“I found it,” he said and stepped out of the bathroom to see Helena snorting a line of cocaine on the table. “What are you doing?” he yelled and rushed over. He wiped the white powder into the trash and closed the stainless steel case.
“Playing rough,” Helena said lasciviously. “I like that. Relax, stud. I’ve been stoned all weekend, and now I’m horny.”
“That stuff will kill you,” Dirk said with a lump in his throat.
She set the stainless steel case in her purse.
“Where did you get that?” he asked and gazed upon her erect nipples.
“From a man,” she said playfully.
“Did Cesar Gomez give that to you?”
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone,” she said. She reached behind her neck and untied the bikini strap. Dirk glanced back at the door. “You won’t get in trouble.”
He gestured for her to stop as she unhooked the back and let the red bikini fall to reveal her perfect breasts.
“I promise I won’t tell anyone,” she said. Her hard nipples poked his chest as she wrapped her arms around him.
Dirk’s arms lifted mysteriously until he hugged her. He ran his hands along her back and felt the curve of her hips, flesh begging him to bite. “We should go,” he managed to murmur.
“He’s blushing,” she said. “You Americans are such prudes.” She tickled his sides. “Come on, try to relax.”
Dirk resisted laughing and grabbed her arms. “We should go.”
“I love a man with a firm grip,” she said and shivered with delight.
“We should go,” he said, but resisting her now was futile.
Helena grabbed his crotch. “Oh my, someone’s excited,” she said, and then dropped to her knees. “Something tells me this won’t take long.”
Dirk exited the embassy compound and approached Nash’s black Toyota Land Cruiser. He opened the passenger door and climbed in. A can of Budweiser was in the drink holder.
“This better be important.” Dirk said tersely.
Nash gripped the wheel. “You remember how Tyler printed the financial documents a few weeks ago?”
Dirk nodded.
“I have a program in my computer that tracks when people use the system and which documents are printed. I stopped by the office after we gave K the tour today—”
“Get to the point,” Dirk said irritably and observed the passing cars.
“According to my computer,” Nash said, “someone printed the same documents today.”
Dirk rubbed his temples and groaned.
“Someone was in the office at the same time we were.” He released his hands from the steering wheel and looked at Dirk. “I spoke with the security guard in the lobby. The person he described sounded like Nicholas.”
Dirk smacked the dashboard. “You did the right thing.” He pointed authoritatively. “Don’t tell anyone about this.”
Nash was visibly distressed. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing you should concern yourself with,” Dirk assured him. “I’ll take care of this. Don’t tell anyone.”
Dirk entered his office, flicked on the light, sat at his desk, and started his computer. His worst fear surfaced with a haunting laugh when he remembered how Nicholas had collapsed after using the computer the last time. He began viewing the computer files, one after another, until he found the anonymous letter he’d given to Nestor before the meeting with Tyler:
You murdered Helena!
You murdered Helena!
You murdered Helena!
You murdered Helena!
You murdered Helena!
Tyler had to die, and his death had to look like the work of Cesar Gomez—revenge for the death of Helena. He pounded his fists on the desk. Nicholas knew.
Dirk nodded solemnly, as if receiving a death sentence, and considered how his path had gone astray. His affair with Helena had been brief, three months of blissful sexual trysts. His marriage had seen better days but Helena had satisfied every desire encoded in his DNA. Who could deny her? Why deny her?
Unlike the other men in Helena’s life, only he had the courage to help her. He never let her get high when they were together. He tried to help her quit but his busy career and rocky marriage prevented him from spending enough time with her. “Poor Helena,” people had said—those who didn’t know her. She had an iron will and took what she wanted. What she needed was a strong man to control her, something her father had failed at miserably. Dirk had warned him repeatedly about her problem, but Hernandez’s scare tactics and threats were a cowardly way of shirking responsibility. How could a father, an aristocratic man raised on traditional values, have been so negligent?
Making Cesar Gomez a Linear target had been the logical decision to stop the flow of cocaine through Panama, but Cesar gave Helena cocaine and used her addiction to satisfy his own perverse desires. He’d officially quit dealing drugs and had made a mockery of the Linear operation, but he still gave her cocaine. Cesar could burn in hell for eternity and never pay his debt for destroying her life.
Dirk had thought Tyler would be a good influence, but he couldn’t balance his personal and professional life. He could have prevented everything. After all, he was with Helena every day and knew about her addiction. She would be alive now with her first child. Operation Delphi Justice would have continued. He had the chance to redeem himself, but upon finding Helena at Cesar’s penthouse, he chose murder, not forgiveness. In his most disgraceful act, he took the necklace he’d given to her at their engagement party, as the scratches on her neck had indicated. Tyler’s death had been a just punishment.
Dirk opened a desk drawer and removed a photo of Helena. He smiled at her radiant face and smelled the lingering violet scented perfume, a reminder of the soft skin he’d kissed and caressed. Only Helena kindled his passion and satisfied his desires. Despite the faults of Hernandez, Cesar, and Tyler, he blamed himself for her death.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
He should have swept her away when he had the chance, but he refused her love. He was too concerned about what the other members of The Order might think. She’d wanted him, but like a fool he encouraged her to see Tyler, someone closer to her age. He would give up anything to be with her now—The Order, even his family. He looked at the photo of Ellen on his desk and grudgingly accepted the reality that was his own creation. His love for Helena was something Ellen would never understand and would forever remain his secret.
He hit the desk firmly with both fists and stood. Operation Delphi Justice would succeed. The only way to guarantee that was to stop Nicholas Lowe.
THIRTY-NINE
Nicholas Lowe parked in front of Cesar Gomez’s apartment building just before sunrise. The neighborhood was quiet, except for a dog that barked as he closed the car door. Lina looked charming with her hair up and her intellectual glasses.
Keeping the new plan a secret had been difficult. Nicholas had coordinated the meeting at Albrook airport with Willie and Daisy Holland but convinced K, Dirk, and the Panamanian National Police that the original plan at Paitilla Airport was still on schedule. The most difficult part had been deciding to disobey orders, again. The last time he did that, The Order denied his membership and nearly ruined his career. He had evidence of a conspiracy, but a part of him was still worried he might be making a mistake. Bailing out the $87 million debt would probably guarantee his membership to The Order; and in the worst case scenario, he could say he’d altered the plan at the last minute for security purposes. After all, the only major adjustment had been changing Cesar’s fate. Like it or not, Cesar deserved his day in court. Nicholas was covering his bases and his ass. He wasn’t about to spend the rest of his career behind a desk in Washington.
Nicholas and Lina entered the lobby. The Kuna Indian security guard waved them pass.
“I can’t believe we’re going to Cesar Gomez’s apartment,” Lina said.
Nicholas winked confidently as they stepped into the elevato
r.
He’d revealed enough details to whet Lina’s journalistic appetite. He’d admitted to stealing the documents, but her anger subsided when he told her she was part of a top secret plot to arrest Cesar Gomez. Journalists thrived on getting a story, and this story would help her career and save her reputation.
The elevator door opened. Cesar was looking down the barrel of a rifle. “Put your hands in the air or I’ll shoot,” he said coldly.
“Nicholas!” Lina screamed.
Nicholas pointed an accusing finger at Cesar. “Where are your manners?”
Cesar lowered the rifle. “There’s no fooling you, Mr. Lowe,” he said and shrugged apologetically. “Sorry, Ms. Castillo.”
Lina stood close to Nicholas and held his hand.
“What’s with the rifle?” Nicholas asked. “Are you planning to shoot coconuts from your prison cell?”
“I used this rifle to fight for justice in the jungles of Colombia many years ago,” Cesar said. He examined it and handed it to Nicholas. “I want you to have it.”
“Thank you,” Nicholas said, genuinely moved, and checked his watch. “We should go,” he added and gestured to the elevator.
Outside, the city was still sleeping as the sun was rising. The Pacific Ocean was tranquil, oblivious to the misdeeds of mortals. Nicholas turned left on Avenida Balboa and began the trek to Albrook airport. At the Intercontinental Hotel, he turned right on Avenida Frederico Boyd and headed up the undulating hill.
Nicholas glanced in the rearview mirror. Cesar looked deep in thought, at peace, not angry or resentful. In the passenger seat, Lina was busy jotting notes. His assumption was the day wouldn’t continue without a glitch, so he decided to take advantage of the lull before the storm to clear up a mystery.
“May I ask you a question?” he said as they waited at a red light.
Lina mumbled something that sounded like approval.
“Why did Tyler give you the documents?”
Her pen stopped. She looked up. “How did you know?”
The light changed to green. Nicholas shifted into first gear and started driving. “I eliminated all the impossible options.” He wasn’t about to reveal that Tyler had stolen the documents or had been killed by his own people.
Cesar leaned forward to hear her response. Lina glanced back and waited for Nicholas’ nod of approval before she answered.
“The day before Tyler was killed,” she said, “he stopped by my apartment and told me to hold an envelope for him. He said something important was about to happen.”
“Did he tell you what he was talking about?” Nicholas asked.
Lina shook her head. “No, just that he would be leaving soon.”
“What did he say about the envelope?” Nicholas asked.
“He told me to hold it for him, that he would pick it up the next day,” she said. “When I heard about his death, I decided to see what was inside,” she added with an apprehensive look at Cesar. “I decided to write the story.”
A security guard at the front gate waved Nicholas past. He drove to the small airport about a half mile down the road, past buildings that until recently had been barracks and offices for the U.S. military. He parked near the twin engine Piper Navajo where Alfredo was waiting. The propellers were spinning. On the other side of the plane, Willie and Daisy Holland were waiting in a black BMW with tinted windows. Nicholas had told them he needed to make a quick exit from the country after completing the transaction. The plane, he hoped, provided an illusion of legitimacy to the eccentric couple.
“Hand me the black bag,” Nicholas said to Cesar. Nicholas removed a camcorder and turned on the power. An image of the steering wheel appeared.
“Are you ready?” he asked Lina and Cesar.
They nodded. He focused the video camera on Cesar.
“Have my fifteen minutes of fame begun?” Cesar asked.
Through the camcorder, Nicholas saw a repentant Cesar Gomez looking back at him.
He handed the video camera to Lina. “Start your interview.”
Nicholas grabbed a Glock from under the front seat and loaded the chamber. “You never know,” he said in response to Lina’s shocked expression.
Lina cleared her throat ladylike. “Please state your name.”
“My name is Cesar Gomez…”
Nicholas stepped outside, closed the door, and waved to Alfredo. “Good morning.” They shook hands. “Thanks for coming. We won’t be flying today, but here’s some money for your troubles.” He handed Alfredo an envelope with five thousand dollars.
He waited for Alfredo’s nod of approval before walking around the plane to the BMW. He knocked on the glass. The power window lowered. Willie removed his straw hat and smiled. Daisy crushed her cigarette in the ashtray and winked.
“How’s my favorite couple?” he asked.
“It’s God-awful early,” Daisy said. “I’m still buzzing from last night. What a hoot!”
“We received word that the container with the goods arrived in Colon,” Willie said.
Nicholas nodded. “Do you have the payment?”
Daisy gestured to two black attaché cases in the back seat. Nicholas opened the door, removed the two cases, and checked the contents: U.S. bearer bonds with a face value of one hundred thousand dollars each. After thumbing through fifty of them—about one tenth of the pile—he extrapolated five hundred per case for a total of $100 million dollars.
Nicholas smiled at the eccentric couple. “I guess our business is done. The container should be ready to ship in about an hour.”
“Pleasure doing business with you,” Willie said and started the engine. With a last wave, they drove away.
Nicholas hoisted the two black attaché cases and headed toward his car. When he rounded the plane, Dirk’s maroon Mercedes skidded to a stop about fifty yards away.
The car door swung open. “What are you doing, Nick?” Dirk yelled.
Without warning, he fired a round. The bullet struck Alfredo in the head. He collapsed on the tarmac. Nicholas dove for cover behind the plane. Dirk fired another shot. This one ricocheted off the concrete and whizzed passed the plane.
“I won’t let you get away with this!” Dirk shouted, using his car door to shield himself.
Nicholas whipped out his Glock as police sirens wailed in the distance. He shot at Dirk’s door, forcing him to retreat behind the car.
“He had to die, you know,” Dirk yelled and blasted a hole in the idling Piper Navajo’s tail. “He failed us. He failed the operation. He didn’t deserve her!”
Nicholas cringed when another bullet struck the plane. He fired back and pierced Dirk’s windshield.
“Hand over the money. We’ll forget this ever happened,” Dirk said. “You’ll get your membership. You have my word.”
Nicholas aimed to fire again, but Cesar jumped out of the car and fired his rifle, smashing Dirk’s right headlight.
“Dirk, you son of a bitch!” Cesar yelled and aimed again. “Step out and fight like a man!”
The wailing sirens grew louder as four police cars approached. Nicholas watched, amazed, as Cesar rolled to the right, dodged Dirk’s next shot, and fired his own that missed. Cesar aimed the rifle from one knee and fired again when Dirk pivoted into sight. Cesar’s blast hit Dirk between the eyes. Dirk’s shot caught Cesar in the left arm, knocking him down.
Nicholas rushed over to Cesar. He was bleeding badly. The bullet had torn through his left triceps. “You’ll be all right,” he said as the four police cars entered the base.
Cesar pushed him away and gestured to the plane. “Go!”
“Nicholas, let’s go!” Lina shouted.
Nicholas started to lift Cesar, but he screamed with pain.
“You can’t help me,” Cesar said. “I was right about The Order. They’ll kill you if you don’t leave now.”
“You can make it,” Nicholas said, struggling to lift him.
Cesar screamed. He fought to catch his breath. “All my life
I’ve fought for justice. Today I finally got the courage to face my enemy.” He pointed at Dirk’s lifeless body next to the maroon Mercedes. “You inspired me, Nicholas. Don’t you see, I won…we won.”
Nicholas nodded, fighting back an inexplicable tear, feeling a bond with Cesar he didn’t want to acknowledge.
“We’re warriors, Nicholas,” Cesar said. “We’re brothers.”
Nicholas smiled. “All right, you saved my life,” he said. “Now quit being so damned dramatic, and let’s get the hell out of here.”
With a grunt, Nicholas lifted Cesar onto his shoulder and carried him to the plane. Lina pulled Cesar inside while Nicholas removed the wheel blocks.
Nicholas climbed into the pilot’s seat with the attaché cases and fiddled with the gauges. He eased the throttle forward as the police cars drove onto the runway. The plane taxied past Dirk’s lifeless body toward the runway.
Lina screamed as the Piper Navajo accelerated toward the oncoming police cars.
“Hang on!” Nicholas instructed and stomped his foot for a full right rudder. The plane spun and skidded to a halt. He slammed the throttle forward. Two police cars gave chase but stopped as they approached the end of the runway. Nicholas eased the stick back when the end of the runway was in sight. His arms shook as he pulled back on the stick. The plane’s wheels scraped the weeds as it lifted into the air.
FORTY
Nicholas Lowe stood alone on the beach and gazed at the moonlit Caribbean Sea. Docked sailboats bobbed and listed like drunken sailors as waves splashed ashore. A cruise ship on the horizon sounded its horn; its cabin lights flickered like fireflies. Reluctantly, after painful deliberation, he dialed the number at Dirk’s office. As it rang, he couldn’t decide whether he wanted someone to answer.
“Hello?” a voice said. It was K. “Nicholas, is that you?”
“It’s me,” Nicholas said.
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