Polanski’s brows drew together. “Should you be thinking about work? I mean—”
“Don’t any of you start treating me like an invalid.” Tony glared. “I get plenty of that from people who shall remain nameless, as adorable as they are.”
Haj snickered while they dragged chairs closer to the bed. “Yeah, the poor guys got a corner on the market for female attention, and we’re supposed to feel sorry for him.”
“I don’t.” Dell’s square face showed not a flicker of humor. “You had a marginal chance of survival, and less than that of waking up with all your faculties.”
Tony stretched one arm and flexed the other one, mindful of his damaged collarbone. “I’m a breathing testimony to the mercy of God.” His squad stared at him. They didn’t voice agreement, but they didn’t disagree either. “On with the update. What did we bag in the hold of that ship?”
“Jackpot!” Polanski said. “But man, conditions in that hold were beyond gross.” She wrinkled her nose. “We liberated around fifty young women and teenage girls from various South American countries. They would have ended up in brothels up and down the East Coast. No casualties there. A few among the smugglers—who are all incarcerated or dead, by the way.”
“Five arrested and three in the morgue.” Dell pursed his lips.
“Several of the women required hospitalization.” Polanski went on as if she hadn’t been interrupted. “Most were malnourished and dehydrated but are doing fine. Unfortunately, most of them will be deported back to whatever poverty they came from.” She sighed.
“I hear you.” Tony shook his head.
“You’re not going to believe what else we found,” Haj jumped in. “And it wasn’t drugs.”
“Don’t steal my thunder.” Polanski socked her partner in the shoulder. “She cried in my arms when we unlocked her cage.”
“Yeah, but I interviewed her.”
“I know, but—”
“Who?” Tony’s bark drew their attention.
Polanski opened her mouth. Haj opened his.
Dell cleared his throat. “Rosa Garza. She’s a—”
“Native of Boston,” Tony said. “A U.S. citizen. Okay, you surprised me.”
“How did you know about her?” The question came in unison from Haj and Polanski.
“The night of the bust, I was in the break room and read a newspaper article about the missing sisters. Does Ms. Garza say what happened to the other one? Martina something?”
“Martina López.” Haj nodded. “Rosa doesn’t know what happened to her younger sister. They were separated after Fraternidad gang members snatched them at a rural bus station.”
“Rosa?” Tony lifted a brow.
The stocky Japanese flushed. “Doesn’t mean anything, boss. Me and a female immigration agent interviewed her yesterday. She was more comfortable with us calling her ‘Rosa’ than ‘Mrs. Garza.’ She’s divorced from an abusive husband, and now she’s been through…” He scowled. “Well, stuff that should never happen.”
“That’s graphic enough. I’ll read the full report later. Not that I’m looking forward to it. Did we bag anybody important from the Fraternidad de la Garra?”
“Important, yes. Talking, no,” Polanski said. “We got one of the top lieutenants from the Yucatán Fraternidad. He lawyered up right away with one of those smart suits that specialize in getting members of organized crime out on the streets again. Only the judge wouldn’t consider bail due to flight risk, so we’ve still got the guy in the slammer.”
“The rest of them were hired hands,” Haj said. “The only Anglo was a clerk from Jagre Shipping who was driving the transport truck. He fingered the manager of the Boston office as the one giving orders. We swooped in to make the arrest, but he’d already skipped. We’ve got an APB out. Nab him, and he should lead us to the next person up the food chain.”
“Okay, stay with it. So who was the Calamity Jane taking potshots at us?”
“She was identified as Angelina Hernández,” Slidell said, “suspected companion of the Mexican Fraternidad gang leader who calls himself El Jaguar. The Mexican government is less than happy she’s dead. They hoped she’d one day lead them to El Jaguars jungle headquarters.”
“Why was Hernández on the ship?”
Haj shrugged. “We’ve asked our suspects that question, but we get blank stares.”
Tony shifted position. Maybe that pressure in the pit of his belly was just frustration with inactivity. “Did we recover what Hernández was trying to escape with?”
“Negative.” Polanski shook her head. “Fishing you out was top priority.”
“Probably a package of heroin.” Haj stretched and yawned. “Sorry, long day. If it was drugs, the ocean took care of keeping it off the street.”
Tony nodded. Guess Cooke wouldn’t get his one-up on the DEA with this bust. “If any of you sees McCluskey, tell him thanks for making sure I didn’t become part of the Atlantic.”
“Sure thing.” Polanski pressed her lips together.
Haj looked away. Dell didn’t change expression, but he patted his comb-over, a sure sign of upset.
“All right. What did I say?”
Polanski poked Haj. “Lay it on the line. We’ll back you up.”
“Uh-oh.” Tony glanced from one to the next. “I’m in as much trouble with my squad as I was with my favorite women over my walking episode. Spit it out, and don’t pull punches.”
Haj grimaced. “See, boss, we miss Erickson too, and Bergstrom has a way to go to measure up, but we figure it’d be nice if you’d cut the kid a break.”
“Whew! That one came out of left field.” Had he been so out of line with the latest addition to the squad that the others had noticed? It was pretty normal to assign the newbie scut jobs like tallying everybody’s expense accounts. Did they think he’d ordered Bergstrom to help fix that broken floor scrubber? The kid did that on his own.
Haj shuffled his feet under Tony’s steady gaze. “I mean, he’s got a pretty nice pat on the back coming, you know. After all, he…Aw, nuts!”
Polanski glared at her partner and then turned toward Tony. “What Haj can’t seem to spit out is a reminder that you owe Bergstrom big-time.”
He owed Bergstrom? Tony sorted through the images from the last moments before his accident. Oh, yes. Now he remembered. “Because he shot the woman who was shooting at me? Yeah, that was good work. No more than were trained to do, but I was on my way down to dish out that pat on the back when I met with an unexpected detour. Don’t worry. I’ll give Bergstrom good press in my report. Has the in-house shrink cleared him since the shooting?”
“Not that!” Polanski pulled a prune face. “Didn’t anyone tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“Bergstrom found you.” Dell dropped the bomb without inflection.
Tony’s lungs went hollow. Found him? After he fell in?
Haj leaned forward. “Who did you think witnessed the accident and radioed for McCluskey’s divers?”
“Well, sure, but—”
“Then he dove in and located you. By then, he was too frozen to pull you to the surface, but he pointed McCluskey’s boys in the right direction, and they hauled you out.”
Polanski jerked a nod. “He spent a night in the hospital.”
Tony melted against the mattress. “Honest, guys, I didn’t know. Is he okay?”
Haj flashed a smile. “Sure. The kid was pretty cold, but not near the Popsicle you were. Remember, he was sitting in that warm truck cab the whole time we were enjoying the sea breezes on deck with our coats off.”
“So where is he today? Did he think the big bad boss wouldn’t want to shake his hand? Even I know better than to bite the hand that saves me.”
Haj and Polanski chuckled. Dell offered a minismile.
“Nah.” Polanski shook her head, still grinning. “He’s not scared of you, just in love with his wife. Heel rather be with her, especially right now.”
“Huh? Oh, yes, t
hey’re expecting a baby. When’s it due?”
“Overdue. So he didn’t mind collecting a few days of sick leave to be at home.”
“Tell him…Never mind, I’ll tell him.” A familiar sensation came over Tony in his lower abdomen. Familiar, but scary different. He glanced at the catheter bag on the side of the bed away from his visitors, and his mouth went dry. “Would you tell someone at the nurses’ station that their favorite patient needs urgent attention?” He steeled himself against waves of woozy sensation. “I’d push the button, but sometimes it takes a little while for them to answer.”
Haj glanced at Polanski. “That beached fish look is back.”
“Get going, you clod.” She shoved him, and he hustled out. Then she turned toward Tony. “We’ll stay till someone comes. Are you in pain?”
“No…yes…sort of. I can’t tell. I just feel.”
“Weird?”
“That’s as good a description as any.”
Trotting feet sounded in the hallway. A moment later, Nurse Olivia, a male orderly, and Hajimoto burst through the door.
“I’ll have to ask you all to leave,” the nurse said.
“Sure. See you later, boss.” Polanski stood and waved. Dell did the same. They scooted for the door, Haj herded along in front of them.
“My kidneys appear to be processing something,” Tony gritted at his helpers, black edging his vision. “But I don’t think reds the right color.”
Thirteen
At Tony’s town house in the gated community ten blocks from her house, Desi stood in front of his closet and browsed through his wardrobe. Her hunk of a fiancé had good taste, but then, she already knew that. He was also organized. She could have guessed that too. She picked out a few casual outfits, took the clothes off the hangers, and laid them on the bed beside a suitcase.
Humming came from the direction of the bathroom—Gina stocking Tony’s shaving kit. Desi smiled. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if they were packing for a honeymoon?
She folded a polo shirt and laid it in the case. The last time she did this with a mans clothes, she was preparing her fathers belongings for donation to Goodwill. The remembered scent of Hiram Jacobs’s woodsy cologne teased her. The backs of her eyelids prickled, but she blinked them, slamming the door on the reminder. With everything going on in the here and now, she didn’t need to wander down a rabbit trail into the past.
A rather tinny melody of “Agnus Dei” sounded from the living room.
“What’s that, cara?”
“My cell phone.” Desi strode into the living room, took the phone from her purse, and checked the caller ID. HJ Securities’ local office. Phone service must be back up. “Desi here.”
“Hey, girlfriend.”
“Hi, Max. Good to hear from you. I appreciate you holding down the fort on this postblizzard Monday. How’s everything on the battle front?”
Max groaned. “You had to ask! The Greybecks are spreadin’ stink again.”
“Oh, you mean that deceptive information about events at the Museo de Arte Mejicana?”
“That and more juicy gossip masquerading as news.”
“More!”
“With the Greybecks there’s always more.”
Spider feet scurried up Desi’s spine. “Lay it on me. What now?”
“Check today’s paper. I called so you wouldn’t get blindsided.”
“It’s that bad?”
“Lets just say we’ve had one Boston-area client drop their contract today.”
Desi’s heart stalled, then jump-started. Losing a client far from home base was tough, but to start losing them in ones own backyard? “Boiling in oil is too good for the Greybecks.”
“Fine by me to reinstate drawing and quartering.”
“I’ll grab Tony’s newspaper from the doorway.”
“Front page of the business section, and hang on to your blood pressure. Well weather this like everything else those lowlifes have pulled.”
“I’m done with grin and bear it, Max. Whatever this new attack involves, it’s not going unpunished.” She slapped her phone closed and marched for the front door.
Cold rushed her as she pulled it open and several newspapers flopped inside from between the outer and inner doors. She scooped them up and retreated into the warm living room. A little leafing brought her to the current issue. She scanned the headlines in the business section. Nothing applicable above the fold. At least whatever it was didn’t rate top billing. She flipped to the bottom portion.
In the right-hand corner, a moderate-sized headline above a short article proclaimed, “National Treasures Go Missing Under Care of Security Expert.” Desi forced herself to read from the beginning. Ah, yes, it was the same blather the Mexican president had shown her—at least through the first third of the article, and then—she let out a shriek.
After the recovery of the crown of Pakal, Greybeck and Sons were told that the theft was staged by HJ Securities headquartered in Boston and carried out by the CEO of the corporation, Desiree Jacobs. Damage was noted on one of the leaf tips. Examination showed the crown to be a fake made of lead and gold paint. The Mexican authorities did not question Ms. Jacobs, claiming the real crown was safe, but they refused to produce the artifact for inspection.
President Montoya and Señor Corona would be livid. Maybe the Greybecks hoped the article wouldn’t come to the attention of the Mexican government. No, the Greybecks were sneaky and underhanded, but not naive. It cost them nothing to expose secrets after they lost the museum contract. Of course, the article didn’t name the Greybecks as the source. Pretty slim cover-up for a smoking gun of edited facts designed to cause trouble south of the border.
“What is it, cara?” Gina came into the room. “Are you all right?”
“Let me finish reading, and then you can take a look while I plan murder and mayhem.”
Gina’s eyes widened.
Desi returned to the article.
Following this series of “questionable events,” Greybeck and Sons terminated their relationship with the Museo de Arte Mejicana.
Desi shook her head. “That’s not how it happened. The skunks were fired.”
Had Señor Corona issued the announcement that the Greybecks were dismissed by the Museo de Arte Mejicana and a native firm retained? Desi had been too preoccupied to check. But the truth wouldn’t trump this statement in a Boston daily newspaper. People would believe what they wanted. The Greybecks saved face by muddying the water. Too typical. Utterly sickening.
Desi’s mouth tasted like paste as the final paragraph unfolded.
According to an inside source, Ms. Jacobs of HJ Securities left Mexico City without a contract from the Museo de Arte Mejicana and flew to Mérida on the Yucatán Peninsula. She was in possession of an artifact of value to the Mexican people, which was later reported stolen from the security expert and has not been recovered. Ms. Jacobs has returned to Boston but was unavailable for comment.
“That’s right, you yellow journalist. I’ve been busy with my fiancé. And the medallion belonged to me, not the Mexican people.”
Gina’s brow wrinkled. “The journalist is a coward?”
“Yellow journalism twists facts to stir people up. This article works the angles to make smoke and mirrors seem like the real thing.” She thrust the paper at Tony’s mom.
Then she stalked into the bedroom and folded clothes like she’d rather rip them in pieces. How had the Greybecks found out her medallion was stolen? Were they behind the theft? They were capable of anything to discredit her and destroy her company. Maybe her assumption that Sir Jalapeño grabbed the necklace for resale to a gang leader was off base. Then again, she’d reported the theft to Ramon Sanchez. Word could have gotten around the law enforcement community in Mérida, filtering down to antiquities dealers and possibly reaching Clayton’s ears.
Bother! She’d rather think those back stabbers were thieves, not mere rumormongers. There was no jail sentence for gossip, unless she could prove s
lander, and so far they were playing it too smart to make a good case against them.
Desi jammed socks into the suitcase. What was she doing? Señor Corona needed to know about the article. Had he returned to his duties since his wife’s murder? Oh, dear! She’d been too caught up in crisis to send him a condolence card. Maybe she should contact President Montoya.
“Agnus Dei” sounded again. She charged for the living room and snatched the phone. The prefix on the caller number was Mexico. She took a deep breath. “Desiree Jacobs speaking.”
“Ms. Jacobs, Ramon Sanchez here. How is your fiancé?”
Not Señor Corona. A less explosive call. Tension eased from Desi’s shoulders. “Tony’s improving. His mother and I will look after him while he recovers.”
“Excellent. I have a similar report in regard to Zapopa and her grandson. She has been discharged from the hospital with some one-sided paralysis from the head wound, but she and Manuel have relocated to a safer neighborhood. She will receive therapy, and Manuel will get a stipend from the government until his grandmother can care for herself. Then a job will be found for him. If he proves ambitious, a scholarship program could send him to vocational training.”
“Excellent! Many thanks, Ramon. Have you referred the hospital bills to HJ Securities?”
“Unnecessary, Ms. Jacobs.”
“Desiree.”
“Since these unfortunate events occurred while you were on assignment for the Mexican government, Desiree, we will, as you Americans say, pick up the tab.” Ramon chuckled.
“You’ve lifted a burden from my mind. Now I’d like to do something for you. Considering the threat you’re under, the security on your home should be enhanced. May I send a team down to help make you and your family safer? HJ Securities will pick up the tab.”
An intake of breath. “You would do this even though you encountered danger in my country?”
“I also received great kindness. Not only did you provide an emergency airplane ride, but you’ve shouldered the burdens I left behind.”
“These actions were no more than correct.”
“As is my offer. During my flight home, I made a personal vow to return your kindness.”
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