing the street. Instead, he saw Natalia’s face. A face that reminded him of ones he’d seen in his years in the Air Force. It was a face torn between the fear of dying and the determination to complete some mission. “It’s like she’s on her own fucking mission. Find out what is driving her to stay, Pops. Discover what her true motive is, and we might have a chance to help her complete it.”
“Consider it done, but what are you going to do in the meantime?”
“There’s still tomorrow. I’ll be at the fair. It’s my hope to be able to speak to her again,” Anson said.
“If you do, maybe mention Zoya’s name. Tell her she’s safe… that others have been rescued as well,” Stryder suggested. “It might help her to consider that you aren’t such a bad guy after all.”
Anson gave a dry chuckle. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure she thinks I’m a prick, but I suppose it can’t hurt if I have a chance to tell her. Wish me luck.”
“Hey, Anson, I didn’t mean to come off as some kind of shit head. You just caught me by surprise is all.”
“You’re still a shit, but I love you, bro.” The brothers hung up on a far better note, but Anson was still trying to come to grips with the fact that he’d failed. It wasn’t something he was accustomed to, and he didn’t like it… not one little bit.
“What would drive me to stay in hell?” he asked himself. The only thing that made sense was to protect someone he loved. So, who was so dear to Natalia that she’d allow herself to be mauled and degraded by Montez? Sighing, he accepted that until he knew the answer, he’d not be able to reassure her that it was all right to give up her self-sacrifice and return to the world.
Anson bolted upright in bed, instantly awakened from a deep sleep. Grabbing the phone he’d tossed on the bed, he answered, “What happened?”
“I’m a fucking idiot, that’s what happened,” Stryder said on the other side of the line.
Settling against the headboard, assuming the same position he’d taken earlier, Anson said, “A shit head, yes. An idiot, no. What have you learned?”
“I talked to Zoya. Needless to say, she wasn’t happy that Natalia didn’t leave with you. I asked her to really think. Could she remember anything that Natalia had said that might explain her reaction? As she’d told us before, the only thing she knew was that the threat to their families never seemed to bother Natalia. Said Natalia told her that she had no family—that she’d been on her own for years.”
“Okay but where does the idiot part come in?” Anson asked, not really wanting to rehash facts they already knew.
“Rosario,” Stryder said. “I
never really put anything together as I was a kid then, but the only man I truly hated was Montez. But, I remembered that there was a rival cartel.” He paused but before Anson could prompt him, he continued. “Run by the Alvarez family.”
That got Anson’s attention. Sitting up, he asked, “Are you saying that Natalia is part of a drug cartel?”
“No. I’m saying that if she is the same Natalia Alvarez, she lost her entire family at the hands of none other than Juan Montez.”
“How in the fuck could you have not put that together before now?” Anson asked, his tone rising.
“Because I was a kid at the time and, like I said, it was Montez who forced my mother into prostitution. I don’t even remember much about the Alvarezes but I do remember there was a little girl. Hell, I sure as shit didn’t run in the same circles as that family. If she is who we think she is, she was a princess. Like a mafia princess. She wouldn’t be allowed to mingle with anyone—much less the son of a prostitute in the worst neighborhood of Rosario.”
Anson could understand that and yet, could it be the same girl? It would explain a great deal. Was Natalia with Montez out of some drive to exact revenge for her family? If so, the girl had guts, but why had six months passed without action? The answer came to him in an instant. Because to kill Montez would be to kill herself.
“Fuck,” Anson said, rubbing his hand across his face.
“Yeah, and there’s one more thing,” Stryder said. “You’ve got a war brewing. Confirmation has come in that the Ortez family has taken the first shot. The Hernandez cartel is playing on their side as well. They’ve destroyed one of Montez’s labs. Ruta 34 is to be the prize.”
“Whoa, that’s one huge fucking prize. Thanks, Stryder. This helps.”
“You take care. Your mission just got a lot more fucking complicated.”
Anson didn’t bother to respond. War was bad enough but when it involved men who didn’t give a shit about human life, it didn’t need to be said that Natalia was in far more danger now than she’d been before. Come hell or high water, or a kicking, cursing, young woman, he knew he needed to get her off the battlefield.
Anson thought it rather amazing how a few well-spent pesos could change his agenda. He’d arrived at the Feria de Mataderos hours earlier. He’d watched the crowds grow steadily larger, the streets filling with people and horses. A few rounds of drinks had earned him instant friendship with gauchos who came to show off their horsemanship and perhaps win some money as well as the eye of one of the young women hanging on the fringes, all sending flirtatious looks at the Argentinian cowboys. He’d split his attention between the participants and the spectators, his gut tightening when he saw Montez and his entourage appear. Natalia never left Montez’s side. Instead of the colorful skirts and loose peasant blouses worn by most of the young women, Natalia was one again dressed as if she were attending some fancy party instead of a boisterous street fair. The white dress she wore accentuated her Latin coloring, her skin a golden brown, her dark curls flowing over her shoulders. Though not as skin tight as the ones he’d seen her wearing previously, the dress displayed the generous curves she’d been blessed with, her breasts threatening to spill out of the halter. From the bodice, the fabric hugged her waist and then flared to end several inches above her knees.
“Forget it. No one messes with that one,” Ramon, his new friend, said.
“Who is she?” Anson asked. He didn’t worry about being caught gawking. Hell, if you had a pulse, you’d gawk. Natalia was stunning.
“Don’t need to know her name. All you need to see is that man next to her. The fat one? He’ll slit your throat if he even thinks you’re making a move on his woman.”
“Forget her. The race is about to start. You’re still going to give it a go, right?” The question came from another gaucho.
“Sure,” Anson said with a shrug. “I need to show you boys how it’s done.”
The small group he’d befriended laughed and clapped him on the back as they started moving down Lisandro de Torre Avenue to get their names registered for the corrida de sortija, or ring race. Glancing back once more, Anson saw that Montez’s group had the best seats in the house. Their view of the action was unobstructed. A metal bar had been strapped between two upright poles. In the center hung a metal ring, no bigger than the average man’s wedding band. The goal was to ride a horse, at full gallop, towards the pole and insert a small stick through the ring. If that weren’t impossible enough, the riders would have to navigate through parked cars and carts crowding the street.
By two o’clock, Anson had watched countless men fail. The crowd would collectively hold their breath as the horses thundered past them and then send up jeers as the ring was missed time and time again. A commotion ran through the street and Anson watched as the announcer of the races walked across the street to listen to whatever Montez was saying. Bowing like the sycophant he was, the man took his place and waited until the crowd quieted.
“Señors y señoras, it is my greatest honor to announce that Señor Montez has graciously donated a prize unlike any other for the first man who successfully pierces the ring.” He paused, obviously wanting to take advantage of his momentary importance and then continued, gesturing towards the benefactor. “The winner will be given the great honor of accompanying Señorita Alvarez during the dance this evening.”
The crowd gasped, every eye going to where Natalia sat. The crowd might have seen a beautiful woman with her head lowered as if shy, but Anson saw clenched fists lying in her lap and noticed it took a stern word from Montez for her to look up and give the onlookers a smile. Anson had agreed to participate in the day’s contest in order to have a good reason to hang around. Now, however, the game had changed… changed to what might be his last chance to get to Natalia before Montez took her back behind the walls of his fortress.
“I’d give my right arm to dance with that woman,” Pablo said with a leer.
“Hell, you’re most likely to lose your dick if Montez sees you looking at her that way,” Ramon said.
“Does that mean you aren’t even going to try? You a coward?”
“Hell no, who needs a dick?” Ramon scoffed and went to where his horse was waiting. “Wish me luck, amigos.”
Anson laughed with the rest of them but prayed that all the tequila he’d been pouring into these men would thwart their aim. He’d wanted to snag the reins of the horse he’d been told he could ride and take off towards that ring the moment the prize had been announced. Still, he couldn’t appear too eager.
“Ah, it looks like it will be a short contest. Up next is our local hero, Ramon Guerrero. Wish him luck!”
The announcer’s introduction caused the crowd to roar and Ramon’s horse to rear onto his hind legs. Anson knew the rider had orchestrated it, but still, he had to admit it made an impressive beginning. Hooves flailed in the air before dropping to connect with the street, churning dirt as he gathered speed. It was almost like the dance he’d been promised, horse and rider weaving through cars and actually jumping over a cart where iced drinks waited to be sold. But the only thing Anson was concerned about was the ring glinting in the afternoon sun. As the stick came up, was extended, and the horse ran past the poles, the ring didn’t move a single centimeter. The crowd gave good natured boos but Anson said a prayer of thanks. Another four riders made their attempts… all failing, though Pablo’s stick had at least set the ring swaying. He’d come back around, loudly arguing that he’d pierced it, but the judge shook his head. Pablo might have continued to argue except for the fact that he glanced over at Montez. When the man shook his head, Pablo lowered his.
“Your turn,” Ramon said, handing Anson the reins. “Forget the crowd, forget showing off. Just pierce the fucking ring. Do it for all of us.”
“All I can do is try,” Anson said, mounting the horse and wrapping the reins around his hand.
“We have a new face among us,” the announcer said, looking down at the card in his hand. “Señor F
ranz Sanchez, riding Ramon’s horse, Bala. Give him a hand.”
Anson waited until the crowd quieted and leaned forward, the hand not holding the reins pressed against the horse’s neck. “Let’s show that asshole, shall we?”
Everything disappeared from his view except for that small gold ring. He felt the horse’s muscles rippling beneath him, the power of the animal unquestioned. If he failed, it wouldn’t be because of his mount. Anson didn’t allow himself to think of how small the circumference of the ring was, didn’t think of it swaying in the slight breeze. Instead, in his mind’s eye, the closer he got to his goal, the larger the ring became until that circle was the only thing in his vision. Lifting his stick, he leaned to the right and pierced the exact center of the ring. He could hear the crowd roaring as the horse’s momentum carried him to the end of the street. Turning, he patted Bala’s neck. “You’re one amazing piece of horseflesh.” When he reached the square again, he pulled to a stop in front of Montez.
It took everything in him not to turn his eyes to Natalia. Instead, he removed his hat and gave a nod to Montez.
“Well done. I don’t think I’ve ever met you. What was your name?” Montez asked.
“Sanchez, Franz Sanchez, Señor Montez, and no, we’ve never met, but everyone knows your name, sir.”
Montez nodded as if that were a given. “And you wish to dance with my Natalia?”
“It would be an honor, señor. I’ll try not to step on your lady’s toes.”
Montez actually chuckled. “Never you mind. A little pain won’t matter. You won, and I’m a man of my word. Come collect your prize when the dancing begins.”
“Sí, señor, gracias,” Anson said, forcing himself not to purposefully cause his horse to rear up, though every cell in his body wanted to trample the bastard into oblivion. Instead, he gave another nod as Montez waved his fat hand in dismissal.