He stopped at the door and spoke without turning to face her.
“I’ll have Juan bring you a blanket, water, and a sandwich when he returns to remove the chair.”
“Thank you,” Andrea said and released the breath that she’d been holding.
CHAPTER
FORTY-FIVE
Austin, Texas
December 7, 1999 / Tuesday / 12:00 a.m.
The taxi driver looked over at Caine questioningly.
“You sure you want to stay at this place? This ain’t no Holiday Inn.”
Caine just nodded. “I know, but like I said, the magazine wants a story about single-room-occupancy hotels in Austin. So this is the ticket. And you did say this was the best of the lot, right?”
“Yeah, I did, but that’s not saying much. Keep your hand on your wallet and your door locked.”
“That I will do,” Caine said as he handed the man a twenty and waved away the change.
Caine looked up at the façade of the five-story building from the sidewalk. The outside brickwork was old and worn, and the whole façade was more than a little dirty, particularly the windows. The blue neon sign above the door bore the improbable name “The Mariners Hotel.”
Caine pushed open the scuffed Plexiglas door and walked into the small lobby. The man sitting behind the worn front desk was about fifty-five years old. He had a full, if unruly, head of salt-and-pepper hair and a matching mustache. His brown cardigan, white shirt, and black bowtie seemed almost as out of place as the hardcover book in front of him. The man looked more like an out-of-work history professor than the proprietor of a single-room-occupancy hotel located three blocks from the center of what could fairly be labeled Austin’s “skid row” section.
For a moment, a look of apprehension crossed the man’s face, but then it faded as he looked Caine over.
“Can I help your, sir?”
“Yes. A room for the night, if you have one, preferably not on the street side,” Caine said as he scanned the lobby area. He noted that although the furniture was worn and the walls were a drab brown, the place was clean.
“We have a room on the third floor that’s available. Cash or credit? If it’s cash, you have to pay in advance, with a fifty-dollar holding charge, just in case there’s any damage to the room.”
“Cash.”
“Very good. Please fill out the register.”
Caine took the clipboard with a pen chained to the top, and filled in a fictitious name, address, and home phone number. He could sense that the man wanted to ask him a question, but was hesitant to do so. The man overcame his reluctance when Caine handed him back the form.
“Sir, you don’t seem—”
“Like your typical customer? I guess I’m not,” Caine said. “I’m writing a book, and I needed to get a mental picture of this kind of place to complete one of the chapters.”
Caine could tell that this information piqued the man’s interest, but Caine wanted to avoid any more questions.
“Can you direct me to the room?” Caine asked quickly.
“It’s Room 303. That’s three floors up, to the right, and about five doors down. Is there is anything else I can help you with?”
“No, but thank you,” Caine said and walked over to the stairs.
Caine looked down each hallway as he crossed the two lower landings. They were all empty. When he came to the third floor, he walked down the empty corridor to the door of his room. He stood to the left of the doorway as he opened it. It was unlikely that anyone was waiting for him on the other side of the door, but the last few days had reawakened old habits.
When the door opened, he gave it a little push and waited until it hit the wall. The room was dark. He reached in and flipped on the light and entered the room. There was a small bathroom to the left, with a walk-in shower, a yellowed sink, and a toilet. Like the lobby area, everything in the room was worn, even threadbare, but it seemed to be clean.
Caine went back to the door and closed and locked it. The blinds on the windows were already pulled down. He left them that way.
Caine undressed and took a shower, running the water as hot as he could bear. He closed his eyes and let the water run down his chest and over his back. An image of Andrea’s face flashed into his mind, and with it a wave of frustration and slow anger. After several minutes, Caine turned the water temperature to the coldest setting. The freezing blast pushed back the fatigue that was starting to catch up with him. He needed to stay awake.
The man in the bar could have killed Andrea at any time. He’d taken her alive for a reason. Helius needed both of them dead, which meant the other side would try to use Andrea as bait. If he wanted to get her back, he would need a plan and a lot more firepower than the Browning, which meant getting help from Jaq.
Austin, Texas
December 7, 1999 / Tuesday / 1:00 a.m.
The all-night “Electronic Café” was about six blocks south of the hotel, in a slightly better neighborhood. The inside of the place looked like a cross between a 1960s living room, with too many computers, and a coffee shop. Caine walked over to the twenty-something college kid behind the counter, who was playing a video game on his laptop.
“Coffee, time, or both?” The kid said without looking up from the game.
“Both. A large black Caribbean and one hour of Internet time.”
“The coffee is a buck seventy-five. The hour will cost you ten.”
Caine paid in cash and walked over to a computer against the far wall. He logged into the AOL account he used for business and typed in his passcode. There was the usual junk mail, three inquiries about possible new assignments, and an e-mail from Father Moreno asking Caine what the hell he was doing, and what he could do to help.
The most recent e-mail was an hour old. The sender was [email protected]. The e-mail had to be from Jaq. Massena was Napoleon’s most effective general. Like Caine, Jaq was a devoted military history buff, so he knew the name would be recognized.
Caine clicked on the message.
“Where the hell are you? If you cannot call me immediately, then e-mail me. Wherever I am, the message will find me.”
Caine logged out of his account and opened a new AOL account as a new user under a false name and address. Then he e-mailed Jaq.
“Jaq, are you there? It’s John.”
He received an almost immediate response.
“Of course I’m here. What’s your situation?”
“I think I’ve identified the opposition. They’re affiliated with a company called Helius Energy. It’s a large international energy company here in Austin.”
“Are you sure? Why would they be after you?”
“I’m still not sure, but the information came from the reporter who started this thing, so I think it’s real. The reporter said I own an interest in a property that has something to do with Helius, apparently an incredibly valuable property.”
“Do you?”
“If I do, I don’t know a thing about it.”
“So they want to kill you over a property you know nothing about?” Jaq e-mailed back.
“There has to be something to it. No one would put together this big a hunt on bad information.”
“Maybe they just don’t like you. Where’s the girl?”
Caine typed a reply.
“That’s the bad news. They grabbed her. I’m going to try to get her back. I could use your help getting some heavy-duty hardware, and some comm support. I’ll handle the rescue.”
There was a hesitation, and then Jaq replied.
“We need to meet to put this together. I have a business associate in Austin. We can use his place. It’s a warehouse. Is this connection safe?”
“Yes. I opened up a new user account a minute ago.”
“Meet me at 122 Central Way, Building 16. Park in the back and come in the back door. I’ll see you there tomorrow at 10:00 a.m. As for the rescue, we’ll all do it. Stay well, friend.”
Caine had expe
cted Jaq to resist being kept out of the fight, but Caine intended to make sure the operation went down that way. This was his problem. Jaq’s last comment confused him. What was the reference to “all” about?
Caine spent another twenty minutes looking up information on Helius. The data he pulled up confirmed what Andrea had said, but there were two pieces of information that were of particular interest. Apparently the massive bond offering Helius was bringing to market next week was critical. It would move the company from the “at risk” category into the black. Caine could see why Helius wouldn’t want anyone raising a big title problem at this particular juncture. The timing of the offering might give him some leverage, but he suspected that he would need a lot more than that to get Andrea back alive.
The second piece of information came from two small human rights web sites. There were a series of messages about alleged brutalities committed by “Helius goon squads” in the third world. One allegation related to an incident in Venezuela. The second was in Cameroon. Caine glanced at his watch. It was 1:55 a.m. His hour was up and he was having trouble focusing.
Caine waved to the college kid behind the coffee bar as he headed out the door, and received a nod in return. The kid was talking to a girl at the bar. She was wearing a black T-shirt and jeans, and her hair was dyed almost the same color. She gave Caine a quick once-over as he walked out. Her face was cute, despite the stark white makeup and the dark lipstick. For a second, Caine saw Andrea sitting there looking back at him, drinking a latte with a friend on a Friday night. He blinked away the illusion, but not the anxiety and fear that came with it.
CHAPTER
FORTY-SIX
Austin, Texas
December 7, 1999 / Tuesday / 2:00 a.m.
The loft spanned the entire fifth floor of the Lancaster Building, an historically preserved jewel located in the center of Austin’s most expensive urban enclave. The interior, which had been designed and decorated by an elite New York design firm, had been featured in Architectural Digest’s “Best of the West” section two years ago.
The loft was officially maintained at Helius’s expense in order to provide Mason a place to stay when business demands forced him to stay in the city for the night. In fact, the loft existed to serve a different need: Mason’s mistress lived there.
Mason stopped in front of the eight-foot window and looked down on the city street below for a moment. Then he walked back to the table, where he was trying, unsuccessfully, to focus on the latest analyst’s report on the bond offering. A partially empty glass of Scotch was parked in the center of the report. Mason rarely ever drank more than two drinks at a sitting, but tonight he was working on his third.
He’d come to the loft intending to eat and get a few hours of sleep while awaiting the latest development from Paquin’s team. Unfortunately, his current mistress, a Brazilian girl he’d brought into the country a year ago, had denied him this respite. She’d badgered him with a series of inane questions, most of which he’d ignored until he belatedly figured out what she was after. Apparently the little genius had decided it was time to discuss their future. Her temerity had enraged him. They didn’t have a future. As far as he was concerned, she had her role and was well compensated for it. Before Mason could set her straight, Paquin had called.
Mason had expected Paquin to tell him that Caine and the woman were finally dead, ending the nightmare, but that hadn’t happened. Paquin’s carefully planned operation outside the restaurant had turned into a disaster. Caine and the woman had escaped unharmed, and the local prosecutor, who was off limits, had been shot.
Mason gripped the edge of the table in front of him and closed his eyes. The fools! Now every law enforcement resource in Texas would be trying to find out who shot one of their golden boys. Paquin’s insistence that his people hadn’t put down the prosecutor was obviously ridiculous. Who else could have pulled the trigger? The situation was getting completely out of control.
Paquin had never failed to solve a company problem in the past. Sometimes the solutions had been messier than Mason would have liked, but the problem had always been solved, leaving Helius’s reputation unscathed. This time it was different. It seemed that Paquin simply couldn’t get the job done. Unfortunately, this was the one case where failure was not an option for the company.
The whiskey burned his throat as he emptied the glass. The surprise call that he’d received from Onwuallu an hour after the Marian House disaster came to mind. Onwuallu had called to tell him that he’d decided to stay an extra day in Austin to do some personal business. Apparently the Minister in Harare that Onwuallu had scheduled a meeting with had left for his hunting lodge, making further negotiations impossible until next week. The subject of the Caine problem had come up in the conversation and Mason had raged about the most recent disaster.
Onwuallu had quietly suggested that he might be able to provide some assistance, if only as a backup to Mr. Paquin. Making people disappear was a skill that he’d apparently perfected while working for the infamous Charles Taylor in Liberia. Two days ago, Mason wouldn’t have considered the offer, but now that he had time to think about it, he decided Onwuallu might be right. Paquin could not be trusted.
The phone on the table interrupted his thoughts.
“Hello, Mason here.”
“Paquin.”
“Well, Mr. Paquin, have you finally solved our little problem?”
“No. But our position has improved. We found the woman and we now have her in a safe place.”
“What do you mean, you have her? Why isn’t she dead and buried? And where is Caine, goddamn it?”
Paquin could hear the alcohol in Mason’s voice.
“They became separated. She was alone when we found her. That’s also the reason why she’s still alive. We need her.”
“Explain.”
“I interrogated the woman. I believe that she’s important to Caine.”
“What do you mean ‘important,’ and where exactly does that get us?”
“Important on an emotional level. I believe they have developed a romantic attachment. As to where that gets us, that’s both simple and complicated.”
“Mr. Paquin, I don’t want any more complications. I want solutions. In this case, in particular, I want a permanent solution. Do you under—”
“Yes, I do understand,” Paquin said, interrupting Mason’s rant. “The situation is simple in this respect. I believe Mr. Caine will try to take the woman back from us. I also believe that he won’t do anything with the information he’s obtained about your precious deed problem, which is substantial, before he makes this attempt. The complicated issue is the how, when, and where Mr. Caine will make his move.”
Mason hesitated and processed the information before responding.
“Very well, what do you intend to do?”
“We will use the girl as bait. We will lure Caine to a killing ground of our choosing, and we will put him down—permanently.”
The uncharacteristic intensity in Paquin’s voice surprised Mason. “Very well, Mr. Paquin, I will leave this problem and the solution in your capable hands. Is there anything more you need from me?”
Mason had not expected Paquin to ask for anything, but he did.
“Yes, there is,” Paquin said. “To make sure that this matter is finally put to rest, we need to arrange a particularly lethal reception for Mr. Caine. That requires an isolated facility. A place that is remote yet defensible. The place that you refer to as the ‘Old Ranch’ fits the bill for a number of reasons.”
The Old Ranch was a collection of old buildings located in a remote area well outside Austin. The property had originally been owned by a Mexican land baron before Texas became a republic. The structures on site were nothing to speak of. Just an old ranch house with three or four secondary buildings, enclosed by an old adobe wall. Mason had tried get rid of the property after his grandfather’s death, but the old man had anticipated the move. He’d placed the ranch in a trust shor
tly before his death. The trust barred the sale of the property outside the family.
Faced with this restriction, Mason, who was the sole trustee of the trust, had taken the next best option. He’d transferred title to a charitable trust that was still within the control of the Mason family. The transfer had skirted the restriction in the trust, and it had generated a large charitable deduction. The charitable trust periodically rented the place out to schools, movie producers, and other users in order to keep up the front of a charitable use.
Mason had no problem allowing Paquin to use the Old Ranch, as long as whatever happened there remained secret, since title to the property was traceable to the Mason family.
“You understand, Mr. Paquin, that this asset is traceable to the Mason family?”
Paquin’s response was careful, but direct. “Yes. Although there is a small element of risk, the location is so remote that it’s highly unlikely anyone in the area will take an interest. You will have to decide whether our present exigency justifies the risk.”
Mason had scrupulously maintained the wall that existed between Paquin’s black projects and Helius, and the second wall maintained between Helius and the Mason family. Now Paquin was suggesting that he step outside that carefully crafted systemic protection. Mason was unhappy with the risk, but Helius and the Mason family were already on a precipice.
Mason suddenly hated Caine. He hated him for placing Helius at risk; for struggling to live when his death was necessary; and for forcing Mason to place his own position at risk, as a precondition to his own death. Mason suddenly wanted to kill Caine and the woman himself—to see them die before his eyes. Then the rage began to ebb and he reasserted control. He had to make a decision.
“You have the ranch. I will make sure that no one is near the place for the next month. That will give you time to repair any damage that may result from your meeting with Caine.”
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