by Trevor Scott
“So are we, and do you remember what we did?”
He remembered. Part of him wanted to start over fresh with Sirena. But the other part, the hound dog in him, had glanced at her while she slept and had very bad thoughts, envisioning her again in the skimpy white bikini she had worn and then taken off in Montevideo. Yeah, a part of him wanted to defile her in unspeakable ways still.
“If you talk about stuff like that, I’m liable to lose focus,” Jake said.
She smiled. “I just had a bad dream about you.” Sirena hesitated and then corrected herself. “Well, it wasn’t bad. It was sexy.”
God, give me strength, Jake thought. “Tell me what you think about his case.”
“Sure, change the subject.” She sat up in her chair and thought about it. “All right. Let’s look at the big picture. The Cayman Files, as you’ve called them. Some group is using kidnapping, sex and exploitation of young women to blackmail those in power to do certain things. Then, assuming they refuse, they leak the information and then kill the people. At least that’s what we think happened to the Dane and the Oregon senator.”
“Right. And if you cross them or have law enforcement close in on you, they simply kill you. It’s a brutal game.”
“The game we play is brutal,” she reminded him. “How are you doing?”
“I’m a little tired. I could use a break.”
“I meant in general.”
He tried not to look at her, but his eyes shifted over and he saw that she was serious. “How do you think? It’s only been a couple of months since I lost my girlfriend and the mother of my little girl. Then I dump my baby off on my siblings and escape to Iceland for a couple of months to drown my sorrows in alcohol. Because what else is there to do on a frozen island heading into winter. Yeah, everything is pristine in my life.”
She put her hand on his arm and said, “I’m sorry this has happened to you, Jake. You don’t deserve this.”
“Yeah, maybe I do. My mind seems to be playing tricks on me, Sirena. I keep seeing people from my past. Those who have died because of me.”
“Anna was not your fault. Neither was Toni or Alexandra. There are bad people in this world. Evil people. There always have been and there always will be.”
He knew that she was right. But it didn’t help. “That’s the problem. I’m not visualizing those I loved most. I’m seeing people I have killed. And do you know what the worst part is?”
Jake glanced at her and she simply shook her head without vigor.
“I can’t come up with a number,” he said.
“A number?”
“Yeah, the number of people I have killed since this all began back in the day. Who doesn’t remember the number of people one takes?”
He caught movement from her and he just noticed her wiping away tears from her eyes.
“I know it’s disgusting to imagine,” Jake said.
Sirena shook her head. “No, it’s normal. I thought about that recently myself. Not for you, but for me. And I couldn’t remember how many I have killed either. But sadly enough, I couldn’t even see the faces of those I killed.”
Now he felt like shit. He had conjured deep-seeded feelings that should not be remembered in the middle of an operation. Maybe these feelings were meant to remain hidden until retirement, or go down with him with his own death.
Jake pulled up his phone from a cup holder and clicked it on, checking out the GPS map. They still had at least eight hours more to drive to Santiago, Chile. And part of that would be through the mountains of Patagonia. The Andes. Although this was summer in the southern hemisphere, those roads could see snow at any time of year. So, they had some time of reflection to heal their souls before getting back to the heart of this case, where any distraction could be lethal.
Now, Jake reached across and squeezed down on her leg. “I’m sorry this came up.”
“It’s my fault,” she said. “I just noticed a difference in you from our last mission in the Canaries and Morocco.”
“I know that I’m drinking too much, Sirena. My body tells me that each morning. I can stop, but I don’t want to. Not yet. But if it ever jeopardizes our mission, make sure to kick my ass.”
“I will,” she said. “But I don’t see it getting that far off. You just need time to mourn the passing of Alexandra.”
Jake let out a heavy breath. “I’m almost there.” Deep down, and he didn’t want to mention this to her, a small part of him had been bored with his sedate life settling down on the coast of Calabria. Perhaps that was why he had continued to take assignments with Gomez and his team. Sure he was happy with a new baby. And Alexandra. But there had been a problem with his impending retirement. He was too young for that. Yeah, he had lost a step or two. But he would work smarter and not harder.
They would talk this through, along with the current case, for the remainder of the drive. Good friends and colleagues were there for each other. Blurring of lines would not be a problem.
24
Santiago, Chile
They crossed the border from Argentina to Chile without incident. Luckily Jake had found a similar Toyota Camry at one of their rest stops, where he had swapped out the license plates. All he needed now was to get hauled in for grand theft auto. Sirena had taken over the driving for a number of hours, giving Jake a chance to sleep. Jake took over again when they got to the mountain passes. The van ahead of them had no guts, so they were required to drive slower than normal on the ascent. The descent on the other side had been equally cautious. Jake guessed the van driver didn’t want to give the police any reason to pull them over.
At one of the stops Jake had actually caught a glimpse of the three young girls in the back of the van. The biggest surprise of all on the trip was the fact that the two transport men were not Argentine. Sirena had confirmed that with her knowledge of Spanish. But she could not pinpoint their nationality. To her they seemed to be a cross between the Spanish and the indigenous people of the Andes.
With the slow travel, it had taken them more than fifteen hours to make the journey from Buenos Aires to Santiago—a trip that would normally take about thirteen hours. So, it was closing in on five p.m. now.
Once they got to the sprawling outskirts of Santiago, Jake was forced to keep closer to the van.
“Where do you think they’re taking these girls?” Sirena asked. Her level of excitement that this could be coming to a satisfactory conclusion had increased significantly as they approached the Chilean capital.
“I don’t know,” Jake said. “Perhaps some sort of holding facility where they screened the girls or prepped them for what was coming next.”
“That’s been going through my mind all night,” Sirena said. “What if we’re too late.”
“Too late for Maria?” Jake asked.
“Yes.”
“I hate to say this, but it’s bigger than just her now.” He pointed at the van ahead of them. “There are three young girls right there in that van. They’ve been kidnapped and drugged and will now be used for God knows what reason. We have to save them all.”
“I know, Jake. But it’s more personal for me.”
“I understand. But Maria is also a trained intelligence operative. If anyone can handle this, she is uniquely qualified.”
“You’re right,” Sirena said. “They’re turning at the roundabout ahead.”
Jake followed the van through the roundabout and headed farther out on the eastern side of the city along the foothills. The roads became more narrow here and the estates much larger, with great distances between properties.
Finally, they turned into an even smaller road which looked like it could have been a ranch road leading to another pasture. But this wasn’t a ranch road. Ahead he saw a massive gate with a high metal fence leading from each side of that gate. The fence was almost not visible because of the tall trees and scrub brush. To the average observer, Jake guessed, the place would appear like a high-fence game reserve.
As t
hey stopped just behind the van, Jake could see the driver talking with the gate guard and then pointing back to them. The interesting thing about his encounter with the men in the van was an almost unreasonable deference toward him. Jake had used his Austrian persona and used a heavy German accent when speaking with the men. Perhaps that had something to do with how they treated Jake, but he wasn’t sure why that mattered.
“What do you think,” Sirena asked.
“I think you need to keep your gun ready,” he said. “If somehow they got word that Sten Larsen is dead, that could blow our story.”
“Not likely,” she said. “The Agency boys said they had covered their tracks.”
“Yeah, but it would take just one reasonably intelligent reporter to do a property search and report on the man’s death.”
“I doubt it. They would hear reports from the neighbors about shots fired, but they wouldn’t know for sure who the EMTs hauled out of there. My guess is that a lot of people came and went from the Larsen house.”
“It could have been us,” Jake said. “Here we go.”
The gates opened and the van pulled through. As Jake got to the gate house, the man simply waved him through.
The road snaked along a small creek, with Chilean Mesquite rising to thirty feet along both sides of the road, providing a shady canopy.
There were a couple of smaller outbuildings before they came to the main building, which was a huge hacienda-type building that Jake thought could have passed for a golf clubhouse in America.
The van had stopped near the entrance to the building in a circular drive. Jake pulled into a parking lot at the left edge of the circle and shut down the engine.
“You ready?” he asked Sirena.
“I’m concerned about what we’ll find.”
The two of them got out and made it to the side of the van just as the two men were pulling the drugged girls from the back end. If they were eighteen, Jake would fall over and die. Maybe fifteen or sixteen, he thought.
As the two men hauled the women through the front door, another man came out to greet Jake and Sirena. He was a gangly fellow wearing linen pants and a silk shirt buttoned half way up, exposing a sunken hairless chest. He wore tiny circular glasses, which made his skinny nose seem even longer.
The man started with Spanish, saying his name and his affiliation. He was Pablo Moroso, the owner and manager of this establishment. That’s what he called it. Sirena asked him if they could speak English or German. She gave the man her Spanish persona and back story. She was a language professor from Madrid. Jake spun his Austrian persona, but said he was mostly retired.
“My men tell me you are affiliated with our friend in Uruguay,” Pablo said. His English was nearly without accent.
Jake and Sirena had spent a good deal of time on the drive coming up with their back story. “We have mutual friends,” Jake said, remembering to lay on the thick German accent.
“So you know the Nazca Boys,” Pablo said.
There was no way Jake could lie about this, since it would have been easy for the man to simply call anyone and ask if they knew Jake and Sirena. No, he had to keep things a bit more obscure.
“I’m afraid not,” Jake said. “I understand they are associates of Sten Larsen. My interests are more in Europe. We’re mostly looking for investment opportunities. Larsen seemed to have a nice operation. I told him we could be his conduit to Europe.”
Although Pablo had been talking to Jake, his eyes kept wandering toward Sirena.
“Mister Konrad.”
“Please call me Jake.”
“Okay, Jake. I don’t deal with outside investors. We run a simple club here.”
“Club?” Jake asked.
“Let me show you,” Pablo said, extending his hand out for Jake and Sirena to move through the building.
First, there was a reception desk with a handsome man behind it doing something on a computer. This area reminded Jake of a high-end spa. Next they moved along a corridor with rooms on the right and a wall of glass on the left which opened to a courtyard and a massive swimming pool. On the far end of the pool were two hot tubs bubbling away. Then Pablo showed them a couple of dark rooms with massage tables. Jake was beginning to wonder if this place was as it appeared to be—a spa resort for the wealthy. That might have been the obvious conclusion if they had not driven all night following a van with three highly drugged young girls in the back.
Jake stopped at the end of the corridor and gazed out at the empty swimming pool area. “Tell me about the young girls you just brought from Argentina,” Jake said.
Pablo shrugged. “Those are unfortunate young ladies who have agreed to improve their station in life.”
Agreed? An interesting way to describe kidnapping, Jake thought. “I see. Tell me about prostitution in Chile.”
Pablo waved his finger at Jake. “This is not a bordello.”
“I understand. I just need to know the laws.”
The proprietor let out a nervous breath of air. Then he said, “Prostitution is legal in Chile. Officially. Bordellos are not legal.”
“But this is a spa,” Jake reminded the man with a smile.
“Exactly.”
“What is the age limit for prostitutes?” Sirena asked.
“Eighteen.” Pablo hesitated nervously. “Are you with the police?”
Jake laughed. “Not even close. As I said, we are looking for investments. But we want to keep things silent.” Jake was intentionally using less than pristine English.
Pablo seemed relieved. “We have a special relationship with certain members of the Chilean Policia. But since you are from Austria, you can understand my concern.”
Yeah, Jake understood. As far as this guy knew, Jake could have been an officer with INTERPOL sent here undercover. “It is good to know people in positions of power. We were part of what happened in Uruguay recently. We hope to influence some of our own leaders. Do you understand what I mean?”
Pablo raised his hands defensively. “That is beyond my expertise. I am but a conduit. You would have to speak with the boys from Nazca.”
Perfect opportunity, Jake thought. They had heard about these Nazca boys from Sten Larsen, but the man had gotten killed before he could explain himself.
“Could you set up a meeting for us?” Jake asked.
“Are you sure you don’t want to invest here?” Pablo asked. “I could show you around a little more to our exclusive areas. See what you think.”
Jake glanced at Sirena, who shrugged.
“Wonderful.” Pablo brought them to a door with an electronic key, which he opened with his ID. Inside here were darker corridors with doors on the right again and some sort of enclosure on the left. There was another pool in here with a waterfall cascading down to it. But this one held the largest penguins Jake have ever seen.
“What’s with the penguins?” Jake asked.
Pablo smiled. “A special project. Perhaps an investment opportunity for you.”
“I have never seen such large penguins,” Sirena said, which is exactly what Jake was thinking.
“They are Emperor Penguins,” Pablo explained. “They can reach more than a meter tall and can weigh up to thirty-six kilos.”
“Wow.” Jake did the calculations in his head. That was more than three feet tall and about 80 pounds. “You are raising them to eat?”
Pablo laughed. “Not exactly. Come, I will show you.”
At the end of this corridor Pablo opened another door and they entered a strange-looking room. It could have been a bedroom, since there was a bed. But this was something else entirely. Above the bed was a hoist of some sort, which was swiveled at the top and had a harness attached.
Pablo found a remote control on a side table. He used the remote to lower the harness to the bed.
Jake’s mind reeled with what this could be. But he could never imagine what was coming next. Pablo went to a closet and retrieved a full-sized stuffed animal in the form of one of those l
arge penguins. He brought that to the bed and strapped it in to the harness. Then, with the remote, he raised the stuffed animal about two feet off the bed surface. Now Jake understood what was going on here. He shook his head as he glanced at Sirena, who still seemed confused.
“You are fucking penguins?” Jake asked.
“Not me personally,” Pablo denied. “Select clients.”
Sirena turned away, and Jake thought he might have seen a slight smile on her face and not total disgust.
“You see, a penguin, like other birds, has a cloaca,” Pablo explained. “This vent is used to expel waste, lay eggs, and in this case, accept sperm. But we make sure all of our guests use condoms.”
“Of course,” Jake said. He shook his head and said, “What kind of customer comes in and says, ‘Hey, do you have any penguins to fuck?’”
“Only our most discriminating clients,” Pablo said. “And my harness is patent pending.”
Jake wasn’t sure what to do with this new information. He guessed that the exploitation of penguins didn’t trump the harm of young girls. But this was simply crazy. He needed more details.
“Who does this?” Jake asked.
“You would be surprised,” Pablo said. “Of course I was one of the first to try it, since I had to know if it was possible. I assure you that no penguins are hurt in the process. We give them valium and make sure to use plenty of lubrication.”
“That’s a relief,” Jake said. “Are your clients local?”
Pablo shook his head. “No, they come from all over the world. But especially Asia. These people seem to be more open-minded about these things.”
Jake said, “Maybe we should move on and you could show us more conventional rooms.”
Nodding his head, Pablo did just that. They left this penguin fucking room and went back down the corridor checking out a couple of other rooms. These were simply bedrooms with large screen televisions, making the rooms resemble the hotel they had stayed in at the Ritz in the Caymans.
At the end of the tour, Jake asked, “Where are all the people?”
“We do not open until later tonight,” Pablo said.