by Chris Niles
Kate’s eyebrow twitched up, then she clutched the side of her head.
Kara laughed. “Well, okay. Maybe not a marathon, but I can look at the sparkling water without grabbing my head.” She turned to Vanya. “Do you guys have any Alka-Selzer around? You know, the bubbly medicine? Plop-plop-fizz-fizz?”
Vanya nodded, let the dog in, then scurried out of the kitchen.
Kate sipped the orange juice and stroked Whiskey’s head. “The Rojas. Vova said they’re bad news—”
“Vova says. Vova says. Once you leave here, my friend, you will forget my name, yes?” Vova’s booming voice sent Kate’s head to her hands once more.
“Of course. Except when I tell everyone you did this to me.” She vaguely waved her hand around her head as Vanya set a bubbling glass in front of her.
Vova laughed. “I did nothing but be polite host to keep guest’s glass full. You did emptying.” He winked at her and pulled a chair from the table.
She groaned and sipped her medicine.
“Kate, my friend, you are good girl. But you look for bad men. I would like for to you stay alive. Please. No Rojas.”
Kate’s lips pressed into a tight line. “I wish I could let this go.”
“If it was anyone other than them, we would help you. My debt to our mutual friend demands it. But I cannot risk an unwinnable war with them. They do not respect the rules.”
Kara pushed back from the table, then carried both plates to the sink. “Kate, we need to head back. Talk to Tony and Fish. Figure out a plan.”
Kate nodded, then looked up into Vova’s clear eyes. “Thank you, my friend. I appreciate your advice, and I promise I’ll keep your confidence.” She stretched out her hand, and he shook it gently.
Vanya appeared with Kate and Kara’s bags, then Vova led them out to a shaded portico, under which Kara’s car sat, running, the air conditioner pulling the humidity from the damp air.
Whiskey leapt into the back, then Kate climbed in and connected soft thunderstorm sounds to the bluetooth.
Kara dropped into the driver’s seat. “What, no disco for the road?”
Kate bent over and buried her head between her knees, reaching up to point the AC vents at the back of her neck. Several miles later, Kate muttered, “Just drop me at the airport.”
“No.”
“Kara, please. I’m going.”
“Kate, haven’t you learned anything? What about Tony?”
“He’s still recovering from the accident. Besides, I can handle it. They can’t kill her until they find out where the emeralds are. As long as we have them, we have a bargaining chip.” She waved her media lanyard. “I can get nearly anywhere with this. And despite his words, Vova gave me a phone number. But this isn’t the kind of deal you broker over the phone. So, drop me at the airport.”
Kara shook her head as she eased onto the airport exit. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Kate slid into the backseat of a taxi and showed the photo of Shelby to the driver.
“Café Azahar, por favor?”
“Sí. Welcome to Bogota, señorita.” The driver’s English was better than Kate’s Spanish. “Is this your first visit to Colombia, ma’am?”
Kate sighed. “Is it that obvious?”
The driver glanced at her in the mirror. “I am sorry, ma’am, but yes. Americans are very easy to spot. Welcome to our beautiful city.” He passed a bottle of water over the seat to her. “Our elevation here is very big, so you must drink much water. Our drive will take about thirty minutes, maybe less if traffic is good. So relax, enjoy the view, and I will point—”
Kate waved him off then tucked her headphones back into her ears. Her head pounded already, and she hadn’t thought about the altitude. The driver navigated away from the airport terminal onto the express lanes of a wide boulevard leading through the middle of the city. In the distance, lush green mountain peaks stretched to meet the sky. Kate knew they were some of the tallest peaks on the continent, but from an elevation of more than eight thousand feet, they didn’t have far to climb.
“Señorita? Ma’am. We are here. Café Azahar.”
Kate stepped out onto the narrow brick street, the bright sunlight piercing her head like shards of glass in her eyes. The lane was lined with an architectural hodge-podge of low buildings. From historic Spanish Colonial to art deco and mid-century modern, Bogota was an unexpected eclectic mix. She slung her backpack over her shoulder then slipped into the cool shade of the café.
“Agua, por favor?”
The barista pulled a bottle of water from the cooler. “The headache will pass in a day or two. How long are you staying in Bogota?”
Kate rubbed her temples, then took a long pull on the bottle. “Not sure. A few days.” She pulled the photo from her pocket. “I’m actually looking for a friend. Perhaps you’ve seen her before?” She pushed the photo of Shelby across the counter.
The barista examined it. “She looks familiar, yes. Maybe from two weeks before? I thought her uniform odd, the airport is so far from here. But then she met someone. A man. They sat over there and he brought her a stuffed animal. This one.” She tapped the sloth in the photo. “I thought maybe they were lovers, but they seemed like something was wrong. They didn’t look into each other’s eyes like lovers do. No, they were a strange couple. But who am I to say? I bring them coffee, and I let them be.”
The woman handed the picture back to Kate with a shrug. “I bring you coffee, too? It will help with the headache.”
Kate nodded and paid the woman, then sat at a tall table near the back of the café. She pulled out her phone and the number Vova had slipped into her hand that morning then tapped out a short text message.
Vladimir Rostokovich referred me to you.
A few seconds later, as the barista brought a steaming cappuccino and a second bottle of water to Kate’s table, her phone chimed.
Calle 70a, #855. 7:30
She pulled up a map and located the address, then entered a search for hotels nearby. When the search results appeared on the map, Kate gasped. Across the street, on the same block as the meeting place, was one of her father’s hotels.
She pulled up Nathan’s contact, jabbed the call button. The second he answered, she cupped her hand around her mouth and whispered into the device. “Did you tell the Russians who I was? Who my dad was?”
“God, no, Kate. Of course not.”
“Well, the Colombians know. And they had to have gotten it from your buddy, Vova.”
“Kate, take a breath. It wouldn’t be that much of a stretch for them to figure it out. Kingsbury isn’t a name like Jones. And you’re from New York. A quick google search would probably put it all together. But it’s probably just a coincidence. Chapinero Norte just isn’t that big. You’ve talked with people like this before. You have contacts who have vouched for you, and if these guys try anything funny, they know it will start a war. They might win, they might not, but the cost will be higher than — I’m sorry, no offense, but higher than you’re worth.”
“That’s easy for you to say, Nathan. You live in war zones. You deal with people like this all the time. I can’t have them — Oh, my God, my parents! Vova said he’d pay any price to avoid a war with these people. What if—”
“Kate, relax. they’re not going to touch your parents.”
“But, well… Dad has… people. I’m just…” She took a deep breath, then counted the bricks on the wall beside her and waited for her heart rate to slow.
“You’ll find your footing. Just remember why you’re there.”
She ended that conversation, sipped her cappuccino for a moment, and steeled herself for a call that was harder to make than a meeting with a drug cartel. Then she tapped her screen.
“Hi, Dad.”
Kate’s father paused on the other end of the phone line. “Well, hello, stranger.”
“How’s Mom?”
“She’s well.” His curt response wa
s typical.
Kate nodded and started with the bricks again. “So, ummm… I’m in Bogota, and I need a room.”
“Bogota? What are you … Kate, are you writing again?”
“Something like that.”
“I don’t know what to—” He cut himself off with a huff. “If you are getting back in the game, I’ll make a few calls. Fashion Week is coming up in Paris in a couple of months.”
“Dad, Whiskey would cover fashion week more thoroughly than I could. I’m good. I’ve got the contacts I need, I just thought I’d let you know I’ll be getting a room, is all. Since you got pissed at me last time when Walter took care of me and didn’t tell you. I didn’t want to get anyone in hot water with you.”
“Your contacts? That means more criminals. You know how your mother feels about that.”
“Well, you don’t have to tell her, do you? Dad, I’m an adult. You’re constantly telling me you don’t approve of me, that I’m wasting the degree you paid for. But then when I take a step back toward that, you complain it’s too dangerous. What do you want from me?”
“I want you safe. Your mother wants to see you be successful in a respectable field before she—” He stopped.
“Before she what, Dad? I thought you said she was doing well.”
“She is.” His voice shook, as it always did when he tried to lie to her.
“What’s wrong? I’m in the middle of something here, but I should have it taken care of in a few days, and then I’ll come up.”
“Oh, no. No need to do that. You know how she is. She’ll want to make everything just so for you, and it’ll end up putting more stress on her. Just, maybe, call her?”
Kate’s shoulders went limp, and she dropped her head in her empty hand, squeezing her temples with her thumb and middle finger.
“We’ll talk about it when I get back, okay, Dad? I need to go now. Give my love to Mom.”
She tapped the red button on her phone before her father could reply, then she dropped it on the table and stared across the little café.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The heavy door clicked shut. The hallway looked like every hall in every Kingsbury hotel in every city around the world. Her father was nothing if not consistent. But as she stepped out into the busy street, the energy of the city caught her by surprise.
Cafés and bars lined the cobblestone street. Laughter and shouts echoed off the stucco storefronts and tile roofs. From further down the street, the scent of meat grilling on a wood fire made her mouth water.
She glanced across the street to the busy bar, then she crossed and pushed through the crowd. She found an open stool by the wall then caught the bartender’s eye.
“Club, por favor?”
A tall glass landed in front of her, soft white foam dripping down its side. By the time Kate could reach for it, the bartender was already at the other end of the bar helping a group of college girls. Kate took a sip of the cold, crisp brew, then spun on her stool to examine the crowd.
Where are you? Who are you?
A group of men clustered near the back corner, throwing darts at a target. From across the narrow room, Kate could see the pockmarked wall around the dartboard where drunken patrons’ aims grew worse and worse over the course of an evening. She was wondering who thought darts in an establishment dedicated to drinking would be a good idea when a wide-shouldered man with heavy eyes sidled up to the bar beside her.
The bartender started toward them, but then his eyes widened and he peeled off.
“You’re either b-b-brave or stupid coming here, s- s-señorita.” The man’s English startled Kate even more than the heavy stutter.
He dropped his hand on the bar as Kate spun to face him.
“Pardon?”
“I said, you’re either brave or stupid. Very few people seek us out. They often regret it.” He switched to Spanish, but even Kate was able to follow his slow, deliberate speech.
“My situation is different. I believe we can help each other.”
The man’s head tilted to the side. A confused puppy. “That is not how our dealings normally work.”
“Perhaps you’ll learn a different technique, then. You have something I want. I might have something of interest to you in return.”
He shook his head, his lips pressed tightly together, and handed her a card. “I do not think so. But my cousin, she want to meet you anyway. Come to the Santuario de Perezosos and join the eleven o’clock tour. She will wait there for you.”
Kate looked down at the cartoon sloth on the card. When she looked up, the man was gone.
She peered across the crowd, then tapped her screen and raised the phone to her ear.
“Any luck?” Tony’s voice sounded like he was next door instead of on the other side of the Caribbean Sea.
“A little. I’ve got a meeting tomorrow morning with someone in the Rojas.”
“Who?”
“Not sure,” Kate said. “A woman.”
She could almost hear Tony’s brain processing the risk. “Gloria Rojas?”
“No way. You know Michelle just saw her in Key West.” Kate slapped a ten-thousand peso note on the bar. She pushed through the crowd then crossed the street.
“They make airplanes, Kate.”
“I’m sure it’s some low-level foot-soldier.”
“These people don’t think the same way we do.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be okay. The meet is in a public place. An animal sanctuary up in the mountains. Sounds super-touristy. And it’s a chick. Tony, you know I can take care of myself.”
“I know you think you can. But these people aren’t like anyone else you’ve come up against before.”
“Au contraire. I’ve dealt with my share of lowlifes. And you’d be surprised how open they can be with the press. You just stay there and heal that pretty head of yours. I’ll check in tomorrow after the meeting.”
Despite the circumstances, Kate grinned as she climbed into the hotel elevator and dropped the phone back into her front pocket.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Tim Keane eased his car toward a brightly lit, modern guard station surrounded by thick fencing topped with coiled razor-wire. After a long flight, a series of taxis, and a circuitous route around the mountain’s peak to approach the mine from the western ridge, he allowed himself a deep breath. A guard in a crisply pressed uniform — with an American AR-15 slung across his chest — approached his window then bent to peer inside the vehicle.
Keane met the man’s stare and eased his right shoulder forward to block a clear view of Shelby as he lowered the window.
The guard waved back at the guard shack. As the long-reinforced barrier gate began to slide back, the stern man broke into a grin. “Welcome home, boss. We’ve missed you around here. Did you hear? Lupe had the baby on Friday. A boy. Big boy, too. Over four kilos.”
Tim reached out the window with a high five. “What are you doing here, then? Get home and help that woman, Mateo. There’ll be plenty of time for work when the baby gets older.”
The man tensed. “I appreciate that, sir. But you know the Rojas. They don’t slow down just because I became a father again.”
“Thank you.” Keane’s eyes twitched toward the center of the vehicle, then back to Mateo. “Tighten up the perimeter while I’m here, okay? Especially along the goat trails at the eastern fence.”
“Yes, sir.” Mateo straightened, saluted, then waved the car forward.
As the barrier gate slammed back into place behind them, the Irishman caught a glimpse of Shelby from the corner of his eye, and his head twitched toward her in surprise.
The short dark hair framing her face in uneven layers still caught him by surprise, even though he was the person who’d helped her color it then cut it, her long, brittle locks littering the terra cotta tile in the bathroom of his island retreat.
Neither of them believed for a second that simply changing her hair would disguise her well enough to evade the Ro
jas for long. Her short stature and build alone was enough to tip them off. But they had both hoped it would buy them enough time to get behind the security perimeter of Keane’s mine without drawing any attention. And as far as he could tell, it had.
After parking the car in front of a small building, Keane led Shelby into a wide, clean room dotted with cubicles. A row of managers’ offices lined the far wall. Along the opposite wall, made of thick, lightly tinted glass, men and women in clean coveralls drifted through a wide hallway toward a double-door.
“That’s the miners’ entrance. Beyond that, there’s another checkpoint where the workers go through a scanner similar to what your TSA uses, coming both in and out. I hate to do it. I want to trust everyone who works for me. My miners are the best in the country. I pay them well and treat them fairly. But every now and then, the Rojas or one of the other cartels gets to someone. So, we have to make it hard to skim.”
He slipped through the open door of a small office in the corner of the building, then pulled a lanyard from the top desk drawer.
“This is your office?”
Keane nodded.
“Unlocked?”
He smiled.
“But it’s…” She waved around the tiny space.
“Small? I have no need for more space than the managers who actually do the work of running the mine.”
Shelby nodded to the one luxury Keane allowed himself — a small tray on the credenza with a crystal decanter half-full of Redbreast 27.
“Okay, I do allow myself a little indulgence every now and then.” He grinned. “Let’s show you what this is all about, shall we?”
He led her through the security checkpoint, both of them standing in the scanner, hands above their heads, then passing into an equipment room. Tim Keane searched the shelf for the smallest hardhat. He finally spotted one, pulled it from the shelf, and handed it to Shelby, followed by a neatly folded one-piece coverall. “That’ll fit over your clothes, but if you’d like, there are some stalls through that door where you can dress.”