He slipped off the hood and took his bearings. They’d left him in a narrow alley by a dumpster. That felt cruelly symbolic. He tossed the hood and walked out to the street, one hundred thousand to the good. The van was long gone, but he recognized the shopfronts. It was his neighborhood. Thoughtful of them. All things considered, he’d had worse bosses. Shouldering the duffel bag, he limped double-time back to his house.
Before going inside, he hid the duffel bag behind a clump of bushes until he knew for certain the house was empty. That done, he went back inside with the bag. There was a cubbyhole in the laundry room behind the stacked washer-dryer. Gibson waggled it out from the wall and stowed the duffel bag along with his passport and the few irreplaceable artifacts from his old life—a couple of his father’s books, his old Phillies baseball cap, photos of his daughter. Even after he put money aside for his ex-wife, there would be enough left to start over again somewhere else.
Upstairs, he ran the shower and peeled off his running clothes. His bloody sock went in the trash. In the shower, the dried blood washed away to reveal an ankle turning a royal purple and black. It was a miracle that it was unbroken and he could still walk on it.
Hendricks yanked open the shower curtain. It looked like his suit had been tie-dyed with him wearing it. The swirl of color was almost comically bright. Not that Hendricks was in a laughing mood. “What the hell happened to you? Been looking all over for your sorry ass.”
Gibson gaped but managed not to slip and fall. Partly surprise, mostly uncertainty as to what to tell Hendricks. The consequences for revealing Dol5 to Baltasar Alves had been made painfully clear. Gibson realized that telling Hendricks was tantamount to telling the others, and he didn’t know if he could count on Jenn or George to keep it in-house. So when he opened his mouth to answer, the lie tumbled out.
He told Hendricks that he’d gone over to the café for a sandwich—that much was true. He left out the panel van, the hood, or any mention of the conversation with Dol5. Instead, he said that when the shooting started, he’d slipped out the back and made a run for it down the ravine behind the café. He wasn’t sure how convincing he was being, so he let the conditioner run into his eyes as he told the story. It gave him cover to look away and rinse his face. Gibson wasn’t crazy about the way the story painted him as a coward who would abandon his friends, but he didn’t see another way . . . at least for now.
Hendricks took in his story in silence and let out an unimpressed whistle when it was over.
“That the story you’re going with?”
Gibson suddenly felt foolish and very naked. “For now.”
Hendricks rubbed at the corner of his eye and then examined his fingernails for dried paint. “I got to be worried about you?”
“People keep asking me that.”
“You keep worrying people.”
“No more than usual,” Gibson said.
“You understand how that doesn’t put my mind at ease?”
That was fair. Gibson said, “How about I let you know when you should worry more than usual?”
“All right, then,” said Hendricks. “Do me a favor, though. Tighten up your story some before Luisa gets here. English ain’t her first language, but even she’s not going to buy it.”
“Any suggestions?”
“Yeah, at least say they came after you and you had to make a run for it. That way you won’t sound like such a chickenshit.”
“That’s not bad, thanks,” Gibson said and changed the subject. “How did you get out?”
“I didn’t. One second, I thought we were cooked. Those boys opened up on us with an arsenal. Turned that paint shop into a sieve.” Hendricks gestured to his paint-splattered suit. “Next thing I knew, they’d stopped and pulled back. Almost like they’d got what they’d come for.”
“Weird,” Gibson said.
“Yeah . . . weird.”
“Glad you’re all right, though.”
“Ruined my damned suit.”
“Doesn’t look so bad.”
Hendricks started to retort but stopped himself. Instead, he said, “George and Jenn ran into some trouble too.”
Gibson played dumb. “Are they okay?”
“They’re on their way now. I’ll let them know you’re in one piece.”
“Appreciate it.”
“Whatever. I need to change clothes,” Hendricks said, closing the bathroom door.
Gibson toweled off and put on clean clothes. It was a small thing, but he felt a million times better. Never underestimate the power of a long, hot shower. He limped downstairs, drawn by the smell of food. His stomach growled—Dol5 had kidnapped him before he’d eaten his sandwich. Gibson found everyone crowded into the kitchen. It was a strangely domestic scene. Jenn and Hendricks stood over the stove. Platters of food were arranged on the counter. It wasn’t fancy but would do the job. Luisa’s men stood around with plates held up to their chins, shoveling food robotically into their mouths. Their eyes were glassy and unfocused like a boxer between rounds who had been knocked down and saved only by a lucky bell.
It had not been a good morning for Team Alves.
Gibson asked Jenn if there was anything he could do to help. She put him on coffee detail and clapped him on the back, all tension between them forgotten momentarily at the relief that neither had been hurt.
“Had me worried there,” Jenn said.
“Figured you’d have another tracker sewn into my bag.”
“Not this time,” she said with a smile at the inside joke. If Hendricks had told her that he didn’t believe Gibson’s story, she didn’t let on.
“Heard you had a situation yourself.”
“Well, at least I didn’t ruin my suit.”
Hendricks frowned. “Okay, both of you can go screw yourselves. It was a good suit.”
“It’s gone to a better place now,” Jenn said.
Gibson put his hand over his heart somberly.
“I’ve never hated anyone as much as I hate the pair of you,” Hendricks said and turned back to the stove.
Jenn nudged Hendricks in the back, but he ignored her resolutely. Gibson felt suddenly happy to be surrounded by his people. He had flown to Europe to join them. They’d shared a home. But for six months, they had lived parallel lives that rarely intersected. He had tried organizing dinners to bring the four of them together, but someone always found an excuse to cancel. Gibson thought he understood. They were each the other’s reminder of all they’d lost. Being together made forgetting the past impossible. Or what had brought them here. So it felt appropriate that it had taken an audacious drug heist to get them all in the same room.
Gibson made a fresh pot of coffee and fixed himself a plate. At the kitchen table, George was deep in conversation with Luisa and Anibal. They beckoned Gibson to join them. Anibal watched him through venetian-blind eyes.
“Some day, huh?” Gibson said, setting down his plate and sliding into a chair opposite.
“Good to see you,” George said.
Luisa asked how Gibson had escaped from the gunfight at the hardware store. He walked her through his story, embellishing it with Hendricks’s editorial suggestions. Must have told it better the second time through because, when he finished, Luisa didn’t have him dragged outside and pistol-whipped. It didn’t hurt that Hendricks interjected color commentary, bolstering his account. Even so, he was glad Jenn was standing behind him. It always made him feel bad to lie to her face.
Luisa studied him across the table. “My uncle is waiting for me. I should have left already, but I wanted to talk to you first.”
“What about?”
“I need your help.”
That was ironic because Gibson needed to help her too. He knew the reason for his change of heart—it was hidden behind the washing machine downstairs. He was less clear as to her motives.
“Why? I thought you didn’t want anything to do with us. You made that point pretty explicitly this morning. I’m the crazy one, right?”
/>
“I apologize for my choice of words,” Luisa said.
“No offense, but I don’t give a damn about your choice of words. What changed?”
“My uncle is waiting for an update. I have to look him in the eye and admit that the Romanians have outmaneuvered me. At every turn. In every way. That I am failing him, and that we are running out of time,” Luisa said and paused. “It will not be pleasant.”
The Romanians. In Luisa’s mind, they remained the obvious culprits. Gibson knew better, but he could see how she had drawn that conclusion.
George spoke up. “Luisa and I have been talking. We both agree that it is in neither of our interest that this hijacking scheme come off. Neither is it in our interest that the four of us become enmeshed in her affairs beyond that. Gibson, I know you have expressed concerns that this might happen. She has given her word that it will not.”
“Oh, well, that’s a monumental relief,” Gibson said.
Luisa glossed over his sarcastic tone. “You saw something at the cannery. Were you able to confirm your suspicions after I left?”
“No, I need to see your uncle’s computer guy. Apparently, he’s at Fernando’s hotel.”
“That is correct. I wanted him safely out of sight until this crisis was resolved,” Luisa said.
“Well, we were heading there but got sidetracked by the paint-store fiasco.”
“That was his idea,” Anibal said, pointing at Hendricks.
“Oh, now this shit is my idea again,” Hendricks snapped. “You sure you ain’t from LA?”
“You found the receipt on the can.”
“That wasn’t what you told Baltasar, now, was it?”
Anibal cursed and began to rise from his seat.
“Enough,” Luisa said. “The Romanians set their traps with great cunning. We all walked into them. No one is to blame for that.”
Hendricks and Anibal continued staring each other down before finally Hendricks chuckled and turned back to the stove. Reluctantly, Anibal took his seat.
“So why are you telling me all this?” asked Gibson. “I already agreed to help Baltasar this morning.”
“Because I know you don’t approve. That you’re only going along to support your friends. But I need more than that. Especially if you saw something that might help.”
It was the second time today that someone had tried to inspire him. Who knew he had so many amateur life coaches concerned about his level of motivation?
“You mean rescue your massive pile of narcotics?”
Luisa took a breath. “Did George tell you how my uncle came into power here?”
“Yeah, it’s quite a story.”
“I understand your cynicism. Perhaps it is self-serving that I think of my uncle as a hero, but to me he did an incredible thing. Yes, he is a criminal. So am I. But do you have any idea how much money Baltasar cost himself in choosing to protect the Algarve?”
“Come on. He looks like he’s got enough money.”
“Oh, he does, without question, but how often has enough ever been enough? Power is a strange thing. It is the only appetite that grows the more it is fed. Sometimes, the best we can do is to not take everything.”
“You’re right,” Gibson said. “That is self-serving.”
“I have a child’s memory of how bad it was before 2001. The decision by the government to decriminalize was an experiment born of desperation. One that many, both here and abroad, predicted would end in catastrophe. Now, almost twenty years later, Portugal has among the lowest rates of addiction anywhere in Europe. But that is not the whole story here in the Algarve. My mother had cocaine in her blood when she died. Did George tell you that too?”
“No, he didn’t tell me that.”
“Baltasar never kept what he was from me. I sat on his knee and listened while he and George conceived the plan to remake the Algarve. At the time, Baltasar represented only one of several competing syndicates here in the Algarve. Some saw decriminalization as an invitation to expand operations, but my uncle saw things differently. His gift has always been anticipating change before anyone else. Seeing how it will affect business. He recognized what the government’s policy would do for Portugal. Rather than fight it, he proposed that we embrace it.
“It was not a popular direction among all the syndicates. We are well compensated by the Mexicans. But we are not as prosperous as we would otherwise be. Not as feared. So it required great strength and persuasion to unite the Algarve behind his vision.” She put a hand on Anibal’s shoulder. “Anibal was the first. He took a huge risk joining my uncle. But his example helped the others see the wisdom of avoiding open war. And to see that the protection Baltasar offered from the police was more valuable than the higher profits offered by the drug trade,” Luisa said and paused, collecting herself before going on. “My uncle has held the line for over fifteen years. Kept the peace. Until this morning. This morning has put all that in jeopardy. Our arrangement with the cartel, the peace, everything. And it has happened on my watch.”
It was a good story, but Gibson didn’t know what she hoped to accomplish by telling it. Did she think her uncle deserved a shiny new halo for passing Portugal’s drug problem on to the rest of Europe? Simply because he was the least bad criminal wasn’t a good enough reason for being his stooge. Not to Gibson. Of course, it wasn’t lost on him that an hour ago he had agreed to help an anonymous hacker crew iron out their ransomware operation. Was he really so naïve as to think Dol5 was a Robin Hood? Stealing only from criminals? That once their tactics were perfected, they wouldn’t set their ransomware loose on a noncriminal target? Maybe not, but they weren’t at the moment, so they made for better allies than Baltasar.
The irony was that, in agreeing to help the hackers, he’d be working to find a way out for Baltasar. Didn’t mean he actually had to disarm the shipment if he managed to figure out how. He could always pass his report on to the hackers and leave Baltasar to face the music. That was Gibson’s first choice, because then George, Jenn, and Hendricks would have no choice but to quit screwing around and move on. What he couldn’t anticipate was how the fall of Baltasar Alves would affect them. Whether they would be able to extricate themselves without the blame falling on their shoulders. Push came to shove, he could trade anything he found for an exit pass. In the meantime, he would play the good soldier. Just not too good.
“What are you offering?”
Luisa steeled herself. “I will remember my manners, and you will have gained an ally. Help me, and afterward, if you wish to leave the Algarve, I will make it happen. And if you wish to stay on, as you are now, I will make your stay comfortable.”
“I think that’s a very generous offer,” George said, looking directly at Gibson—malcontent number one.
Gibson thought about playing hard to get, worried that if he rolled over too quickly she would become suspicious. But Luisa Mata was desperate enough to humble herself to a crazy man. Judging by her expression, she found it incredibly humiliating. She was beyond questioning his motives.
“I can live with that,” Gibson said.
Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
Luisa said, “Good. Then tell me why you need to speak to Dani Coelho. Give me something positive to take to my uncle. Do you think he is involved?”
“Not at this point, but I do think you’ve been hacked. I think that’s how the hijackers knew so much about your security.”
“Impossible. Our internal communications are encrypted.”
“Maybe, but maybe not well enough. Is that cannery the hub of your computer network?”
Luisa’s eyes narrowed. “Yes. How did you know that?”
“Because otherwise Anibal wouldn’t have kicked up such a fuss when I asked for access to the server closet. I need to talk to Dani Coelho, and I need him to give me access to your servers.”
“How much access?” Luisa asked.
“Do you want results, or don’t you?”
She nodded grudgingly. “A
nibal and Tomas will take you to see him. George, would you accompany me to see my uncle?”
“Why?” Jenn asked warily.
“Because my uncle trusts George more than he currently trusts any of us. Myself included. I would appreciate his presence when I relay my lack of progress.”
“Then I’m coming with him,” Jenn said. “That’s nonnegotiable.”
“As you wish.”
“I’m gonna stick with Gibson,” said Hendricks. “Keep an eye on things. If that’s all right with you.”
“You’re going to be bored,” Gibson said.
“Are you kidding? Boredom’s my preferred state.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
It was late afternoon when Gibson and Hendricks, escorted by Anibal and Tomas, arrived at the Hotel Mariana. The restaurants that circled the top of the cliff were overrun by hungry tourists, and harried waiters darted between tables. Looking over the retaining wall at the beach down below, Gibson saw that most of the debris from the storm had been cleared away. He could still trace the remnants across the beach like a scar, but the people below were too busy having a good time to notice. Sunbathers were packed together like seals. Young people played volleyball. Soccer balls whistled back and forth. Swimmers bobbed rhythmically in the surf. Farther out, parasailing boats pulled tourists across a cloudless sky. It could have been any day for the last few months. Vacationers came, vacationers went, but they all spent their days the same way. How did they know how to do that?
Hendricks strolled up. He had traded in his ruined suit for more casual clothes. “We holding you up?”
“You know, I’ve been here six months. Haven’t once gone in the ocean.”
“That is a tragedy,” Hendricks deadpanned. “But I don’t know if this is the time.”
“Just looks nice, you know? Look at them. I’ve never been parasailing.”
“Parasailing sucks,” Hendricks said solemnly. “Get pulled around like a sucker. Just another dope on the end of a line with no control. Got enough of that in our lives already, don’t you think?”
“Why’d you cover for me back there?”
“Because you’ve turned into a terrible liar, and you needed the help.” Hendricks put a hand on Gibson’s shoulder. “Seriously, you’re the worst.”
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