There was no reason, no hurry to get out of bed, so she curled into a ball and let her thoughts take her all over the place. Tentatively, she reached out to touch Gabe’s pillow. A sob caught in her throat. A quick glance at the bedside clock on Gabe’s side of the bed said it was a minute after seven o’clock. More proof that her husband wasn’t coming back.
In all the years they’d been together, they had never spent a night apart. She thought about crying but decided not to because her eyes would get all puffy and red, and she’d have to use up an hour with a cucumber poultice to take away the swelling, and she wasn’t in the mood. Crying definitely was not an option.
She wondered where Gabe was. How far he’d managed to travel in his hasty effort to get away from her and the situation they were in. If he’d made good connections and flown through the night, he was probably in the Caribbean by now. He’d lie low for a few days or maybe just one day before he headed to what was to be their final destination. Now, though, she had to wonder if that was where Gabe would really go. Maybe he’d changed course, gone somewhere different, so she couldn’t find him. That would be so like Gabe. The final insult.
Pilar was warm now in her cocoon. So warm that she started to doze off. She snapped back to reality when she realized she had to get in touch with Bert Navarro. She might as well get up and start the day. Once she was showered and dressed, with a cup of coffee in hand, she could decide on what kinds of decisions had to be made now that she was going solo.
But the warmth of the cocoon sucked her closer to sleep. Pilar was drifting off to dreamland when she heard the doorbell chime. “Gabe!” He was home; he must have forgotten his key. Joy of joy, her husband was home. She bounded out of bed and ran to the front door, her arms outstretched to welcome her husband home. “Gabe!” she shouted as she threw open the door. Her eyes popped at the sight of the man standing in the middle of her doorway. She grew light-headed and had to reach for the door frame to hold herself upright. The man’s name hissed through her teeth. “Mr. Delgado.”
“Invite me in, Senora Sanders, or your neighbors might talk about your early morning visitor.” The words were spoken softly but were full of menace. There was nothing for Pilar to do but step aside. “Coffee would be nice,” Delgado said.
Gabe, Gabe, where are you? I really need you. I know he’s not going to do anything to me right now. He needs me. How did he find me? Oh, God, what am I going to do?
Pilar walked out to the kitchen like a programmed robot. Her movements were jerky, awkward, uncontrolled. A voice inside her head warned her to listen and to keep quiet. She wished again for her husband’s presence.
“Where is your husband, Senora Sanders?”
“He goes out early to get coffee and bagels and meets up with a few friends to catch up on things. He does it every day. He’ll be back in about an hour,” she lied. “Why?”
“I think it’s time I met your partner, but I don’t have that much extra time this morning, so meeting him will have to wait. You will give him my regards, of course.”
“Of course,” Pilar mumbled. Now that the coffeepot was filled, she didn’t know what to do, so she just stood by the sink, her hands clasped in front of her. She gave no thought to her bed hair, her granny flannel nightgown, or her bare feet. All she wanted was for this man to get out of her kitchen. How did he find me? she thought.
“Sit down, Senora Sanders. You look so tense. Please, relax. I’m here to talk business, nothing more. Two business associates having an early morning cup of coffee. Isn’t that how they do it here in the nation’s capital? I myself prefer something a little more private due to the . . . delicate nature of our business, so that’s why I came to your home. I also want to personally apologize for my colleagues’ behavior last night. I’m told they frightened you. That was not my intention at all. They were simply told to give you a message. Good help is so hard to find these days, don’t you agree?”
Pilar’s head bobbed up and down. “Then why did they break into my car?” she asked in a squeaky whisper.
“I beg your pardon.”
“Your people were the only ones there after they threatened me. They didn’t take anything, but they went through my things. Somehow they managed to break into my car, and that could not have been easy.”
Zuma Delgado punched in a set of numbers on his phone and rattled off a string of high-pitched, frantic-sounding Spanish. He listened intently, then rattled off another string of Spanish before hanging up. “My people did not break into your car. Trust me when I tell you this. They did tell me that they saw other activity in the parking lot, but it was so dark they couldn’t tell who it was. And yes, my people are the ones who shot out the lights. It was necessary. They think several men and one woman were there, but that is pure conjecture on their part. They were going by the sounds of footfalls. I repeat, my men would never dare disobey my orders, much less lie to me. I want you to believe me.”
For some ungodly reason, Pilar believed him implicitly. “Then someone besides you and your people is watching me,” she said, a little more bravely this time. “For a long time now, I’ve felt like someone has been following me or watching me.” She opted to keep her suspicions about Toby to herself for the time being.
“You should have apprised me of that immediately, but I’ll deal with that later. For now, I see that the coffee is ready, so let’s drink it and get down to business so I can make you a very wealthy woman.”
Pilar liked the sound of that. Maybe the mansion and the conveyor belt would pop up in her future and not just in her dreams. Just the thought scared her to death.
* * *
Avery Snowden’s phone rang just as he finished brushing his teeth. He clicked it on and heard Consuela’s voice wishing him a good morning.
“Anything to report?”
“That’s why I’m calling. A man resembling the picture of Zuma Delgado you showed all of us just showed up. A cleaned-up version. Casual attire, fresh haircut, clean shaven. Driving a Hertz rental car. When he saw that he couldn’t get into the parking garage, he found a spot on the street easily enough, what with most of the people heading off to work. He walked right by me. It’s him. He walked around to the front of the building. I could not follow him. It would have been too obvious. He hasn’t returned, so I have to assume he gained admittance somehow and is right now visiting Ms. Sanders. What do you want me to do?”
“For starters, move out of the parking space you’re in and park someplace else. Get in the backseat, and don’t let him see you when he comes out. I’ll be there as soon as I can. If he leaves before I get there, follow him, text me, and I’ll catch up and take over.”
Avery was dressed and out of his apartment in less than fifteen minutes and driving to Pilar Sanders’s condo building. He broke his own rules, sending text message after text message as he drove. First to Charles, to meet at the BOLO Building. He explained that he’d been there the night before and what had gone down. His next text was to Mia, followed by one to Consuela, who said Delgado was still in the condo. Mia was running in Rock Creek Park with Toby.
Avery slowed, turned on his blinker, and rounded the corner. He saw Consuela’s parked car immediately. He expertly slid into a space two cars behind her just as his phone pinged that a text was coming in. Tom Fazio. He cursed when he read the message:
I lost him, Avery.
What happened? he typed back. Avery clenched his teeth so tight, he thought his jaw would crack.
We’re here in the Bahamas, as I told you late last night. He checked into Emerald Bay and said he would be there for three days. He paid in cash. I took a room and paid the desk clerk to alert me if he left. Unfortunately, when the clerk took his break a few hours later, Sanders walked out, and he didn’t see him. How he figured it out was when he went outside to smoke a cigarette around three this morning and saw that Sanders’s car was missing. The place isn’t that crowded right now, so the missing car was easy to spot. And because he wanted the secon
d hundred I promised him, the guy went up to his room and checked it out. Nothing was touched or used. He’s gone. He had only a small duffel—you know the kind—shaving gear and a change of underwear fit in. I can attest to that myself.
What’s your best guess? Off the island or he just relocated to another hotel, perhaps one that is less well known?
I think he’s gone, as in gone. The clerk told me one of the other employees recognized Sanders. The reason he remembered him was that he was such a good tipper. He said he’s been here many times, but always with his wife. The guy I talked to has only been at Emerald Bay for sixteen months. You aren’t going to like this, but here goes. If the guy is right, then Sanders has his own plane, which he keeps hangared on the island. He’s a pilot. I can’t confirm any of this yet, but I’m on it, unless you have something else in mind. I’m also thinking a lot of preplanning went into this.
Do what you have to do, Tom.
Do I have your permission to lay out some serious cash?
Whatever it takes.
Well, for starters, I know this retired navy pilot who runs his own small airport in St. Louis. If anyone can dig up info on the guy’s plane and the guy himself, it’s Mike Bernstein. I might have to buy a plane. You okay with that?
You gonna just look at it or fly it?
You’re a funny guy. Of course I can fly it. I spent a whole year with Bernstein before I decided I liked water better than flying through the air.
Go for it. Don’t forget to check in.
Always, big guy. Always.
Avery sat for a moment after he powered down, wondering what Charles and the gang would think when a bill came in for an airplane. He allowed a small gurgle of laughter to escape his lips. Charles would roll his eyes. Jack would shrug, and the kid with the huge fortune would say, “Whatever.”
Avery sent off a text telling Consuela she could leave, and he’d take over.
Through the rearview mirror, Avery could see Consuela exit the backseat of her nondescript car, then text as she walked around to the driver’s side and climbed in.
The text was short and simple. He’s been in there one hour and twelve minutes. His car is the beige Taurus. I have the license-plate number. Call me if you need me.
Avery looked around at all the black cars parked on the street. Other than one white Range Rover, the Taurus was easy to spot. It was four cars up, and it looked from where the subject was parked that he was boxed in pretty good. It would take him a good while to maneuver his way out, which would give Snowden time to gun the engine and pull out at almost the same moment Delgado did.
He settled down to wait, wishing he’d known this was the way it was going to go down. Had he known, he would have planted some listening devices inside the condo.
Avery leaned back, the picture of an aggravated husband waiting for his wife, who was taking way too long to return to the car. His eyes never left the side-view mirror as he waited.
One hour and thirty minutes and counting.
Chapter Fifteen
Jack Emery looked around the crowded conference room and wondered how things had gotten to where they were in such a short time. It looked to him as if everyone in the world had suddenly descended on the BOLO Building. If the occupants weren’t talking, they were shouting, surly expressions on their faces. Cell phones were ringing right and left as the fax machine did double duty, spitting out sheet after sheet of paper.
As the chief greeter, Cyrus looked exhausted from running back and forth to the security door to usher in the different members who arrived within minutes of one another. He was now under the conference table, with a pile of chew bones for his efforts.
Jack felt a headache coming on. He whistled sharply, a high-pitched, keening sound that rewarded him with instant silence. “What the hell has gotten into you people? You all sound like a bunch of squabbling ten-year-olds. Everybody sit down, and let’s call this meeting to order.”
“I’ll tell you what the hell is going on here, Jack. We are like a bunch of chickens running around, chasing our tail feathers in the process. Read my lips. We do not have a plan. This is what happens when everyone goes off in a different direction. It’s obvious to me that a lot went down last night after we broke up and went home. We need to be brought up to date. Everyone is here. Let’s just go around the table and have everyone provide whatever it is they have in the way of information. Then we can form a plan,” Maggie said, a deep scowl on her face.
“Now, why didn’t I think of that?” Charles said, tongue in cheek. “Avery, it’s nice to see you so early in the morning. I got your text last evening and came in extra early to download everything on the flash drive that you left. Which, by the way, is pretty much nothing. Avery, you have the floor.”
Snowden leaned forward as he quickly and concisely explained what had happened in the supper-club parking lot and how he’d had Mia tail Pilar and her husband back to their condo before he ended up following Gabe Sanders to the airport, where Sanders booked a flight to Atlanta.
He immediately followed up with the morning’s events before anyone could start hammering him with questions. He ended up with, “Mia is now shadowing Zuma Delgado. I met her at a gas station, where we switched up vehicles. Toby is driving the Ferrari, and he followed me in this morning. Mia should be checking in shortly. Another operative, Hana, is on stakeout at Pilar Sanders’s condo building. Since she hasn’t checked in yet, I have to assume that Sanders is still inside. Doing what, aside from hitting the panic button, I have no clue.
“A friend who is a retired Navy SEAL and who I use from time to time on operations followed Gabe Sanders from Atlanta to the Bahamas. I’m sad to say he lost him. Sanders checked into the Emerald Bay and paid for three nights in cash. Thinking the guy was in for the night, my guy, Tom Fazio, hit the sheets for a few hours’ sleep, but not before he greased the night guy’s palm. When he went down to the lobby early, before the sun was even up, the night clerk told him that Sanders had left sometime during the night. He thinks it was probably around three in the morning, because that’s when the clerk went outside to smoke a cigarette and saw that Sanders’s rental car was gone.
“This guy has been on staff for only about sixteen months or so. When the day staff came on, they exchanged words, like what went on during the night hours, what the day staff should be aware of, that kind of thing. One of the day guys knows Sanders. Said he has been there quite a few times but always with his wife. Seems the Sanders guy is a good tipper, and that’s why he remembers him. Plus, are you all ready for this? He owns a private plane, which he keeps hangared there at a private airport.
“Tom headed to the airport and found the rental car, but the plane was already gone. I hesitate to say the work crew are stupid people, but they are. Either that, or Sanders paid them to be stupid. No one knows anything. There’s only one young kid there during the night, and he hasn’t shaved yet. He didn’t even know that Sanders’s plane was missing until Tom pointed it out. Plus, all his files from the office are gone, so I have to assume Sanders took them with him.
“The kid had one thing going for him—he’s good with numbers, and he knew the tail numbers of every plane hangared there. So that was all Tom had to go on. He contacted a navy pilot friend named Mike Bernstein, who owns a private airport in St. Louis, to see if he could track the plane down somehow. Tom is also a pilot. When he retired, he thought about going into business with Bernstein but decided he liked the water better than the air. I gave him the okay to buy a plane and go after the guy. The bill will show up on your statement soon. It’s probably there by now. It was an executive decision, people,” Snowden said tightly as he saw the expression on Jack’s face. “Look at it this way. Annie can add it to her fleet. She’s got a Gulfstream, a Little Bird, a Learjet, and now she will have a private two-seater. Tom said it was a steal at two hundred grand.”
“I’m sure she’ll be happy to hear that,” Charles said, his face expressionless.
“Wait. T
here’s more. Just as I arrived here, I got a text from Tom. The kid who is so good with numbers said the tail numbers on the Sanders plane are 216379Z. He said Bernstein couldn’t track it, because Sanders didn’t file a flight plan. But he did track a private plane with the tail number 246879Z. Tom said he thinks Sanders changed the numbers before he took off. He changed the one to a four and the three to an eight. Clever bastard. Looks like he’s headed for Tahiti. Tom is on his way. I don’t know exactly how he knows this, but if Tom said the guy is going to Tahiti, then that’s where he’s going.”
“You have to admit that’s pretty damn clever,” Ted Robinson said. “I’m impressed. My guess would be this was part of a plan should things ever get dicey and they had to take it on the lam. What is not computing is why the wife stayed behind. Is she stupid, or is she fearless? Which is it?”
“Probably a little of both. So what does all that mean?” Dennis said.
“I think it means that Mr. and Ms. Sanders have parted ways. Either he left her holding the bag or she wouldn’t go with him. I guess he’s the smarter of the two. He’s out from under whatever is going to go down. I don’t think there’s a thing we can do to him legally. We have no proof of anything. At least we know where he is, and Tom will sit on him until such time as we need him. Or not,” Snowden said.
Abner raised his hand. “Their brokerage account just took a big hit! It’s been cut in half. Guess the husband took his share. Looks like he wired his share to the Antilles. Having said that, Ms. Sanders will not be living in a tent anytime soon. The account is very robust. All the properties are mortgaged to the hilt. They took all the equity out of them about six months ago. Eighteen days ago, they took out the equity on the condo they live in. What that says to me is that the Sanderses planned to just walk away with the clothes on their backs and head to Tahiti. I think Ted is spot on. This was the plan. They could live like royalty until they die on the kind of money they had socked away.”
High Stakes Page 16