by Derek Fee
Shea was sitting in the lobby wearing a pair of aviator dark glasses that must have materialised out of thin air because Moira had no recollection of having seen him with dark glasses before. He looked like what her mother used to describe as ‘the worse for wear’. His light tan was nowhere in sight and his skin had taken on the pallor of a corpse. ‘We’re all paid up and ready to leave.’ He staggered to his feet. ‘There’s a car outside ready to take us to the airport.’
‘And we’re going where?’ Moira asked. She had managed to buy some new underwear, but her clothes were beginning to support strange life forms.
‘Belize City.’ Shea looked in danger of falling over.
‘I thought we discussed this last night,’ Brendan said.
‘We did?’ Shea asked.
Brendan stood directly in front of him. ‘Yes, and we decided that enough was enough. In fact, enough was too much. Let it go, Frank.’
Shea looked at Moira. ‘That the way you feel too? Are you ready to throw in the towel?’
Moira hesitated. There was a part of her that wanted to stop. She recognised it as the part that hated getting up at unearthly hours. But another part of her didn’t want to give in until it had sat face to face with Gregory Gardiner. It had nothing to do with his dishonourable behaviour towards his family – his wife at least was probably better off without him – but the PSNI had trained her to carry the investigation to the end, no matter what it took. ‘Belize City but no farther, agreed?’
Shea smiled, his lips a thin line in his pale face.
Brendan turned to her. ‘You’re as crazy as he is.’ He started for the door. ‘Let’s not keep the car waiting.’
The flight to Belize City was scheduled to take four hours. Shea spent the first three sleeping and the last devouring the once-hot meal and coffee that had been provided by the service company at Tampa Executive. For Moira, it was another pinch-yourself moment. She had always dreamed of travelling to South America, but it was a dream that she was sure would never be attained. For a girl who had been brought up poor in the town of Coleraine in the north of Northern Ireland travelling in an executive jet was out of the question. But so were five-star hotels and meals in fancy restaurants. Moira felt completely out of her comfort zone, but somehow it felt good.
‘Do we have anyone in Belize City?’ Brendan asked.
Shea finished wolfing down a bagel. Colour had returned to his face during the flight, most noticeably when he returned from a visit to the toilet after he woke. ‘Nope.’
‘Then how do you intend to find them?’ Brendan asked. ‘Assuming that they haven’t moved on already.’
Shea cleaned the debris from his lips with a paper napkin. ‘Think like you had twenty million dollars in the bank and you’ve led a very precarious existence.’
Brendan smiled. ‘I’d want to make sure that I spent it before either it or I vanished.’
Shea made a make-believe gun with the thumb and index finger of his right hand and pulled the trigger. ‘Right first time, that’s why there was the mansion on Longboat Key, a white stretch limo and a private jet. Hernandez isn’t afraid to spend money. They’ll be in the best accommodation in Belize City, that’s if they’re still there.’ Shea looked at Moira. ‘And the best accommodation in Belize City is?’
Moira took out her phone and connected to the plane’s Wi-Fi. She played with the keyboard. ‘The Radisson Fort George Hotel and Marina,’ she said.
‘That’s where we’ll start.’
Maria Hernandez had spent the morning finalising the arrangement to fly to Placencia. There were no charters available and even the scheduled flights were made by small five-person planes. She managed to get Greg and herself onto a flight leaving the following day. Her alarm had started ringing again and she was a little disconcerted by it. There could be only one reason. Greg had warned her not to underestimate Frank Shea. Why didn’t she take that particular piece of advice? She had destroyed the file she had made on Shea, but she had committed the salient points to memory. Shea was not a violent person so there was no risk in that direction. But he was intelligent and resourceful and she had learned that a man with those attributes could be a lot more dangerous than someone holding a gun or wielding a knife. She went into the large bar area and sat in one of the wicker chairs directly facing Greg. ‘Tell me about Frank Shea.’
‘I thought that you’d researched him.’ Greg was into his first rum punch of the day. He was not enamoured with the hotel and was hoping that the villa in Placencia would be more like the place on Longboat Key.
‘I did.’ She waved at the waiter and ordered a still water. ‘But I want your opinion.’
‘Frank is probably the smartest guy I’ve ever met,’ Greg began. ‘And he’s not just book smart. He has all these degrees but beyond them he’s intuitive. He looks at a set of circumstances and he sees something there that nobody else sees. That’s why he was so successful at investing. The assholes at the SEC couldn’t believe that anyone could make the profits that his fund was making without bending the rules. That’s why they went after him. When they found nothing, they couldn’t lose face so they put him in prison. Most people in that position would leave prison with a considerable level of anger, but not Frank. He turned Devens prison into a school. He mixed with some top criminals and he learned as much as he could from them. Frank takes everything in.’
‘And women?’
‘Frank doesn’t do women.’ Greg sucked on his straw. ‘He’s like some sort of monk, all cerebral activity and nothing else.’
Hernandez was intrigued. A man who couldn’t be influenced by women was a man she wanted to meet. But not right now. She sat back and sipped her water. Maybe she would give Placencia a miss and head directly to Morocco. She hated to plan on the fly.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
T he Lear descended to ten thousand feet as it made its approach to Philip S.W. Goldson International Airport in Belize City. Moira’s first view of Central America was through gaps in the fluffy white clouds and it seemed to be composed principally of jungle, which stretched away from the coast to the horizon. She looked over at Shea and Brendan. They seemed totally nonplussed whereas she was tingling with excitement. She knew that Belize was a small country that had from time to time harboured American criminals on the run. It was also a gateway to South America, which was probably the reason why Hernandez and Gardiner had selected it as a suitable bolt-hole. The Lear made a wide sweep to the right as it came round to approach the airport from the northwest. The airport was relatively small and she noticed only a few aircraft parked in front of the low terminal building, The Lear landed and taxied away from the terminal towards a small building some three hundred feet away. They stopped and the co-pilot exited from the cockpit to open the door. ‘Welcome to Belize,’ he said as he opened the catch and dropped the stairs. The air was as steamy as it had been in Florida.
Brendan joined Moira at the bottom of the stairs. ‘We must all be crazy.’ He put his arm round her shoulder.
‘You and Shea seemed pretty much into it last night.’ She moved forward dislodging Brendan’s arm.
‘Frank was tying one on. I’ve never seen him drinking like that.’
Two men dressed in dark trousers and white shirts with the insignia ‘Immigration National’ approached them. ‘Bienvenidos a Belize.’ The man who spoke was the older of the two. ‘My name is Carlos Munoz. You are American?’
‘My friend and I are American, this lady is Irish.’
Munoz smiled widely, exposing a mouthful of large teeth. ‘Ah, I love the Irish.’ He looked at Moira. ‘You love football, yes?’
Moira returned the smile. ‘We certainly do.’
‘You have luggage?’ Munoz asked.
‘No,’ Shea walked forward. ‘We’re on a short business visit.’ He extended his hand to Munoz, who took it.
Moira could see the edge of the bills as they passed from Shea to Munoz and then into Munoz’s pocket.
Munoz’s
smile for Shea was even wider than the one he’d bestowed on Moira. ‘Please give me your passports and follow me. You need a car?’
Shea nodded.
Munoz started walking towards the small building. ‘My brother will have one outside when we have dispensed with the formalities.’
The building that Munoz led them to was the reception for VIP arrivals. Moira was glad to be in the world of air-conditioning again. They were offered a selection of soft drinks while Munoz typed their details into a computer and stamped their passports.
Munoz handed back the passports. ‘I hope your business in Belize is successful.’
‘So do we,’ Brendan said.
There was a new Chevy Equinox outside the building as they exited. A man who could have been Munoz’s double was standing at the open rear door. ‘Looks like our ride,’ Shea said, waving Moira into the rear seat. He followed behind her. Brendan was left with a choice of squashing into the rear or sitting comfortably up front. He chose the latter option with as little good grace as he could muster.
‘Where to?’ the driver asked.
‘Radisson Saint George,’ Moira said.
Hernandez was busy looking up flights to Marrakesh or any other city in Morocco. There was nothing until the next day, even in first or business class. She was aware that they should be on the move, but choosing Belize had boxed them into a corner.
‘What’s up, baby?’ Greg leaned over her shoulder and saw what she was doing.
She recoiled slightly. He smelled like a rum distillery. ‘We need to get out of here.’ What she meant was that she needed to get out. When you’re running, there’s only time to think of yourself.
‘Christ, we’ve only just arrived.’ The excitement of being on the run had already worn off. There was twenty million dollars out there and it had been Greg’s plan from the start to live large.
Hernandez’s shoulders slumped. Something told her that it was already too late. It would not be the first time that she had faced the inevitable. Courage was something she had never lacked. As if on cue, the phone in the room started ringing. She picked up the receiver and listened. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘We’d be delighted.’
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
M oira, Shea and Brendan were sitting on a couch in the bar. In front of each sat a Belikin beer. They hadn’t spoken other than to order from the waiter. In the end it had been easy. The receptionist had identified the lady in the photo on Moira’s phone and given Moira the room number. When she had phoned the room, Moira had been surprised by the calm in Hernandez’s voice. It was going to be an interesting meeting. Shea was lying back on the couch. The burst of energy he’d had as soon as the plane landed had dissipated and the aviator shades had made another appearance. All three looked up as they were joined by Hernandez and Gardiner. Shea deigned to remove his shades. Hernandez was dressed in a salmon-pink summer dress, which complemented her deep tan and slim body. Her dark hair was fashionably cut and hung in curls about her shoulders. Her face was totally symmetrical with brown eyes that shined, a perfect nose and high cheekbones. She was even more beautiful in the flesh than in the photo.
Greg sat down facing Shea. He was dressed in a white cotton shirt and white pants. His face was lightly tanned but flushed, and despite his attempt at cool international playboy he still had the demeanour of the shy accountant. ‘Hi Frank,’ he said simply.
Shea ignored the greeting. He turned to Hernandez. ‘Hi Maria, I prefer to start with the organ grinder. We can deal with the monkey later.’
Hernandez smiled. She picked up Shea’s beer and drank from the bottle. ‘Tastes like cat’s piss.’ She replaced the bottle. ‘So, Frank,’ she emphasised the name. ‘What can we do for you?’
Shea had sat in the boardroom of many corporations and dealt with many psychopathic CEOs who could maintain a perfect sang-froid, Hernandez would be comfortable in their company. ‘I’m beginning to ask myself the same question,’ Shea said. ‘Why don’t I start by introducing my colleagues?’
‘The attractive lady with the red hair,’ Hernandez said before Shea could speak. ‘Is Detective Sergeant Moira McElvaney, currently on leave from the Police Service of Northern Ireland. I’m not up to date on your other colleague.’
‘He’s professor Brendan Guilfoyle from Harvard University,’ Shea said.
Hernandez stared at Brendan. ‘Psychologist.’
‘Impressive,’ Shea said.
Hernandez smiled at him. ‘It’s my job and, if anything, I am a professional. And so are you Frank Shea, MIT degrees, former head honcho of the Prometheus hedge fund, criminal inside trader, felon and now what? You and I have a lot in common, Frank. We’re both smart, we’ve both been inside and we both love money and don’t care how we make it.’
‘I beg to disagree,’ Shea removed her rap sheet from his pocket. ‘I don’t doubt that you’re smart.’ He laid the sheet in front of Greg. ‘But I’ve never been a prostitute or worked my way up the hustler hierarchy.’ He could see Greg reading Hernandez’s criminal history.
Hernandez looked over at the list of her crimes. She didn’t recognise the photo at the top of the sheet. She knew it was her, but it seemed like a totally different person. She looked back at Shea. He had a kindly face, no sign of animosity, and he wasn’t after the money. ‘I’m out front. When I hustle you I tell you that I’m offering you something for nothing when in fact I’m giving you nothing for something. The people in your office called up clients and peddled stocks that they knew were crap. I hustle people who can afford to lose money. You and people like you hustle widows and orphans and anyone with a few lousy bucks in their pockets. Enough of the pleasantries, you guys are not the law. There are no warrants out on me or Greg. What exactly are we trying to do here?’
Shea drank his beer. She had a point. ‘As far as Greg’s wife and children are concerned he is missing, perhaps dead. Jean asked me to find out what happened to her husband and that’s what I’ve done.’ He turned to the man in question. ‘So, Greg, what do you think of your travelling companion now?’
Greg ripped up the rap sheet and spread the shards of papers across the table. ‘That’s what I think of this crap. I love her and that’s all that counts. You’ve wasted your time and energy on me because I’m not going back.’
‘You think you’re the first man she’s been with?’ Shea asked.
Greg laughed. ‘Good God no, I’m not that stupid. I don’t care if she’s been with fifty or a hundred men. Like I told you, I love her and I’m happy to be with her right now.’
‘You’ve served your purpose,’ Moira interjected. ‘If the shit ever hits the fan, and the shit will hit the fan, you’re the one the aggrieved marks are going to come looking for. They don’t even know she’s involved. She’s effectively pinned a target to your back.’
‘I don’t care,’ Greg said. ‘I only want to ensure that nothing happens to her.’
‘She’s dumped every other man she’s been with,’ Shea said. ‘Those that aren’t on the breadline are in prison. Meanwhile, she’s living the five-star life. You’re going to end up running a cantina in Sinaloa.’
Hernandez burst out laughing.
‘I’ll be a damn sight happier running a cantina than going back to Concord,’ Greg said. ‘You were sitting in your big office in some tower or other making millions of dollars while I was sitting in a shithole in Concord listening to the bleating of all those moms and pops who set up their business without thinking whether they had the acumen for it. Take a look at my accounts receivable. Tell Jean to collect as much as she can from them.’
‘What else do I tell her?’ Shea asked.
‘Tell her to get a life. I have.’
‘And your children, what do I tell them?’
For an instant Greg dropped his hard demeanour. ‘Tell them I’m sorry, but it’s for their own good. I don’t love their mother and us staying together would have poisoned all our lives.’
Shea took out his phone and made a call.
‘David, is the Lear fuelled?’ He listened for a moment. ‘As soon as we can.’
‘Are we done here?’ Hernandez asked.
‘We’ll tell what we know to the police,’ Moira said.
Hernandez fixed her gaze on her. ‘Spoken like a true member of the law fraternity. And they’ll do what? You have evidence of a con, but none of the marks are going to authenticate that evidence. Go home. Tomorrow Greg and I will be gone from Belize. In six months, there’ll be no sign of us. The arm of the law is long, but they have to find us first.’ She stood up, closely followed by Greg. ‘Hasta luego.’
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
M oira shuffled uneasily at the rear of the lecture theatre. Down in the heart of the auditorium, Brendan was explaining the process of questioning a suspect. He was at his most entertaining, but she was totally bored. How many suspects had she already questioned? Hundreds certainly. She tried to bring her mind back to what Brendan was saying, but it continually wandered. She felt the pulsing of her phone in her pocket. She took it out and looked at the screen. It was Shea. She hadn’t heard from him since their return from Belize. The message on the screen was simple: Lunch? She looked into the well of the auditorium. She wanted to answer yes, but she wondered whether that would be disloyal to Brendan. Their relationship had returned to what she considered normal. They were good together, but she still hadn’t decided on the future. She concluded that loyalty to Brendan shouldn’t include refusing lunch when she wanted to accept. She typed ‘OK’ into the answer bubble. Brendan had turned on a real-life video and the class was watching a suspect being questioned by a couple of beefy police detectives. Moira ignored the video; her concentration was on her phone. It vibrated and the screen read: R.F. O’Sullivan and Son, 282 Beacon St, one o’clock. Moira looked at her watch. It was coming up to twelve and the end of Brendan’s lecture. If she was still here when he finished, he might suggest lunch or coffee at least. She slipped quietly out the rear of the lecture theatre.