“Yami returned from the high valley to report that hunters had taken Eduardo. She said that I should return home and they would get in touch with me. They warned her that I should not contact the authorities. She told me I must heed the hunters more closely than I had heeded her. My life and Eduardo’s were at stake.
“After a month in hell waiting for the kidnappers’ demands, I was stunned to hear Carlos Carrera’s voice on the other end of my telephone saying that he had my son. I had never met the man. I only knew him by media reports of his wealth.
“Carlos had encountered my son on the trail, much the same as he did you, Diane. But when he looked at Eduardo, he saw the face of his dead son—green eyes, cowlick and all. Immediately, Carlos knew Eduardo was his grandson. And his lineage was confirmed when he asked Eduardo his name.
“Of course he was not interested in a ransom. He assured me he was not punishing me; he did not hold me responsible for the death of his son years ago. But he wanted to keep Eduardo with him for awhile.
“Dumbstruck, I listened while Carlos reported on Eduardo’s activities as if he were merely away at summer camp. He ended the conversation by telling me that my son was enjoying himself at his ancestral home, but now he would like to see his mother. ‘A boy needs to connect with his heritage, but he also needs his mother,’ he said.
“In order to see my son, I had to visit him at the Carrera mansion. Eduardo was content there. He sensed that we would both be safer if he stayed connected to his grandfather. At first I feared he had been brainwashed. But then I remembered that he was bred in the wilderness and had trained for the Kogi priesthood; he saw things that most did not. I agreed with the living arrangement.”
Olimpia took a weary breath, then went on: “Two years later, I was visiting with Eduardo when Carlos invited me into his study. He told me that Eduardo had learned what was expected of him as a Carrera. So now he could come to live with his mother. But first, he said, a deal must be struck.
“He then informed me that Gabriel refused to recognize Eduardo as his son legally. It was not that he felt threatened that he would lose his inheritance to Eduardo. Gabriel has his own money—outside of Carrera Industries.
“With a sizable inheritance from his mother—and it is rumored there were other sources also—Gabriel started an investment fund that has made him quite wealthy in his own right.
“No, it was not about money. The reason Gabriel would not recognize his son was because he still harbored ill-will toward me. Carlos said that Gabriel was not a forgiving man.
“Therefore, he, Carlos Carrera, wished to adopt Eduardo to legitimize his claim to the Carrera empire. He also wanted my vow of silence regarding his secret hunting camp on the mountain and the circumstances of Eduardo’s conception. I pledged my life and that of my son. What choice did I have?
“After we shook hands, Carlos presented me with a mansion in Bogota and the villa on Aruba that he had purchased for Eduardo and me.
“From that day forward, I would live in safety and luxury. But the Carreras owned me and, more so, my son—despite my efforts to pull his affections away from them.
“Never believe you can turn one Carrera against the other. No matter the contention between them; Carlos, Gabriel and Eduardo are inextricably bound together by their polypeptide chains. DNA is the strongest bond in the universe—but particularly here in Latin America.
“So, you see, when Gabriel requested that I move to the States to set up the ethnobotany program at BRI or else find him another botanist, it was actually a command. Giving him your name seemed like the perfect answer back then.
“That day I phoned you from Houston, I had been to the Texas Medical Center there—nothing serious, just some tests—and I stopped by BRI for a tour. I found the physical set up quite nice. But the building had a malevolent aura.
“I knew BRI had contacted you, so I called you to warn you off of them. But you did not answer. Then later at a meeting with Gabriel, he told me that after vetting your credentials, he decided that he had to have you at BRI. I told him I would try to influence your decision. But of course I was lying. I had no intention of intervening for him. After that I spent a lot of time praying that you would not accept the position.”
Olimpia walked over, sat on a rock beside Diane and looked her in the eye. “Through my relationship with the Kogi, I have developed a deep sense about people and places. For example, I have known of your distrust and fear of me since your phone call when you were fleeing Carrera Island”
Diane reached over and touched her friend’s arm. “Olimpia, I am so sorry—”
“No need to apologize. In fact, you should have been wary of me years sooner. You were still a child when you became the subject of my ill-thought-out experiment with mind-bending tree lichen. As a result, you bonded to me like a duckling to its mother. I had to be very careful not to plant the wrong ideas into your suggestible mind. But now Yami has freed you from any influence I might have had over you. Your future is your own.”
Then she added in a quivering voice: “I was certain that the hunters were not due for another month, or I never would have brought you here. I am so sorry. I have made things worse and worse for you.”
She gripped Diane’s hand as if to underscore her next words. “The hunting club is much more than it seems. They kill to guard their identity. My vow of silence and Eduardo as my collateral are the only reasons I am still alive. I am quite concerned for your safety though.”
The clanking of the metal stairs outside startled Diane from her thoughts. She glimpsed out the small window, then turned toward the door. Had the “Padrone” arrived?
Two of his bearded henchmen had grabbed her in a small village in the foothills where she and Olimpia had stopped earlier that morning to clean up at a barrel of rainwater after they had parted ways with their Kogi guides.
The men pulled up in a red 1960’s Chevy truck, snatched her from amidst a group of curious children, and forced her into the cab, wedged between them. As the truck skidded onto the muddy road, Diane could hear Olimpia screaming after them.
Diane’s greatest fear had materialized. Overwhelmed with terror, her mind clicked through the possibilities ahead: a forced jungle march, months (maybe years) as a hostage, torture, rape, childbearing in the wilderness, death by various, horrible means.
Assuming she knew no Spanish, the man on the passenger side, the friendlier of the two, attempted to calm her with a few words of English: “City. Safe. Food.”
Then the driver spoke to the other man in Spanish. “You want to pull off the road and have a piece of those juicy loins?”
The other, who seemed to be in charge, replied: “The Padrone would have your cajones; he ordered fresh meat.”
Once they arrived at their destination, she was turned over to two less-brutish men who provided her with a clean shirt and shorts and permitted her the use of the small bathroom. Then she had been served a light lunch and ordered to stay put.
Now, after being held prisoner for two hours, she heard footsteps on the metal stairs. Then the door swung open and he entered.
“Diana,” Gabriel said softly as he moved down the aisle of his plane, parked on the tarmac at Santa Marta’s Simon Bolivar Airport.
Diane struggled to control conflicting emotions as Gabriel moved toward her. But when she lifted her head to look him in the eye, her hatred surfaced unchallenged.
He sat down across from her and leaned forward.
Diane shot him a cold stare. “Why am I being held prisoner here?”
Gabriel’s voice was gentle, dismayed, hurt. “I have been worried. I have searched the earth and the heavens for you since that night.”
Diane responded in an icy tone: “Hey, I thought we had fun too. But I’m surprised a man with your experience would take a one night stand so seriously.”
Gabriel winced, and she enjoyed it.
She pressed her advantage. “Why didn’t you have your thugs grab me on the mountain afte
r your father saw me? It would have been easier to dispose of me there.”
At first Gabriel looked puzzled. Then understanding dawned. He smiled indulgently. “You have apparently encountered the ‘knights errant’ on your mountain trek. You have nothing to fear from them. They are just misguided romantics who live their lives in seventeenth century fiction. Years ago, I chose not to participate in the quarterly fantasias of The Knights of New Granada… Diana, why did you run from the island? Why are you angry at me?”
Diane stared at him with contempt. In his arrogance, he thought himself capable of the perfect crime. It was time to disabuse him of that notion. She experienced a sudden calm—perhaps like a suicide bomber just before he sets off the explosive, she thought. Her voice went flat. “I know you were involved in Vincent’s murder.”
At first, Gabriel’s eyes widened in utter surprise. Then they began to dance as if to celebrate the discovery of such a trivial problem. His lips quivered on the verge of laughter. “But that is absurd,” he managed to blurt out. “Vincent was my friend. We emailed and spoke on the phone often. He knew I had controlling ownership of BRI; he was disturbed about some irregularities—”
“I saw the video. I watched the MARIA V flee after intentionally crippling Woodwind. I’m sure your elderly father could not have been aboard the boat in that horrible weather. It had to be you. As for your missing former boat captain—Jaime? I have reason to believe you threw him overboard.”
Gabriel stood and walked slowly toward the front of the airplane. He stopped, leaned on a high seatback and cupped his forehead in his hand.
After a few minutes, Diane heard him take a deep breath and exhale in resignation. He returned to her, his brow wrinkled, his eyes pained. “We will settle this at a later time. Meanwhile, I will have my pilot take you wherever you want to go.”
With that Gabriel walked away. But then he turned and slowly, pensively retraced his steps to her side.
He reached toward her. She froze.
With a feathery touch, he brushed the bruise still visible on her jaw, then smoothed some stray hairs behind her ear. In a choked voice he said: “‘Thou art too dear for my possessing.’”
He turned away and stepped quickly to the door.
μ CHAPTER FORTY μ
Maxine sounded glad to hear Diane’s voice on the phone. “Huck sure will be happy to see you. Where’re you calling from?”
“The plane—Gabriel’s plane. We should be landing soon.”
“Cool! It’s nice to know jet-setters. But Gabriel will be disappointed when he gets here; Raymond’s not back from Australia yet.”
“Gabriel Carerra’s not with me; he had his pilot bring me back.”
“You have the whole plane to yourself? Way cool.”
Diane glanced around at the upholstery adorned with gold brocade figures of Colombia’s ancient Chibchan tribesmen. The seats were empty, but she did not feel she had the cabin to herself.
For the entire flight, she had been struggling to blot out Gabriel’s indelible presence, to erase his touch from her cheek, to eradicate her appreciation of his kindness at letting her go.
But why did he release her? And why did he provide her with the means of escape? That’s assuming the plane’s actual touchdown will be in Houston, rather than some secret lair in the Bahamas.
The only answer that made sense was: Gabriel knew the video was no longer a threat. In which case, he knew it had been stolen. That’s it! He was the one who ordered the theft of the camcorder. Without that video, there was no proof of Gabriel’s involvement in Vincent’s death. That’s what the break-in was all about—to steal the video; the rest was just a ruse.
“Diane?”
“Yeah…um… When do you expect Bellfort to return?”
“I talked to him two days ago. He said the fishing’s good, so he won’t be back for at least another week.”
Diane felt a rush of relief. Not knowing whether Bellfort was involved with Gabriel in Vincent’s death, she was concerned for her safety while she was in Texas.
Whether or not she took the job in Maine, she was moving back up North. She had planned to ask Sara Solomon for protection while she packed up her house and office. But that wouldn’t be necessary now. She’d hire professional packers who would store her things until she established a new address. She’d be gone before Bellfort returned.
Maxine was still talking on the other end of the line: “I haven’t been able to find any of the stuff you asked about on Raymond’s computer. Maybe I’m looking in the wrong places.”
“Thanks for the effort anyway.”
“I wish you’d call David. He keeps bugging me about whether I’ve heard from you. I told him you couldn’t very well call from the jungle. He’ll be glad you’re back.”
“I’ll phone him later… I’ll stop by and pick up Huck on my way from the airport. Thank you so much for babysitting.”
“No problem. See you later…Wait! Are you still there?”
“I’m here.”
“I almost forgot to tell you. Harry Lee’s uncle Hu Lee phoned here looking for you three times in the past two weeks. He said he’s coming to a banking conference in Dallas. He wants to fly down to Houston and meet with you. He said he’ll call when he gets to the States.”
Diane sat staring at the monitor while her computer booted up. It was 10 p.m. and she hadn’t located Olimpia yet. But she’d send an email and keep trying to phone her until she knew she was safe. Was it just fourteen hours since the two of them stumbled out of the jungle into that small Colombian village?
Now, here she sat, freshly showered, with Huck happily piling his favorite toys at her feet. But she couldn’t share his homecoming joy. This was no longer home to her.
Suddenly, the background picture of Vincent aboard Woodwind filled her computer screen, jarring her out of her reverie.
She leaned forward and studied his image, then spoke to him: “It haunts me that my selfish career focus might have contributed to your death. I have to leave here for my safety and my sanity. It’s time I moved on. But I promise you I’ll avenge your murder, and I’ll find Peruvase.” She kissed her fingertips, touched the screen, then forced herself to click onto her emails.
While the computer searched for her mail, she reached down and scratched Huck’s ear. Then, glancing up at the screen, she blinked and jerked her head back in shock.
The most recent email was titled: “Important. Please Open Immediately.” It had been sent that day—by Gabriel Carrera.
Driven by an impulse to delete the message, Diane reached for the mouse.
μ CHAPTER FORTY ONE μ
Gabriel stood in front of his father’s massive desk feeling like a child about to be scolded. He ran his finger along the rosewood grip of an antique dueling pistol lying on the desktop while waiting for Carlos to finish his phone call. It occurred to him that Carlos Carrera was the only man he had ever known who could throw down the gauntlet, then casually answer the telephone.
As Gabriel traced the inlaid cruz latina on the pistol handle and the golden gazelles representing the Carrera name on the trigger guard, he remembered the exact moment in his youth when he realized the dueling pistols meant his family had the social position to take the life of another with impunity. Now he wondered if the weapons also gave the Carreras the right to take each others’ lives.
Gabriel sank into a chair. The burdens of the past twenty hours were taking their toll. Yesterday afternoon the woman he revered had called him a murderer. And in doing so, she had led him to painful insights regarding the real murderer’s identity and motives.
Then this morning his father had challenged him to “a duel to the death.” In Gabriel’s state of desolation, his response had been: “Why a duel? Just shoot me.”
Carlos replaced the phone in the receiver and turned to face his son once more.
Gesturing toward the pistols, Gabriel said in exasperation, “Surely you jest about all this.”
Carl
os leaned forward. His words were measured. “You have been given special consideration for my sake. But for two years you have shown only disdain for the warnings.”
“Not so. I have detailed my ten-year plan to your lieutenants.”
Carlos slammed his fist on the desk. His eyes narrowed. His nostrils flared. “It is a mockery of all that is right and good.”
Gabriel answered slowly through clenched teeth. “It is just common sense to convert assets from our most powerful resource into legitimate businesses. Then, in ten years, our country will no longer need to produce cocaine.”
Carlos stood up from his desk chair and jabbed his finger in the air to emphasize his words. “What the rest of the world calls money laundering, you refer to as asset conversion? It grieves me that I have sent you to the finest schools in the U.S., and what have you learned? You have become expert at putting spin on your words as well as your actions.”
Gabriel picked up one of the dueling pistols and waved it in the air. “I did not have to leave your house to learn about Machiavellianism. When I was quite young, you exposed me to your ‘Knights’ and their trials in absentia and their imagined mandate to murder.”
He aimed the pistol at Carlos. “You call the use of this barbaric anachronism honorable? Does its expensive ornamentation and ritualized violence exalt it above the level of the street gun?
Carlos collapsed back into his chair. His voice was barely above a whisper now. “In some situations, the courts are impractical tools.”
Gabriel smirked, still brandishing the pistol. “Judicium Dei—the last man standing assumes his victory represents divine favor. Is that it? You want vindication before God? If it were otherwise, you would have hired an assassin.”
Carlos closed his eyes. “I gave you life. Only I have the right to take it away.”
Gabriel smirked. “How noble.”
Carlos placed his elbows on the desktop and pressed his forehead against his folded hands. The two men sat in silence for several seconds. Then Gabriel spoke.
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