The Agent's Covert Affair

by Karen Anders

  Somewhere near Caliche, Mexico

  Luis drove through the compound gates. It had been the worst trip he’d ever driven in his life. With the crying baby, stopping for changes, feeding and administering the medication prescribed by the doctor in Santa Ana, he was frazzled. Being only sixteen, he wasn’t used to handling a baby. Yet Jefe had sent him and that made him proud that his boss trusted him with this job. He only wished he’d done better, killed the baby’s mother like he’d been instructed and neutralized the American threat to them back in Santa Ana.

  He pulled up outside the kitchen in the back where he’d been instructed to go. He’d had to duck several roadblocks by the local cops. Word must have gotten out, since the Americans had escaped their execution in the desert outside Santa Ana. Formidable opponents in this battle for the baby boy.

  The back door opened and a small, heavyset woman peered out. Luis opened his door and stepped out of the car. He went to the back and clicked the latch to remove the car seat from its base and transform it into a carrier.

  The boy didn’t stir as Luis had just fed him a half an hour ago. He was so tiny, so unaware of his plight. But if Gilberto wanted him, Luis was sure he would treat him well. After all, what would he want with a baby anyway? He grabbed up the infant’s bag and slung it over his shoulder. The woman held the door wide as he entered the house, her dark eyes troubled. She touched his arm, but he shrugged her off. Luis didn’t question what he was asked to do. He did it, but deep down he couldn’t be sorry the boy’s mother hadn’t died.

  “Follow me,” she said, her voice quiet.

  “The medicine must go into the refrigerator,” he said, holding out the plastic bag to her. She took the bottle of pink liquid from the portable cooler Luis had purchased at the pharmacy and the light from the fridge flashed in the dimness, then winked out as the door closed. She walked back and they ascended the stairs and entered a fully furnished and stocked nursery.

  “How is the baby?” she whispered.

  “He is well. Much less fussy since he has received several doses of the amoxicillin. I fed him, changed him and he should be fine. She unbuckled the straps that held the boy inside and with the ease of a mother lifted him out of the seat. For a moment she stared down into his little face, the fat cheeks, the downy hair, his pink, pursed lips. He reached out and nudged her. “It must be done. We don’t have a choice in that matter. You know that.” She set him in the crib on his back and covered him with a blanket. Even though the night was warm, the air-conditioning kept the house chilled. He stirred and made soft noises, but settled down again into slumber. Luis breathed a sigh of relief. This was finally over.

  They left the room and went back downstairs. “He will see you in the study. Please be careful, my boy.”

  “Ah, Mama, you know I do this for you.”

  She wiped at her eyes with her apron. “This is wrong and we both know it. What you have had to do in his employ is...monstrous. What we both have had to do has marked our souls.”

  “We survive, Mama. That is what we do. You’ve worked for him for most of your life. I was practically raised here. He’s provided everything for us. He is our jefe and it must be done.”

  He left and walked through the house and knocked at the carved wooden door.

  “Enter.”

  Luis pushed open the door to an opulent study done in dark green and gold, an expensive rug under his feet, covering the wooden floor of the same dark oak as the big desk. He moved forward and was soon in front of Gilberto Ortega, who reclined in a tall leather chair, the fruity smell of smoke from the Cuban cigar he was fond of scenting the air.

  “He is here?” Gilberto’s voice was melodious and deep. He took a drag on the cigar and breathed out smoke.

  “Yes, Mr. Ortega. Upstairs. Safe and sound. He has an ear infection, but I’ve given him the medicine as I was instructed.” Luis’s gut was tied up in knots. If Gilberto wasn’t pleased, he’d never leave this estate alive.

  “You have performed...adequately. The Americans are in Caliche. That is unfortunate they have discovered the connection between the baby’s mother and us. But they have no proof. No concrete evidence. So it’s of no matter. If they get bothersome, I will neutralize the threat. The boy is now mine. It would have complicated matters for the American government if their agents had gone missing. I’m displeased about that turn of events.”

  “One is an NCIS agent and the other one, the woman, is a private investigator.”

  “NCIS?”

  “Naval Criminal Investigative Service. They are involved because the boy’s mother was in the navy.”

  Gilberto huffed out a laugh. “Not even the FBI. Ha, these people are of no consequence.”

  “Our contacts in Santa Ana took heavy damages. They would like the two Americans’ heads.”

  “Hmmm, good to know. I’ll keep that under advisement.” He took a drag of the cigar and blew out the fragrant smoke. “The mother still lives.”

  He nodded, wiping his palms on his pant legs. “She is in a coma. That is true. But she fought me and she fell down the stairs. I’m sorry I didn’t finish her off, but I didn’t want to attract undue attention, and getting the boy out was my number one concern.” He swallowed. Mr. Ortega sounded calm and cool. But Luis knew that wasn’t an indication of the man’s state of mind. He gave nothing away when he was pleased, when he was sad and when he was homicidal.

  Mr. Ortega leaned forward and tapped his cigar against a beautiful marble ashtray. “Get something to eat, then lay low. The authorities don’t know who you are and that is good. Let’s keep it that way. For your sake and my competent and resourceful Gabriela, your mama, I will send someone to handle the situation you botched.”

  “Yes, sir,” Luis said, his heart pounding. It was a subtle threat. Mr. Ortega would kill his mother without a second thought. But not today, it seemed.

  “Send in Mr. Flores.”

  That was his dismissal and Luis backed toward the door. “Thank you, Mr. Ortega.” He ducked outside and found Mr. Ortega’s right-hand man cleaning his fingernails with the tip of the knife he carried. It was slim and wicked-looking, the kind of weapon that killed quietly before the victim even knew it was coming. Luis should know; Francisco had taught him everything he knew.

  If Mr. Ortega was threatening in a neutral way, Francisco Flores was an overt, stone-cold blunt instrument. It was in his dead black eyes, in the square jaw and the big, but surprisingly elegant, hands. Violence was etched into every line in his face.

  Francisco didn’t look up even when Luis called his name, then cleared his throat. When Luis went to reach out to shake him, he exploded out of the chair, knocking it back against the wall. The sharp knife was against Luis’s throat before he could take his next breath. “Don’t ever touch me,” he rasped out as the razor-sharp knife nicked him.

  “No, sir.” Luis’s words wobbled. “Mr. Ortega would like to see you. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

  Flores smiled, but it never reached his eyes. “Does he? Probably to clean up your damn mess.” He removed the knife, spun it in his hand and sheathed it in a leather case on his belt. “Get the hell out of here.”

  * * *

  The moment the Montoya boy left, Gilberto’s mind started to spin. It was true the Americans might have a clue that Gilberto and his son Arturo had been on the same cruise as Lily St. John, but there was no proof that either he or his son had harmed her or taken the baby. All he had to do was tie up any loose ends and put his plan into motion. When Francisco walked into the room, Gilberto said, “Close the door. We have much to discuss.”

  Hermosillo, Mexico

  Emma woke up and in that place between waking and sleeping, she felt as if something important was missing. She opened her eyes to the unfamiliar room, then recollection flooded back to her. Derrick. She was missing his war
mth. She was on the way to Caliche, one step closer to Matty. She could almost feel the little boy’s presence. Could Gilberto have brought him someplace nearby?

  She slipped out of bed and took a shower, then got dressed. It was early, but Emma was ready to take the next steps to get Matty back.

  She exited her room and paused in the hallway. She could already hear Derrick’s voice from downstairs, the fluid, deep tones that sent shivers over her skin. She wanted to wake up to him in the morning, and she felt out of sorts still that he wouldn’t stay with her.

  At the bottom of the stairs, she almost ran into Velasco. He reached out to steady her and smiled. She stepped back, enough so that his hands fell away. “Excuse me,” she said.

  “No problem, Emma.”

  “I would love some coffee,” she said to get him to move out of the way. Derrick and Inspector Reyes were seated at the table with a map of the area spread out before them.

  She walked across the room, her eyes on Derrick. He looked good, rested at least. So he had slept. She wished she could just touch him. Even a caress along his broad shoulders would be good, but she adhered to his wishes. He rose and grabbed a mug from a cupboard and poured her a cup, grabbing the half-and-half from the fridge.

  Coming back to the table, he set the mug down.

  She took a sip and sighed. She looked at Derrick and got a little lost in his eyes for a moment as his greeting was wordless and private.

  He looked down then over to Reyes. “Jorge was just talking about the town and the lay of the land around here. I’ll let him finish.”

  “As I told your colleague, Caliche is located about twenty-eight miles from the capital city of Morelia. It’s an aristocratic colonial city, whereas Caliche is a colonial town, which still remains true to its roots. For the most part it’s peaceful, except for drug lords who might like to set up their compound just outside the city’s limits. People around here are very friendly and don’t mix with the cartels. Los Equis likes it that way and makes sure to keep the people around here in line with violence. For the most part the town is peaceful and safe. That’s why they get plenty of tourists and even some retired Americans.”

  “Let’s go get some breakfast, then talk to the local police. They might have some information on the Ortegas we can use. But just as a warning, the moment we start asking questions, it could get rough. So we need to be very careful who we talk to.”

  “As in, corruption runs rampant?” Derrick said.

  “Very much so. They have an endless flow of cash at their disposal, that and intimidation. The threat of violence is real not only to the individual but also their whole families. Some people find it safer and easier to give in to the demands of the cartel.”

  They left the house, got into one of the two sedans and drove into town. Emma could easily understand why this area of Mexico was considered the most beautiful country in the state with its panoramas of mountains and lush valleys of trees. “This is very beautiful,” Emma said.

  Velasco turned and said, “We’ll get some breakfast at the Grand Hotel, then head to the station where you can ask your questions.”

  At brunch, amongst a sizable crowd, Derrick got into a discussion with Reyes, which left her with Velasco once again. “So, Emma, I understand that you are a private investigator in the United States.”

  “Yes, I handle many standard cases.”

  “How is it that you are involved in this case? It seems a dangerous mission for a beautiful woman.”

  “I’m quite capable of handling myself, Agent Velasco.”

  “Ah, no, I have requested that you call me Santiago. We will be working close together. This I believe is true. You are capable. Is this because you have been to Mexico before and are good at kidnapping cases?”

  “That, and the infant that was taken is my nephew.”

  His brows rose. “Oh, that is very personal. It must be a difficult time for you.”

  “It is. My sister was injured in the abduction of my nephew.”

  “That also is very unfortunate, but the cartel doesn’t care much for life. They are indiscriminate when it comes to protecting their business and keeping their stranglehold over their drug routes into the United States. What could they possibly want with your nephew?”

  “I wish I knew. It’s something we are looking to discover.” His personal interest in her might stem from his overt romantic advances, but could also be a way to gather information. Derrick said to trust no one. How could they be sure either of these officials was trustworthy? Just because they were assigned by the government didn’t mean they had been uncorrupted by the cartels.

  After they finished breakfast, Emma joined Derrick in the backseat of the sedan. “What was that all about?” he said, keeping his voice low.

  “The game of Twenty Questions? I don’t know. Maybe he just likes me. Is that so far-fetched?”

  “No,” he said warmly, brushing the back of her hand briefly and out of sight of the two officials in the front seat. “It’s not from where I’m sitting.”

  Just the touch of his hand made her heart falter.

  “We have to keep our guard up.”

  “Believe me. I have no interest in Velasco. He’s much too pretty,” she whispered for his ears only.

  Derrick chuckled. “Is that so?”

  She gave him a cheeky grin. Even with Velasco’s looks, it was Derrick her eyes got snagged on; Derrick who completely swamped her senses whenever he was near her. She worked at getting her composure back. “Don’t worry. I think you’re pretty, too.”

  “Well, one of us has to be, in this partnership.”

  That made her laugh, and she swiped at his shoulder. They both sobered as they approached the police station. It was on one of the main highways leaving Caliche, an adobe structure with a red tiled roof. Marked cars were parked out front and in the parking lot adjacent to the building.

  Once inside and after checking at the front desk, they were ushered deeper inside and into the office of the police commissioner.

  He greeted them, and when they asked about the Ortegas, his eyes narrowed. But he gave them a name of a person who might help them. He was one of the stall owners in the marketplace. They thanked him and headed toward the central plaza.

  “Stay close,” Reyes said as they exited the car and headed into the dense crowd. In the main square, called La Plaza Grande, there were places to buy ice cream, fresh fruit, vegetables, fish and meats as well as herbal medicines and local crafts. Just on the fringes, street performers played instruments and some juggled.

  The place was packed, vendors lining the square. Their guy was in the back, hawking Catrina dolls, figurines that depicted a woman with a skeleton head and boney hands. One of the dolls was holding a bouquet of marigolds, a Mexican symbol for death. It seemed they had come to the right place.

  In Spanish, Reyes said, “Antonio Guzman?”

  The man stiffened and said, “Yes, I am Antonio. What is it you want?”

  “A few words,” Reyes said. He turned to a woman behind him and said, “Watch the booth. I will be right back.”

  Antonio moved off to the side, the crowd still thick. “What is it I can do for you? You smell like Federales.”

  “We are officials from the government, but these are Americans. They want to ask you a few questions about the Ortegas.”

  Antonio’s eyes widened. “The Ortegas? Are you out of your mind? Why would you go anywhere near them? They will kill you as soon as look at you.”

  “We’re looking for an infant boy. Dark hair, nine months old. He would have arrived sometime within the last day or two,” Emma said, her heart in her throat. If he had any knowledge about the baby, it would give them a head start at where to begin looking.

  “An infant boy? One of Arturo’s? Hard to believe he’d want anyth
ing to do with a baby. He is too busy partying.”

  “The boy was kidnapped and taken from the US. These agents are here to recover him. If you have any information, it would be helpful if you tell us now. We wouldn’t want your permit to come under scrutiny.”

  The shop owner sighed. “I have heard of the arrival of a baby boy. It’s been hushed up, but I have ears everywhere.”

  “Where is he?” Emma said, taking a step forward.

  A gunshot exploded and the man stopped talking as blood blossomed on his forehead, and he fell backward. People started screaming and Emma turned to find a man who looked like her sister’s attacker standing there in plain sight. He smiled, turned and ran.

  She couldn’t let him get away. He was the key they needed to lock up Gilberto for good. He would also have information on Matty. She sprinted after him. Derrick called out her name, but Emma didn’t slow down. She chased him across the plaza, bumping into people in general panic. Her eyes on his fleeing form, she cut across the manicured bushes and splashed through a fountain.

  He fired at her and missed. She continued after him until he disappeared around a bend. She pursued him and then skidded to a halt. A pickup truck filled with men toting automatic weapons halted at the curb.

  Derrick reached her and said, “Come on.” She had no choice, and deep-seated anger settled in her. He gripped her hand tightly. The warmth of it seeped into her, and she banked her anger. They would have another shot at them.

  He guided her around a group. Her gaze moved rapidly over the crowd, her senses jumping, and then she glanced at Derrick. His attention was far ahead. She followed it. Men were coming this way, ignoring the festivities, the people. They stood out easily with their Santa Muerte tats on their forearms.

  Derrick spun her and had her against the wall in a heartbeat, his body covering hers as he drew his weapon and turned. He fired just as the wall above his head splintered. They dropped, chips of stucco sprinkling over them. He didn’t waste a moment, pulling her along with him, past storefronts and cafés, his pistol tucked to his stomach.