by Trevor Scott
Carlos tried his best not to visualize that. “Does your wife know you like young boys?”
“No, it’s not like that,” the senator said. “I didn’t plan on this happening. I was only game for the girl. The young guy just showed up. Like in those porn movies with the mysterious man coming from nowhere. I had no idea he was going to shove it up my ass.”
“So, you pulled out and kicked the guy out. What’s the problem?”
“Once he got in I kind of let him finish. He was wearing a condom.”
“That makes it better,” Carlos said. “At least you were responsible.”
“Right. But I don’t think my wife and kids will see it that way.”
Carlos wondered how Jake Adams and Sirena were getting on in South America. What kind of progress had they made? He was trying to think of anything but this man having sex with anyone, let alone pulling a train.
“How much money are they asking for?” Carlos asked.
“It’s not just about the money,” the senator said. “But if I give them what they ask for, who’s to say they won’t just come back with another demand. Where will that end? Also, what if they decide they want to control my votes in the senate?”
“Then you’re truly screwed,” Carlos said.
“Exactly.” The senator took a heavy dose from his drink. Then he added, “I understand you can handle these things with discretion.”
“Have you asked for forgiveness?” Carlos asked.
The senator cocked his head like a confused puppy. “From my wife? She doesn’t know about this. She’s Italian. She’ll cut off my balls.”
“Then what about God?”
Senator Huey thought about that. “Do you think he’ll understand?”
“Are you truly sorry?”
“I’m truly stupid, that’s for sure. I’ve got a problem, Carlos.”
He guessed that was something. Maybe not a total confession, but then Carlos wasn’t exactly divine, either. After all, he had his own problem. Yet, it wasn’t like that of these poor saps. His was a computer breech with proprietary technical data stolen. Now, he suspected, these same people were trying to extort him or they would release embarrassing company secrets that could tank his stock price.
Finally, Carlos said, “I can’t guarantee anything. But I’ll have my people look into your case.” Jake and Sirena were already doing so, but the senator didn’t have to know that.
Senator Huey slapped his hand onto the table nearly knocking over their drinks. “Hot damn. That’s what I’m talkin’ about.”
“How much time do you have to respond?” Carlos asked.
“Just two days.”
“Well, just to be sure, I’d prepare to make payment. I’m not certain that my people can find these extortionists in time to stop them from moving on you like they did with our friend from Oregon.”
The senator tried to shift his body toward Carlos, but his belly got stuck on the table. “You think they killed him?”
“More than likely,” Carlos said.
“Damn. That’s a hell of a thing.”
They discussed how the senator would make payment, and it was identical to how he was to do it, with an electronic transfer to a bank here in the Caymans. That was confirmation that they were dealing with the same people.
Carlos left most of his last drink on the table and went to his waiting white SUV. His driver looked like he was half asleep.
“Back to the yacht,” Carlos ordered from the back seat.
He considered making a call, but realized this was not a sound proof environment. So, he waited until he got back to his yacht. He went into his private bar and poured a couple of fingers of his best rum, a 25-year-old Nicaraguan Flor de Cana. He first started keeping this rum on both his yacht and his jet by request of Jake Adams. Now he had come to love this rum.
Carlos picked up his satellite phone and stared at it, trying to remember what time it would be in Argentina. Not that it mattered. Jake and Sirena both worked for him. But he still wanted to respect their time. Maybe it could wait.
When his phone rang, he nearly dropped it. He checked the screen and realized it wasn’t Jake or Sirena. It was Kurt Jenkins, the former CIA director.
“Hello, Kurt. What’s up?”
“Sorry if I woke you, Carlos. But there has been a development in South America.”
“Good news I hope.”
“We’re not sure,” Kurt said. “Have you heard of a man named Sten Larsen?”
“The guy from New England? Left the country to avoid prosecution, and the president pardoned him.”
“That’s the guy.”
“We haven’t met. But I think we have mutual friends.”
“That’s why I called you. Anyway, the man was killed earlier this evening in Montevideo.”
“Uruguay?”
“Yes. He was gunned down in his home.”
“That’s brutal. How does this relate to our case?”
“We’re not sure. But Jake and Sirena were in the house with the man when he was killed.”
“Are they all right?”
“Yeah. They chased down the shooters and one thing led to another. Like it usually does when Jake is involved. Long story short, the shooters are dead.”
Carlos thought about his recent conversation with the Massachusetts senator, and how the extortion started after his trip to a junket in Uruguay. He told Kurt Jenkins about his conversation and how it might be related to the Oregon senator, who had also gone on that trade trip.
“I don’t believe in coincidences,” Kurt said. “I’ll make sure Jake and Sirena know about this in the morning.”
Of course, Carlos didn’t want to mention his own problem to the former CIA director. He would handle that himself.
“I’ll need to get a list of all the other people who went to that junket in Uruguay,” Kurt said. “I’ll drop a dime to the FBI and have them look into it from here.”
“Thank you, Kurt. Make sure to get an updated status report from Jake and Sirena.”
“Will do.” Kurt cut the connection from his end.
Carlos sat back and took a sip of fine rum. The warmth and oak flavor of the amber liquid lingered on his tongue. Finally, he could relax knowing his people might be making some progress.
22
Montevideo, Uruguay
The two CIA officers from Argentina had been able to convince the local authorities that they would need to do some preliminary investigations into the death of Sten Larsen, a U.S. citizen, before they could release the name of the victim to the local media. They hoped to give Jake Adams and Sirena a head start in their investigation in Argentina before those involved could circle the wagons and change their organization.
Gary knew that it was a gamble at best, but they at least had to try to help out these former CIA officers. But he was concerned that the house cleaning had already begun, with the death of the Uruguay trade representative Mateo Ramos in Buenos Aires, and now the murder of this fallen titan of business from America living in exile.
They had done as Jake Adams told them, rounding up Sten Larsen’s wife, Tiffany. She had been performing a one person show at a downtown hotel with the Japanese Peruvian trade rep, and could have taken home at least one more porn statue for her performance. When the two of them used a pass key and walked in on the former porn star and her mark, she was screaming with apparent pleasure as he took her from behind. But when he pulled out prematurely upon seeing the two CIA officers in his room, they knew she was a better actress than given credit, considering the man’s underwhelming penis.
That was hours ago. Since then they had gotten her dressed and hauled her to a local safe house that the Agency kept for just these occasions. They had not told Tiffany that her husband had been gunned down earlier that evening in their home. Gary thought it would be best to question her without the emotions involved from a death notification, despite the fact that she had been caught screwing another man. Jake had told them that
her husband knew about the extramarital performance. And that had given Gary an idea.
But Gary also had a problem. Normally, while interrogating women in remote locations, the potential for sexual dominance was a possible motivating factor to extract intel. Yet, this woman would probably see right through their attempts. She might even get off on it, he thought.
So, they had to use other tactics with Tiffany. While they played their little games with her, the Agency was doing a deep investigation into her background. What motivated this woman? She was in her 40s, but was still in great shape. Her body could pass for at least ten years younger. As far as Gary was concerned, and not based on actual experience, Tiffany could still be working in porn.
They were on a break now, the two Agency officers watching Tiffany through a two-way mirror, while a local officer went outside for a smoke break.
“Look at her,” Gary said. “She doesn’t seem to have a care in the world.”
“Nothing is working on her, Gary,” his partner said. “Where do we go from here?”
That was a good question. “I don’t know. We could see if she gave a shit about her husband and tell her he’s dead.”
“I don’t know. She could just shut down completely and cry. You’ve seen her in action. The woman seems to have no conscience. We have to find out why she was having sex with that Peruvian. What did she expect to get from him?”
Gary’s phone suddenly buzzed and he checked out the secure text that had just come in. It was from his boss the station chief in Buenos Aires. Disturbing news.
“What is it, Gary?”
“Shit. That AFI intel officer, Antonia, was killed in Buenos Aires tonight.”
“What? How?”
Gary shook his head. “Not sure. But it was at the Recoleta Cemetery. They also found a dead police officer inside among the tombs.”
“Jake and Sirena were supposed to meet up with Antonia last evening. Do you think they were there?”
Gary stared at his phone and considered trying to contact Jake, but that probably wasn’t possible. The man had one hell of a system. He could completely control all communications to his phone better than those used in the CIA. But he did have Sirena’s number. So, he sent her a quick question—not about the death of the AFI officer, but for her help with Tiffany.
“Jake won’t answer,” his partner said.
“This is to Sirena.”
“You’ve got no shot with her.”
“Who said I’m interested?”
“She’s hot as hell. And deadly. What’s not to like?”
He had a point. But he was also right. She probably saw the two of them as the help. Not worthy of her time. A couple seconds later and he got a response from Sirena. Then as he was reading her simple text, his phone buzzed. It was Sirena.
“Yeah,” Gary said.
“What do you need?” she asked.
He could hear road noises in the background. They were driving. He checked his watch and saw that it was zero two fifteen.
Gary explained how they had picked up Sten Larsen’s wife Tiffany, and how they had not been able to extract anything from her so far. Did she have any insight?
He could hear her muffled conversation to Jake.
“Don’t tell her about her husband’s death,” Sirena said. Now the road noises were much louder. She had put the phone on speaker.
“We haven’t,” he assured her. “But why do you say that?”
“Jake thinks she knows more than we initially thought,” Sirena said.
“That’s our thoughts, as well,” Gary said. “We haven’t found out why she was screwing this guy from Peru.”
“She’s using sex not just for the acquisition of intel,” came a man’s voice. Jake was now involved. “I’m betting she set up the honey trap in Uruguay as part of the Cayman Files.”
“The Cayman Files?” Gary asked.
“Like the Panama Papers on steroids,” Jake explained.
“I see. So, what do you recommend we do with this Tiffany?”
Jake said, “I’d black site her ass.”
“She’s an American citizen,” Gary reminded him.
“Right,” Jake said. “Potentially involved with the blackmail and death of a U.S. senator from Oregon. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Where do you have her now?”
“A safe house on the outskirts of Montevideo.”
“Good. Don’t let her go. We’ve been talking about it, and we think she might be more involved than her husband.”
“Seriously?”
“Dead serious. By the way, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but we ran into a little problem with our meeting tonight in Buenos Aires.”
“Did it involve the death of a female AFI officer?” Gary asked.
“You’ve heard. She was killed by a rogue Argentine policia officer with a silenced pistol.”
“So one of you killed the cop?”
“The guy didn’t give us a choice,” Jake said. “And you don’t bring a silenced gun just to keep from waking the neighbors. He was a hit man on the side. He attacked me and he also attacked Sirena on the ferry.”
“What about his partner?” Gary asked.
“I don’t know if he was there or where he is now,” Jake said.
“Watch your back.”
“We plan on it.”
Gary glanced at Tiffany through the two-way mirror. “Any insight how to break her down?”
“Follow your training,” Jake said. “When that doesn’t work, follow your instincts. Find the one thing that she fears the most and exploit it.”
“What if she has no fear? No conscience?”
“Then she’s a sociopath,” Jake said. “But even they fear something. Find it and exploit it. Then get back with us.”
“You’re obviously on the road. Where are you heading?”
Hesitation. “Across the Pompas toward Patagonia,” Jake said.
That got Gary thinking. “Sten Larsen gave you more information than you told us.”
“Trust is a fickle fucker,” Jake said. “I don’t know if I trust the intel Larsen gave us.”
“Or if you can trust us,” Gary said.
“Well, someone told that rogue cop about our meeting in Buenos Aires.”
“But you didn’t even tell us about the meeting. So how could we have told anyone?”
Pause on the other end. “You have a point. All right. Once we see where this leads, we’ll get back with you.”
The line went blank.
Gary looked at his partner and shrugged. “That went well.”
“He’s an arrogant fucker,” his partner said.
“True. But he gets results. If even a little of that rubs off on us, we’ll be in good shape.”
“But he didn’t tell us anything we didn’t already know about interrogating her.”
“Yes, he did. We’ve been going about this all wrong. Now we know that she’s heavily involved. We know about the Cayman Files. We can link her to the death of the Oregon senator. That’s a federal murder. She’ll be eligible for the death penalty.”
“Does she fear death?”
That’s what they would have to use first. See if she cares about living. “At this point, she probably thinks we’re FBI,” Gary said. “What if we make her believe that we have nothing to do with law enforcement.”
“We don’t.”
“Exactly. But she doesn’t know what we can or cannot do to her. We make her think that we are willing to tie weights to her and drop her in the ocean.”
“Let’s just water board the bitch and get it over with.”
“It might come to that,” Gary agreed. “But let’s try this other way first.”
They formed a plan and how they would work her, and then they went in for round two. Gary was well aware that eventually everyone broke. There was nobody immune to interrogation properly administered. Only the best covert operatives knew how to manipulate their interrogators. Gary figured Jake was one who
could do so. Perhaps Sirena as well. But not this woman. A former porn star didn’t possess those skills.
23
Crossing the Pompas of Argentina
Jake drove the car they had acquired from the high-end restaurant parking lot. Sirena had distracted the young Argentine in charge of the keys at the valet post, while Jake found what he hoped would be a good car to stay under the radar. They had taken a black Toyota Camry and drove to the meeting place they had gotten from Sten Larsen. The driver of the van and his partner had been wary and reluctant at first, but Larsen had given permission, along with a simple code phrase. They could not deny them, then.
That was hours ago. Then a few hours back they had gotten the call from their friends in the Agency, who had Larsen’s wife and needed to try to extract as much information as they could from her. But they were stuck.
Jake stayed back from the van by about a quarter mile. If for some reason the van got stopped and the men caught with three young girls in shackles, Jake and Sirena didn’t want to be associated with them. But to be sure the men didn’t try to make a run to lose them, Jake had planted a GPS tracker under the rear bumper of the van.
He glanced to his right at Sirena, who had spent the last couple of hours sleeping. Jake was supposed to wake her soon to switch and let her drive. The van ahead of them had done so about a half hour ago, but Jake had decided to let her sleep.
The car suddenly hit a bump in the road and Sirena stirred from her slumber.
“Are we there yet?” she said and yawned.
“Not quite,” he said.
“Where are we?”
“I don’t know. Based on what I can see; it looks like West Texas. Somewhere between BA and Mendoza.”
“Not quite like traveling in Gomez’ jet,” she said. “Speaking of which, did you tell them we wouldn’t need them for a while?”
“A couple of hours ago I sent a text to the flight attendant.”
“She’s cute. I think she has a thing for you.”
“We’re just friends and associates,” Jake assured her.