Debris Line (Gibson Vaughn)

by Matthew Fitzsimmons

  “What do we know?” George asked.

  The four compared notes, but none knew anything the others didn’t. George asked for hypotheses, and they speculated that the FBI could have found them. But that didn’t explain the obviously heightened security or the presence of all three lieutenants.

  “How often are they all in the same room together?” Jenn asked.

  “Rarely,” George answered.

  “I don’t think this has anything to do with us,” Gibson said.

  “And yet here we are,” Hendricks said.

  “Here we are,” Jenn agreed.

  Luisa quashed whatever objections the three lieutenants harbored. Neither looked pleased, and Gibson had the impression they were choosing their words with the utmost care, while Anibal remained silent.

  Satisfied, Luisa went and whispered in Baltasar’s ear. He looked in their direction and nodded. With a single crooked finger, she beckoned them to join him.

  Hendricks muttered, “This is how cattle get led to the slaughter.”

  For once, he and Gibson were ordering from the same side of the menu.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Baltasar greeted George, ignored the others. The two men shook hands and shared a meaningful embrace. “Thank you for coming, my friend,” Baltasar said, voice full of gratitude, as if he’d given them any choice in the matter.

  “Of course,” George replied with a relaxed smile, all traces of concern tucked safely away.

  Baltasar took the seat at the head of an enormous conference table, Luisa to his left. When Baltasar had unified the Algarve under his control, Anibal had been the first to join him. That broke the standoff between Baltasar and the syndicates—Peres followed suit a few days later, leaving Silva, the lone holdout, no option but to bend the knee. Consequently, Anibal took the seat to Baltasar’s right, second only to Luisa. Silva and Peres took the next two seats. Then George, Jenn, Hendricks, and Gibson at the far end.

  From a distance, Baltasar Alves had looked much as Gibson had remembered. Sitting across a table from him, however, Gibson saw how much he had wasted away in only six months. He reminded Gibson of a drawing on an old chalkboard that had been half-heartedly erased. The lines of his face looked blurred and indistinct. His eyes were set back in hollow craters like pinpoints of black water at the bottom of a quarry.

  “How are you and your people?” Baltasar asked. “You have everything you need?” It was less a question than a reminder of all that Baltasar had done for them.

  George said, “You know how grateful we are for the hospitality you’ve shown us.”

  “It was the least I could do. You’ve always been a true friend.”

  That was the second time Baltasar had called him “friend.” Gibson watched the dance between the two men with fascination. Not one honest word had been spoken, but the nature of their lies told the story to anyone who knew how to read it. Baltasar was softening George up for something.

  Baltasar said, “We have a bit of a situation this morning. As I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

  “Security does seem a little stepped up,” George said.

  “Simply a precaution. You are in no immediate danger, I assure you.”

  Somehow, Gibson didn’t feel reassured.

  “Why are we here, my friend?” George asked.

  Gibson saw Luisa shift subtly forward in her seat. She’d been telling the truth—she was as much in the dark as they were. The three lieutenants too. What did that mean? Gibson wondered. Why was Baltasar playing this so close to the vest, even keeping it from his own people?

  “Early this morning, one of our shipments was hijacked,” Baltasar said, underlining the word “shipment” with his tone. “Ransom demands have been issued.”

  Gibson didn’t like the sound of “shipment.” Until this moment, he’d had the impression that Baltasar’s operation was fairly minor league. Or perhaps it would be more honest to say that he’d allowed himself to hold that impression so he wouldn’t have to think too hard about the nature of the man granting them safe harbor. He willed George to ask what kind of shipment, but Baltasar was being intentionally vague, and either George was too diplomatic to press or already knew the answer.

  “These hijackers were very good. Well planned.” Baltasar looked at Luisa and his lieutenants before continuing. “Too well planned, I think. I need fresh eyes on this. You and your people, I need you to be my eyes, old friend,” Baltasar said, leaning hard on his last word for a third and final time.

  A wind-tunnel silence enveloped the room. Gibson felt Luisa staring at them, felt a swirl of anger beneath the surface of her gaze. But she hid it carefully, like a suspect disposing of the murder weapon.

  “Tio,” Luisa said. “Perhaps if we could speak in private?”

  Baltasar looked sternly at his niece. “There is no need.”

  She tried to switch into Portuguese, but Baltasar kept the conversation in English. Gibson found that interesting too. Baltasar wanted the Americans to understand.

  Frustrated, she said, “What can they tell us that we don’t already know? We know who is responsible.”

  “The Romanians? You don’t know that for certain.”

  “Who else could it be? What other enemies do we have?”

  “A question I have been asking myself all morning.”

  “Tio . . .”

  “So what would you recommend?” Baltasar asked his niece, although Gibson got the impression he already knew exactly what she would say.

  “Drive them out of the Algarve. Back to Romania where they belong. As we should have done two years ago, before they took root.”

  Gibson saw from the lieutenants’ body language that although they agreed with Luisa in principle, they didn’t like hearing it put in such stark terms. Anibal looked as if someone had switched on the stove with him in the pot.

  Baltasar’s face darkened. His niece had crossed an invisible line that Gibson couldn’t see. Some old disagreement over these Romanians, whoever they were.

  “So, war?”

  “It was a mistake to let them stay.”

  “Careful,” Baltasar said.

  “Tio—”

  Baltasar cut her off. “Do you all feel this way?” He directed the question at his lieutenants but didn’t wait for their answer. “Do you have any proof it was the Romanians? Anything concrete?”

  Luisa shook her head.

  “I’m not prepared to go to war on your hunch. War is our last resort, never our first.”

  “It’s the only language these people understand. And there isn’t much time.”

  “I know exactly how much time we have and what is at stake. This is my decision. I have known George Abe a long time. He and his people can help us do better than a hunch.”

  “How? They can’t even help themselves,” Luisa said.

  “Mind yourself. Do you know what these people have done?”

  “I don’t care what they’ve done, only what they are now.” Luisa turned to the four of them and cast a disappointed glance their way. “Do you remember when Fernando was little? How he flung his most expensive toys from the roof of the house? They shattered on the rocks below, but you wouldn’t get him new ones and forced him to play with his broken toys until he learned his lesson.”

  “I remember.”

  “These people remind me of those toys. Perhaps they were something once, but they’ve been thrown on the rocks. Look at them. A cripple. A crazy man. This one sleeps all day. And a drunk.”

  After the confrontation in the hall, Gibson expected Jenn to explode. Instead, she went stock-still. The effort at self-restraint turned her alabaster, but she held it in. Gibson could tell George was offended, by the way he interlaced his fingers and rubbed the palm of one hand with his thumb, but it would take a microscope for anyone to see it in his face. A visibly furious Hendricks stood to leave, but Jenn put a hand on his arm. Reluctantly, he sat.

  For his part, Gibson found he couldn’t muster all that much indigna
tion. He’d been making much the same case to Jenn for the last couple of months and couldn’t find fault in Luisa’s assessment, cruel though it might be. As individuals and as a unit, they were far from their best. You needed no further proof than the fact that only Hendricks rose to defend himself, and even then, only weakly. The old Hendricks would never have let himself be hushed by Jenn that way. They were all meek, pale shadows of themselves. Baltasar had to be truly desperate to turn to them for help.

  Baltasar shouted for his niece to show some respect, and the table devolved into a yelling match, with the three lieutenants joining the chorus of angry voices. The scar on Baltasar’s chest throbbed angrily as he chewed his niece out. Only Luisa reined in her temper, waiting until the others had had their say before speaking. When she did, her voice was low and full of feeling and commanded the room.

  “Tio, our organization has thrived for decades. The organization that you built. It was your vision—your genius—that made us what we are and brought the peace that we have all prospered from.”

  The three lieutenants nodded in agreement.

  “It hasn’t always been easy, but we have met every challenge. Today will be one of those days. I know that, but it is an insult to our people to bring these Americans into this. They can do nothing to help us. This matter must be handled internally. I am more than capable of taking care of this.”

  When she finished, Baltasar gathered his thoughts for a moment and then delivered the dagger. “If you were more than capable, niece, there would be nothing to take care of.”

  That stopped Luisa cold. For a moment Gibson could see the little girl who had grown up idolizing her uncle. He doubted whether many men could hurt Luisa Mata with mere words, but Baltasar Alves was one of them.

  That’s when it dawned on Gibson why Baltasar had summoned them without giving his people an explanation: he suspected the hijacking might be an inside job. That’s what he’d meant by it being too well planned. He’d orchestrated this meeting to provoke his own people. Asking for George’s help was a curveball that they could not have predicted. He’d brought them all together so that he could gauge their reactions, perhaps sniff out a traitor. It was a shrewd, calculated move. Baltasar might be a figurehead, but he was still a dangerous player. And now he’d flung Gibson and the others into this mess like chum in the water, waiting to see what predators might rise to the surface.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Before the debate could flare back to life, Baltasar dismissed Luisa, his lieutenants, and all their lackeys from the room. When they moved too slowly for his liking, Baltasar roared at them to get out. When they were finally alone, the old man’s entire demeanor shifted. Anger and disappointment disappeared as abruptly as a summer storm. Or more accurately, as Jenn saw now, it had never been there at all. He looked pleased with himself.

  “Not bad,” Baltasar said. “I should have been in movies.”

  “They looked convinced to me,” George said.

  Baltasar buttoned his shirt thoughtfully and took a sip of water. “So, what do you think?”

  “Anibal is with you.”

  “The hijacking occurred in his territory,” Baltasar said.

  “Even more indication that he had nothing to do with it. If he was going to betray you, he wouldn’t draw attention to himself that way.”

  “Yes, I see what you mean,” Baltasar said. “What about Silva and Peres?”

  “Not guilty,” George said.

  “What then?”

  “Doubt.”

  “In me?”

  George nodded. “You know as well as I do what signal this morning sends.”

  “That I am old. Vulnerable. That I was naïve for not moving against the Romanians when they first arrived.”

  “That will be the takeaway,” George said. “I don’t think Silva or Peres betrayed you, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t evaluating their options.”

  Baltasar frowned. “So, I’m auditioning for my own people’s loyalty?”

  “You didn’t buy their loyalty; you only rented it. They’ll be watching to see if you can still afford it.”

  “And Luisa? I’ve lost my objectivity where she’s concerned.”

  “As if you ever had any,” George said.

  Baltasar acknowledged the truth of what he said. “What did you see?”

  “Not a chance.”

  “Good. Thank you,” Baltasar said, although he still sounded troubled, almost as if he were disappointed that Luisa hadn’t betrayed him. Jenn wondered why. Luisa ran the Algarve for her uncle. If she hadn’t betrayed him, then it meant the shipment had been hijacked on her watch. As with Anibal, Baltasar was torn between his niece being treacherous or incompetent. Either option had consequences that left him looking weak.

  Baltasar rubbed his temples. “Do you think I should take Luisa’s advice? Hit the Romanians?”

  “I didn’t say that, but your people are looking for reassurance. If you don’t give it to them, they’ll seek it elsewhere.”

  “You really know how to cheer me up.”

  “What happened two years ago?” George asked.

  “Crackdowns,” Baltasar said. “For the last fifteen years, government crackdowns have driven Eastern European gangs west. They’ve settled in France, Greece, Germany, Spain—where the police are more restrained in their tactics. These gangs are uncivilized and amoral. An invasive species. Two years ago, a group of Romanians arrived in the Algarve. They settled in Quarteira and then came to me, asking to become partners in some new business. I declined, but they were respectful and offered to pay for protection. The city of Quarteira is of minor importance, so I allowed them to remain.”

  “Luisa disagreed?” George said.

  “Perhaps she was right,” Baltasar said. “Perhaps I have become so accustomed to peace that I’ve become afraid to risk it. If the Romanians are behind the hijacking, then I’ve doomed us. You know what will happen if I don’t get the shipment back.”

  George nodded. “The ransom? How long do you have?”

  “Midday tomorrow.”

  As the conversation unfolded, it dawned on Jenn that George had conspired with Baltasar. That she and the others had been paraded in front of the room so that the two friends could evaluate the reactions of Luisa and the lieutenants. It wasn’t the move itself that bothered her. It was a smart play—the threat of involving four American outsiders would be unexpected, and the unexpected often caused people to make mistakes. No, what bothered her was that George hadn’t confided in her. She’d been in his shoes enough to know that the reason you left people in the dark was that you didn’t trust them to play their parts.

  That stung. She would take it up with George later, but Gibson might not wait that long. He’d recognized the same thing and looked furious. That didn’t bode well. Even Gibson would admit that he had a righteous streak that he couldn’t always keep in check. She caught his eyes and pleaded silently with him to stay calm. He mouthed, “Did you know?” She shook her head. His eyes narrowed, and she shook her head again. This time he accepted it and turned his glare back on George.

  “What would you advise?” Baltasar asked.

  “Pay. If you believe they’ll hold up their end.”

  “Won’t that only succeed in making me seem even weaker to my people?”

  “It isn’t ideal, but anything would be preferable to placing a call to Mexico.”

  Baltasar nodded grimly. “Agreed, but it’s not possible. Having put a gun to my head, the hijackers have demanded a sum that I cannot raise. And they have been unreceptive to negotiation.”

  “I see,” George said. “Then your only hope is to find the hijackers. Why does Luisa believe it was the Romanians?”

  “If the shipment’s lost, my Mexican partners will be in the market for a more reliable partner. The Romanians would be happy to offer their services in my place, and the authorities will go with whoever can keep the peace.”

  “That would be a bold gambit,” George sai
d.

  “Agreed, but it’s either the Romanians or else I have a traitor inside my organization.”

  “But you have no proof the Romanians are involved.”

  “No, but they are the only ones with a motive.”

  Baltasar drifted off into thought. George took that as his cue to leave. “I hope we were of some help.” George put out his hand. Baltasar did not take it.

  “I’m afraid I need your help a little longer.”

  George’s smile remained, but its warmth vanished. “I don’t know what else we can do.”

  “Just what I told Luisa. I need you and your people to be my eyes. Get my shipment back.”

  George faltered, his hand falling back to his side. “Although I might not have phrased it as colorfully as Luisa, I have to agree with her. What can we possibly offer that she can’t? Especially if you only have thirty-six hours.”

  Baltasar checked his watch. “Twenty-eight, now.”

  “We don’t know the lay of the land, the people, nothing. We’d be starting from scratch.”

  “Then just go through the motions. Perhaps your involvement will force the hijackers into a mistake.”

  “I agreed to play along this morning, but this is not part of our arrangement.”

  “No, this is true, it is not,” Baltasar said. “Just as it wasn’t part of any arrangement that I allow you to hide here under my protection. Because there was no arrangement until we made one. Until you came to me in your hour of need. Then I took you in, you and your colleagues. And that became our arrangement.”

  “I know, and we’re grateful. But—”

  “Understand me, George. If I do not recover the shipment, then you and your people will need to find a new tree to hide beneath. Because the Mexicans will prune me, chop me down, and make a bonfire of my remains. You know what these people are capable of doing.”