by Scott Cook
In the foreground stood Missy Delaney, her son and her two daughters.
Chapter 11
“Are any of the other men alive?” Clay asked angrily, spinning on Umberto.
“Clay…” Miles tried to soothe, putting a hand on Clay’s arm.
Clay shrugged it off and advanced a step on the Costa Rican security chief, “I asked you a question, Mister! Are any of those men alive!?”
“No… no, señor. I’m sorry,” Umberto said calmly.
“Fuck!” Clay raged, stomping back and forth with clenched fists, “fuck… fuck! We’ve got to do something…”
I came over and gripped his shoulder, “We will.”
He spun on me then and grabbed the front of my shirt in both of his fists and shook me. Clay was strong and his strength was being fueled by anger and fear for his family, I knew. I didn’t try to resist.
“We need to find them, Scott!” He railed, gripping me tightly. I could feel him shaking. “They’ve got my son… my wife… and… and… what’ll they do to my girls…!”
“We’ll get them,” I said quietly, laying my hands on his shoulders. “I promise.”
“Yeah, how?” he said bitterly. “The attackers are all dead! How the hell do we find my family? You’re supposed to be an investigator, so fuckin’ investigate! Help me find them!”
Miles stepped up next to Clay, “We will, buddy. No matter what it costs…”
“We need to go!” Clay said over his shoulder and then turned his blazing eyes on me. “We need to go now, Scott!”
“Take it easy,” I soothed. “Let’s think this through—“
“No fucking thinking… we just need to act!” Clay exploded. “I thought that was what you did. So fuckin’ do it already!”
“I know it’s hard,” I said calmly, “but I need you to think like a Marine right now and not a husband and father. We need to think this through so we do the right thing and get them back fast and safe.”
Even as I watched his eyes, I saw the fire fade and despair replace it. Tears filled his eyes and he seemed to slump forward. I caught him and held him tight as he vented his shock, fear and anger in a short series of anguished muffled yells and hot tears. After a moment or two, he collected himself, stepped back and wiped his nose on his sleeve.
He cleared his throat, embarrassed now, “Uhm… sorry… sat on my keys.”
Miles squeezed his shoulder, “I understand. It’s okay.”
“You have my sympathies, señor Clay,” Umberto said, “and if there is anything I can do…”
“Get him a hanky,” I joked, “or maybe a maxi pad… ya big puss.”
Clay chuckled and sniffed, “Shithead… thanks.”
“It’s okay,” I said softly. “And I swear, we’ll get them. No matter what it takes or costs.”
I turned to Umberto, “Umberto… please have your men go over the bodies of these men and their vehicles with a fine toothed comb. I’ll help in a few minutes. See if there is anything that can tell you where they might have come from. Also, do you have any connections that can get us more information on el ejército popular de liberación?”
“I will check again,” Umberto said. “I have already… how do you say… put out some… antennas… feelers.”
I looked at Miles, “and you?”
“I’ll have it looked into,” Miles said. “I’ve already done so, but maybe there are some other trees I can shake.”
“Thanks, Miles. Can you leave us alone for a few minutes? Clay, come sit down in this Jeep.”
Miles met my eye and nodded. As he turned away, something chirped in his pocket. I was surprised, I didn’t think there would be much cell service up in the mountains, or at least not in the valley.
“It’s a sat phone,” He said, pulling what looked like an oversized mobile out of his hip pocket. “Hang on a second, I’ve been waiting for this…”
He walked away a few paces as he started his conversation. Umberto patted Clay on the back and eyed me with a grin.
“You are either very brave or muy loco, señor.”
I scoffed, “Probably more of the second, Umberto.”
“You are not a man to trifle with,” he said cryptically, or at least it sounded cryptic to me then. “This is good. We will talk again soon.”
He strolled off to his electric cart and quickly turned to go back down into the canyon.
“Clay…” I said softly as I climbed into the driver’s seat of what had been the lead Jeep. The one that wasn’t riddled with bullet holes. Clay sat in the passenger’s seat with his head leaning back against the headrest and his eyes tightly shut. “How much do you trust Miles?”
Clay’s head snapped forward and he turned to me, “What? I trust him, Scott. I’ve known him for over fifteen years. We worked—“
“I know,” I cut him off, “I know you guys worked together and that you were both Marines… but enlisting in the Corps doesn’t make you a saint. And even if it did, that was a long time ago. People can change.”
He snorted, “Maybe. He’s certainly come a long way from the guy I first met. Although I think basically he’s the same.”
I blew out my breath, “I hope you’re right.”
“What’re you saying? This isn’t the first time you’ve expressed this… Why?”
“There’s one man in this entire country I trust without question. Other than that… I don’t know Palmer from a hole in the ground. He’s got a lot going on. Just look around us. His priorities might not be in line with ours, exactly.”
“You think something’s not above board here?” Clay asked incredulously.
“No… let’s just say it’s a feeling I’m having,” I said without much conviction. “I don’t know, brother… I trust you, so if you say we can trust him implicitly…”
Clay frowned and eyed me for a long moment, “The only man in this country I can trust implicitly is sitting in this Jeep with me. I think Miles is good people… but you make a valid point.”
I shrugged, “I’m not accusing him of anything, don’t get me wrong. All I’m saying is that my only concern right now is Missy, Declan, Aubrey and Shelby. End of fuckin’ list.”
He grinned, “Thanks… wait, not me?”
I reached over and tousled his hair, “you know you’re like an acquaintance to me.”
“Awwwww…” he said and frogged me. He then heaved a sigh and seemed to physically gather himself. “Thanks.”
Miles jogged back over with a concerned look on his face. Clay and I exchanged a glance and Clay stepped out of the Jeep and came around to the driver’s side where I got out as well.
“What’s up, Miles?” Clay asked.
“Andrea has definitely flown the coop,” Miles stated worriedly. “I’ve had an investigator up in St. Louis keeping tabs on her. She slipped away early this morning or late last night, I guess. Her car is gone and some of her clothes, jewelry and money are gone from the house.”
“You guys were still living together?” I asked.
“No, I moved out,” Miles said. “Got myself a corporate condo a few months back. She’s been in the house. But I still have ways of getting in.”
“So what’s this mean to us?” I asked, a little irritably. Knowing that Clay’s family was in trouble pushed Miles’ business concerns way down in my priority list.
He sighed, “This project here is her idea.”
Clay looked as confused as I felt. He shrugged, “So El Cuidad de Tierra Verde is her baby?”
“Sort of,” Miles explained. “It’s complicated… this isn’t Green City. Or that is to say, it’s not the real Green City. This community is only a glorified lab, if you will. It’s the model for what the actual Green City will be. It’s here that we’re working out the tech and systems that will be used on a far bigger scale.”
“But we thought this was your deal,” Clay continued, still bewildered.
“It is,” He said, “but Andrea’s the primary motivation behind this as well a
s on its management. I wanted to go ahead and build the complete city, a city based on the same technologies that would provide food, power, water and financial support all from within and completely self-sustaining for more than two hundred thousand people, with an ability to expand to five times that much. A revolution in twenty-first century living.”
“Ambitious,” I said not without admiration. “So why build it here in Central America and not in the U.S.?”
Miles beamed with excitement, “Because here, such an endeavor could completely alter the lives of a country like Costa Rica or any of these banana republics. An entirely new way of life where power, water and food were virtually free. Where education and business were available to anybody. In small countries like these, Green City could literally catapult them into first world stardom. What’s even better is that labor here is super cheap, so we can build faster and more cost effectively.”
Again I was getting a warning bell in the back of my mind. At the time, I couldn’t have said why or in what form, but something was nagging at me.
“That’s awesome, Miles,” Clay said, “and I hope it works out for you… but right now, all I can think about is my family.”
Miles grimaced, “I’m sorry, Clay… I don’t mean to run off at the mouth…”
“I think we’d better go see what Umberto is up to,” I said. “We can worry about your problems later, Miles, after this immediate crisis is resolved. No offense.”
“None taken,” he said amiably, “but I think this might be significant to Clay’s situation.”
Clay’s eyes lit up, “Why? How?”
“There have been rumors…” Miles said, “little things that make me suspect that Andrea is in conversation with… with the Nicaraguans. That she wants to build Green City 2.0 there.”
“But if this is her baby,” I said, waving an arm around at the greenhouses, “and that’s your grand scheme… I don’t’ get it.”
“Nobody knows that this is hers,” Miles said. “I signed off on it. I mean yeah, the board of directors knows, of course. Yet…”
I was starting to get the picture, “if this project should fail, or be delayed or whatever… then you look bad. Because the two of you are divorced and it’s her baby and maybe you’re the one who’s trying to pull the rug out from under her so you can permanently wrest control of the company from her.”
Miles nodded, “Exactly.”
Clay threw out his hands, “Miles…”
“So how do we know that’s not actually what’s going on?” I asked.
“Because in spite of the fact that it would be a good way to screw her over,” Miles said reasonably, “it’d torpedo my bigger plans. It hardly makes sense for me to burn the dollar so I can keep the nickel, right?”
“That makes sense,” Clay muttered. “Good luck… can we focus on what’s important right now?”
“Clay,” Miles said, “my fear is that Andrea is the one funding The People’s Army of Liberation.”
Clay narrowed his eyes, “you mean… she’s behind taking my wife and kids? What the hell for?”
“Leverage,” I said with a sigh. “Get to Miles through you.”
Miles nodded.
“Then call her up or something,” Clay almost shouted. “Let’s get the negotiations going, Miles!”
“I can’t,” Miles said heatedly. “That’s the damned point, Clay. That’s why I asked you to bring Scott here.”
“What…? Clay uttered in abject confusion.
“I want you to find her,” Miles said to me.
“You said you thought she was here, or coming here,” I said. “Why?”
“My investigator,” Miles stated. “The same reasons I think she’s dealing with Nicaragua. But she can’t just go there… it’d be dangerous. Andrea is just as much a target for some rebel group as she would be an asset to some Nicaraguan business man or government official.”
“Uh-huh,” I muttered thoughtfully.
“She builds Green City for the government,” Clay stated, rubbing his temples, “or she provides millions in ransom money to fund a revolutionary group.”
“More than that,” I observed. “Green City empowers the Nicaraguan government with even more control… so her life could be in danger.”
“Andrea is as hot headed, hot blooded as she is brilliant,” Miles stated. “She is right in claiming that she’s a big part of why EcoLife is such a success now. Yet Andrea… Andrea doesn’t have a governor, if you understand what I mean. She doesn’t know when to stop and sometimes her tenacity blinds her to more immediate concerns.”
“So I find her and maybe I find Clay’s family,” I stated flatly.
“And maybe save her life,” Miles said, “and help me in the process. Everybody wins. On the other hand…”
I blew out my breath, “Yeah. No matter what, she can’t be left out in the cold.”
A heavy and emotionally charged silence fell. It went on for nearly a minute before I resigned myself to what needed doing.
“Let’s frisk these bodies,” I said.
“I’ll take the two guys with the C4,” Clay offered. “I can secure the ordinance they were carrying, too.”
The rear door of the aquaponics lab opened and Doctor Aldroid burst out and made a beeline for Miles. She made a wide arc around where Clay had just knelt by the two bodies, a look of disgust on her face.
“Miles, are you all right?” Karen asked.
I harrumphed and turned to the man I’d shot who still lay behind the Jeep muttering: “Yeah, Clay and I are fine, Doc…”
She didn’t know us, of course. It was perfectly natural for her to be concerned with her boss … yet once again something just seemed slightly askew in all of this.
I ignored that for the moment and began to search the man’s body. He carried little of note on him. He did have a wallet which contained no identification, of course. There were only a few small bills, a photo of a pretty young woman and…
And a business card. It was an EcoLife business card with the name Andrea Wellesley, CEO embossed on it.
“Curiouser and curiouser…” I muttered and walked over to where Clay was still securing the explosives. I ignored the low conversation between Karen and Miles. It seemed far more intimate than an employee speaking with her employer, though.
“How goes it, Corporal D?” I asked, kneeling down beside him.
“Pretty simple setup here,” Clay said. “Nothing dangerous now.”
“Find anything on the bodies?” I asked.
Clay pointed to a small pile of objects. Two wallets, a couple pieces of chewing gum individually wrapped and some loose change. I showed him what I’d found.
“Hmm… that would seem to support Miles’ theory, wouldn’t it?”
“Yeah, it would seem to,” I said doubtfully. “There’s still one body to check…”
He noticed my hesitation and looked to where I was gazing at the fourth man sprawled on his back near the second Jeep. Clay turned his face back to me.”
You okay?”
I shrugged, “I had to break his neck.”
“It’s not the first time you’ve killed, Scott.”
“No… but you know all too well that killing with your bare hands is something different. It never gets any easier.”
Clay smiled slightly, “We had a Gunny in charge of our platoon when I was deployed in Kosovo. Bean Pole Bart we used to call him… well, not to his face, naturally. He was about as gruff and hardened as a twenty-year enlisted man could get. Yet, he also understood men and how to deal with them. Not just how to train them and keep discipline, but how to deal with our fears, or worries or doubts. He once told me that if killing a man face to face, up close and personal ever gets easy, then you’d better pack your seabag.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said with a sigh of resignation. “I got that talk too. My guy was a burly Irish police captain, though. Okay, you finish up here, and I’ll go check him out.”
Like his buddie
s, my personal adversary had nothing much on him of any note. Another near empty wallet with a girl’s picture in it. None of them had much money. I wondered if that was significant of something or not.
It could be that they weren’t getting much pay for serving in the People’s Army of Liberation. It could be that their leader didn’t want them having enough dough in their pockets to think about deserting. I couldn’t be sure of anything now.
The only thing that this man had that was unique was the knife he’d tried to stick me with. It was still in a sheath on his belt. I pulled it out and examined it closely. A simple clasp knife, about four inches long with a small etched inscription on the handle that read: Monte de Dios.
“Mountain of God?” I muttered, “or God’s Mountain?”
I went over and looked into the Jeep again. For some reason, I tapped my finger on the fuel gauge. It read empty, of course, so I turned the key and tried to start the engine. It wouldn’t even turn over.
I suddenly had a thought and activated my comm, “Umberto, can you do me a favor?”
There was a crackle of static, “Si.”
“Can you look at the fuel indicators on both trucks and tell me what they read?”
He acknowledged and said he’d get back to me. I trotted over to the undamaged Jeep and started it up. Its fuel gauge read well over three-quarters of a tank.
“What’s up?” Miles asked as he and the biologist strolled over.
“Not sure,” I said, rubbing my chin thoughtfully. “I’ll let you know…”
“Señor Jarvis,” it was Umberto. “I have personally inspected both camions. They each have less than one-quarter of a tank of gas. About… what is the English… one-eighth?”
I frowned at that. Why would the two trucks be nearly on empty and the Jeeps nearly on full, “Umberto, what is their gas mileage, do you think?”
“Hmm… I would say about seven kilometers to the liter.”
I did the mental arithmetic. That would be about fifteen miles to the gallon. Assuming they were full-sized pickup trucks, they probably held about twenty-four gallons. That meant they had maybe three gallons of gas left? Forty or fifty miles maximum range…