by Jeff Abbott
“I would but I’m afraid of you, a little.”
“Why?”
“Sam, I know you saved Papa today…but you killed that other man. The one who shot Steve. He fell off a building, the news said. Am I supposed to think that was an accident?”
“I didn’t push him. He panicked, he fell. I wanted him alive to talk, Cori. Do you think I’m some sort of killing machine?” I nearly laughed and then I thought, This is why you’re alone. You kind of are what she’s afraid of.
“The other one, you did try to kill. You ran him down with a motorcycle.”
She thought I was a cold-blooded killer. “Cori. He fired right at me. I didn’t have a choice, I didn’t have a weapon other than the bike. If someone is after your family, I can help.”
“I’m not playing the naïve baby of the family anymore, Sam.” A new toughness was in her tone. “If we can find out what they’re doing, or who they’re doing it for…then we can force them to stop.” Her voice went low. “What if this has been going on for a while? It’s been a curse on us. My mother, my brother, my father’s wives…maybe this is why so much tragedy, so much pain. It has to stop, Sam.”
She ran a charity. She was an idealist and thought the world could be a better place. She was just like my parents. And I admired them all, but I felt like their optimism could blind them to the darkness in the world. And how hard it was to banish that darkness.
I leaned back from her. “I saw Galo and Zhanna arguing at the Or nightclub at the Corinthian a few nights ago. Zhanna seemed very upset, she even slapped your brother. What’s that about?”
“I have no idea.” She looked startled. “You’re spying on my brother?”
“I was following Ricky after he searched Steve’s house. He met them there. Could you find out what happened?”
“I can try.” She squeezed my hand. “It might have been about me. I’d told Galo I was coming to Puerto Rico, even though I wasn’t invited.”
I thought of Z, miming the cutting of a throat.
I said, “We have to get our stories straight. Details we could be asked about independently. Where our first date was, our second date, and so on.”
She nodded. “And why you haven’t met any of my friends yet, why I kept you secret…”
I stood and brought her close to me. “Fine. Kiss me.”
“What?” She looked flustered.
“I’m supposed to be your boyfriend. They cannot suspect, especially now, after this, that I am anything else. If we kiss in front of them, it can’t look awkward…” And then she put her fingertips along my jawline and went on her tippy-toes and kissed me. It was a good, long kiss, the kind that breaks you in together, much better than the one at the casino for Galo’s eyes. Soft, then open, then harder, then gentle again. When I opened my eyes, she opened her eyes, studied my ugly, bruised face. And she smiled.
“Okay,” I said. “That’ll work.”
Then she kissed me again. “For good luck,” she whispered. “We’ll need it to help my family get out of this.”
Was she using me, or was I using her? Or both? The problem was—I liked Cordelia. She was smart and lovely and stronger than her family knew. I felt she was a generous person. I believed her story. Her family was shady, she wasn’t, she was trying to save them. If she was using me, it was because she was alone, and where else could she turn for my kind of help? I was her weapon to save her family, and she was my gateway to finding the person behind Steve’s death. I guess I had a look in my eye, appraising her, and she blushed and leaned in and kissed me again. Gently, with nothing to prove.
“I wish…we were meeting under normal circumstances.” Her fingers were against my jaw, then ran up to the bruise on my face. “Thank you for saving Papa. Thank you.”
I smiled. No matter what—I had her gratitude for that. “If we get through this it will be normal circumstances,” I said. And then I’d have to tell her that Chevalier wasn’t my real name and that I wasn’t exactly who she thought I was. That could be a problem. A bridge to be crossed when reached.
She gave me “Dating Cordelia Varela 101”—her friends, her schooling, her ex-boyfriends. She whispered most of it in my ear, fast. The CIA taught me to retain and remember information like this quickly. I closed my eyes, committed the details to memory even though my brain was fogged by the pain.
“You don’t look well,” she said.
“Don’t forget to call me honey. Or sweetheart. Or whatever you like.”
She touched the side of my face. “You’re a ‘babe,’ I think.”
“Babes are helpless and innocent.”
She took her hand away gently. “Always an exception to the rule, babe.”
“I need to make myself something to eat or drink. I fought on an empty stomach.”
She helped me to the door, and I let her think I was weaker than I felt. The pain would fade, in time. She wanted to protect her family, even if they were criminals. I had no such compunction. Let them think me helpless and hurt. Let them think they owed me for the blood I shed. Steve had found out very dangerous information about the Varelas before he died. He’d asked me to be his inside man. He’d had a plan in mind to penetrate this family, unearth its secrets. But what?
I was the inside man now.
23
SO WHAT DOES a family do after they’ve covered up the killing of a person? The Varelas apparently huddled up in a meeting in Rey’s room and we weren’t invited.
Cordelia led me to the impressive stone-floored kitchen. I poured a big glass of water and she pulled a covered dish from a massive refrigerator.
“This is a Puerto Rican chicken stew. One of Papa’s favorites. Do you like chicken? Of course you do. You barbecued chicken for me, on our fourth date,” she said to the empty kitchen. She seemed to talk so that I would not.
I drank the water and joked, “Good job doctor did on the stitches, I’m not leaking anywhere,” and she laughed, the jagged giggle of nervous release. She told me to sit down, I looked pale, and that she’d heat the food up for me. I thanked her.
She set a hot bowl before me, and I slowly began to eat. The stew was delicious, rich with the spicy taste of sofrito, thick with potatoes and green beans. On the wall across from the table was a large antique map of what looked like this section of the coastline, on the western side of Puerto Rico. I saw Rincón and Aguadilla on the map.
She followed my gaze. “Ah, this land belonged to the first Mrs. Varela, Galo’s mom, it had been in her family a long time. Her father made those maps. Aren’t they cool?”
I studied the terrain. It’s always good to have an escape route.
Galo entered the kitchen and we finally had an audience. He glanced at me for a moment then went to the refrigerator. He touched my shoulder in silent thanks as he passed me. I looked up at him, a bit scared, as though I didn’t have words. Then he opened a Dos Equis and sat across from Cori and me. Cori was drinking a glass of red wine and I could see her hand shake, ever so slightly, when she lifted the glass. Everyone was self-medicating.
It’s awkward to make small talk with a man after he’s killed someone. It changes you. The air around you seems different for a while. Television and movies make us think, usually, that it doesn’t. They don’t want to slow down the action for reflection. But it twists your heart, your brain, even if it was justified. You played God. You took away something that cannot be given back. It makes a little hole in you and puts a ghost there and you have to learn how to live with it. I had dreamed of the falling thug every night since he fell—I didn’t know him or like him and he’d helped murder Steve. But that was how I had to be different from him; his death had to matter to me. The dreams would fade soon enough.
If Galo was bent on the inside, the dreams would never start.
Galo kept his hands cupped around the cold beer. He looked scrubbed; his hair was damp from the shower. You want to get clean after death; I understood that.
“Thank you,” I said.
He took a deep breath. He wasn’t used to this, his history of fighting as a kid aside. He looked tough but he had the muscles of an athlete, not a thug. He looked a bit lost.
“Oh, Galo,” Cori reached for his hand.
His voice was steady. “I’ve thought of all the ramifications.” As if the recent events could be analyzed, plugged into a spreadsheet, with a happy result. “You thanked me. Fine. I thanked you. Fine. You don’t bring it up again, okay, Cori?”
“Okay.”
“You don’t bring it up again,” he repeated, looking hard at her. Trying to be tough. She met his gaze without blinking.
She squeezed his hand. Now he looked at me. “We have no idea whether we can trust you, Sam.”
“You saved my life. Why would I tell anyone what you did? I’m not an ingrate.”
“You asked the doctor about calling the police,” Galo said. And I thought: I have his life in my hands. I could make his life so hard with a phone call. Because even if it was justified, they’d gotten rid of the body. That itself was a crime.
I had a part to play, and I needed to be pitch-perfect. “Cori says we’re not bringing in the police, and I’m fine with that. I want whatever makes Cori happy. But I have a question. You could have just dumped the body off the property, phoned in an anonymous tip or left him where someone was bound to find him. The police would have done the work of identifying him, maybe even learning who he works for.”
“You thought about this? All the angles?” And sometimes, I remembered, a scared man is much more dangerous than a calm one.
“I try to consider all the options in a dangerous situation.”
“Like you, I have to consider all the options.” He took a sip of beer. “You come here. Unannounced. All hell breaks loose. You’re a stranger. A secret.”
“He’s not a stranger to me,” Cori said. “And you all have been keeping a lot of secrets from me.”
“Zhanna and Kent are checking you out, Sam. Thoroughly,” he said.
“Okay, point one? I’m the guy who saved your father.”
“I saved my father.” He almost looked embarrassed. “I’ve never shot anyone before.”
“Oh, Galo,” Cori said. She sounded like her heart was breaking. She put both her hands on his.
“I’ll be all right,” he told her.
“How can any of us be all right?” she said.
He could see where she was aiming the conversation. “Do you feel well enough to walk with me for a moment, Sam? Sit out on the patio and get some fresh air?”
“Yes,” I said. I pushed away my empty bowl.
Cori stood as if to follow.
Galo said, “Doctor said the kidnapper injected Papa with a depressant. To keep him quiet. I think that’s part of his confusion. He’s resting, but he wants to see you.”
Cori glanced at me and then left the kitchen. I got up, gingerly, and followed Galo out onto the stone patio. The breeze from the sea—where it was logical to presume the kidnapper’s body now rested—had grown in strength and the cool air felt good against my face. I was at their mercy. Hurt, worn out, trapped. I sat down heavily in the chair. From there I could see the small slice of beach.
“Did you find anyone else?” I asked.
“You mean was the kidnapper working alone?”
“Yes.”
“No. Ricky and the guys and I searched the property. But it’s a lot of acres.”
“Did you find a car? He must have had some means of escape. Keys? A phone? An ID?”
“We didn’t find a car,” he said, as though he’d followed the train of my thought. But he didn’t fully answer my question. He still didn’t know if he could trust me. “He was taking Papa toward the beach. We didn’t find a boat, either. So I’m guessing he had a partner waiting in a boat for a signal and the partner took off when he didn’t come back.”
Possibly, or they hadn’t looked in the right place. I would find it, then, if there was something to be found. I’d figure out a way.
“What have I gotten myself involved with?” I asked him. “I could have gotten gutted helping your dad.”
“You didn’t seem the type when we met. Not the serious soldier.”
“I was trying to be funny and charming. I wanted to impress you all. Being a bodyguard doesn’t normally bowl over the young woman’s parents.” I tinged my voice with shame.
He looked at the ocean, then looked at me. “I do want to thank you. Man to man. For saving my papa.”
“Technically I think you saved him.”
He shook his head. “No, we both did. Together.” Yes, I thought, and it’ll make a bond between us if I play you right. “You kept him from taking Papa. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. You saved my life too, Galo. He would have opened my throat if you hadn’t stopped him. So thanks.”
His own throat worked. You know when you first make friends with someone, real friends? You find that thread that binds you there. He had saved my life; I was in imminent danger from the knife. I had saved his father’s life and he wanted to believe I was a good guy. In crisis we want to trust, even when it’s hard. “Yeah. Okay. We need to talk about that.”
“All right.”
“I did my duty to my dad. I don’t let anyone hurt the people I love.”
“I respect that, Galo.”
He looked down into his beer. “We’ll offer you money. Not to ever say anything to the police. You’ll be well taken care of.”
The burnt man would have loved this invitation. I let five long seconds pass. “You don’t have to buy my silence.”
“You seem like a guy who appreciates money. No offense.”
“None taken.” I pointed at the bandage under my—his—T-shirt. “I fell down the stairs while walking with a knife. Freak accident. My face hit the edge of the stair. Fortunately I’m going to be okay.”
“You’re very cool and collected. Funny that the guy who gets hurt is the calmest,” he said.
“Everyone else is panicking,” I said. “Right? Kent. Zhanna. Your dad. Because you stepped up to the plate and did the right thing.”
He watched me. I’d guessed right. The others were distancing themselves from him, even if they didn’t know it. Natural human response. There’s a reason warriors underwent purification rituals when they came back from killing on the hunt. Death makes us uneasy, even when we don’t want to admit it. “Galo.”
“What?”
“When the shock wears off, and it will, don’t doubt that you did the right thing.”
He tried to smile. It didn’t quite work. He wasn’t ready to smile yet.
I made a decision. Sometimes you have to rock the boat, the burnt man had told me. You have to do the unexpected and see what happens. Then he had said: You’re too young, Sam. You’re so young. If these new kinds of criminals weren’t so young too, we wouldn’t have to send kids like you.
So, Burnt Man, here was my bit of unexpected. “Let’s go search again, along where he took your father. Maybe we’ll find something we missed.”
“All right.”
We walked across the patio, down the steps. Galo said, “You were incredible. I saw it when I was running toward you and Papa. You fought like you were trained.”
“Some of it was Army training.” I waited and he waited. The dance of lies moved into a new rhythm. They were in trouble. They needed me. And so I would be there. “And I worked for a man in the Czech Republic. He got me special training, he made sure all his people could take care of themselves.”
“Who was the man? You said you worked in transportation.”
“Nobody.” I managed to look slightly ashamed. “You wouldn’t know him.”
“In Prague?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me. If I can trust you, then you can trust me.”
“His name is František Lada,” I said. This was part of the official Sam Chevalier cover. Lada was a moderately successful smuggler, using a legit company as a front, and he
was also a CIA informant. His cooperation protected him and his operations. “He’s in the export-import business. There are unsavory types around, it can be rough.” I kept my face neutral.
We searched along the pathway. I saw nothing. We reached the scrubby incline where I’d caught up to the two of them.
“Did the kidnapper say anything to you?” Galo asked.
I hadn’t told him yet that the kidnapper claimed an intention of not harming Rey. First, because the kidnapper might have been lying and second, because the Varelas might be more likely to tell me who their enemy was if they felt the enemy could not be reasoned with. They’d seen a man nearly kill me, brutalize their father. If Cori’s theory was right and these were unhappy clients, then the Varelas might try to reason with them and shut me out. Let the Varelas wonder a bit longer who was after them.
“No one will bother you or Cordelia.” He bit at his lip for a moment. “I’ll protect you, whatever it takes.” He was trying to figure out who he was now, how he lived with what he’d done. I could use that.
I walked the scrub and the loose soil and the rocky places where I’d fought the kidnapper. Glanced at Galo. He was farther down, looking in the grass. I slipped my hand into my pocket, palmed the casino chip. I had no idea of the consequences of what I was about to do. It was a bit like a scientific experiment. The unexpected.
“I think when you’re okay to travel,” Galo said, “you should get Cordelia out of here. She already told me she won’t go back to Miami without you.”
“I don’t know if I can promise that. Cordelia feels shut out, and she’s not going to stay that way anymore. She’s seen too much today.” His back was to me. I kicked at a clot of dirt, snapped the chip in half, shoved one half of the chip into the mud, covered it partially back up. Dirt grimed the red. You’d have to look for it. I moved away, circling to the left, putting the other half in my pocket. After a few moments, Galo hiked toward me, circling toward the right.
“Um, this Lada guy,” I said. “I understand you want to check me out. But maybe you could not tell Cori I worked for him?”
“What’s wrong with him?”