Bloodline

by Jeff Buick

  “Recycling,” he said. “And thanks for everything.”

  “No. Thank you.”

  Eugene exited The Arabian Nights and headed in the direction the clerk had indicated. He walked the two blocks to the post office, but no cab was at the curb. He glanced around. A handwritten note was attached to a telephone post that was beside a bench. It read, “Had to take Mrs. Murphy home. Will be back in five minutes.” Eugene laughed at the simplicity of small-town life. He sat on the bench and looked up and down the street. Nothing happening. Most stores were now closed, and there was no foot traffic. He stared at the piece of paper in his hand, at the name and address he had written at the top of page, at the picture of Pablo and then, because he had nothing better to do, read the text. About halfway through the article, he sat bolt upright. He read it again and again. That couldn’t be right. The date Pablo left the prison, the date the Galeano and Moncada brothers were murdered. No, something was wrong. Something was very wrong. Unless…

  Then it all snapped into place, and for the first time he saw the whole picture. What had been a murky quagmire of deception and lies was now painfully clear. He knew who was in tight with Pablo. And he knew why. It was all so simple once the veneer of lies was stripped away. He spotted a phone booth just across the street, and walked over to it. He dialed the number of the hotel and asked for a guest by name. The receptionist put the call through and a voice answered. The voice he knew would answer.

  “It took a while,” he said, “but now it all makes sense. I know why you’re Pablo’s accomplice, and I can prove it.” Then he hung up.

  The figure calmly set the phone in the cradle, then picked it up and dialed another number. Pablo Escobar answered.

  “He’s figured it out. And I suspect he’s on his way to see you.”

  “When?”

  “Now.”

  “Thank you,” Pablo said and hung up.

  Chapter Fifty-nine

  An hour after her tumble from the duct to the concrete floor, Julie Escobar’s head was feeling better. She suspected she had suffered a minor concussion, but definitely had broken no bones. She’d been very lucky, considering the drop. Shiara had helped her drag a bin used for storing glycol directly beneath the window. Standing on the hard plastic container, they could look out the window into the rear garden. A grove of bushes was planted close to the window, and they figured getting out the window without being noticed would be fairly easy. Although the low bushes were an asset in one way, they were a liability in another. They blocked the view. Julie and Shiara had no idea of what lay beyond them.

  The window itself wasn’t barred, but a padlock secured the sliding portion. Julie found a real screwdriver in a tool kit on one of the shelves, and spent fifteen minutes gouging out the wood from around the lock. When she had weakened the wood base in which the screws were embedded, she levered the metal with the tip of the screwdriver until it gave way. She set the lock on the far side of the jamb and slid open the window. It was her first breath of fresh air in two weeks, and the sweet taste and fragrance almost floored her. She drank in the air, then hoisted herself up and out the window. Staying low, she crawled to the edge of the bushes and peered out. In front of her was an expanse of open grass, perhaps fifty feet across. Beyond that was a small hump-backed bridge and then a grove of mango trees. If they could make it to the trees, they would have some cover. Julie helped Shiara through the open window. They waited in silence, listening for passing guards or dogs. After twenty minutes, Julie had made her decision.

  “We’ll try for the trees. Once we’re there, we’ll have a good view of the back of the house, and maybe an idea how far it is to the property line.”

  “We don’t even know if we’re in the country or in a city,” Shiara said. “We could get out of here only to find ourselves in some sort of jungle.”

  “We’ll deal with whatever we have to, as it happens. Let’s not get off on a tangent.”

  “Sorry.”

  Julie clasped her daughter’s hand. She could feel the stump where Javier Rastano had sliced off her finger. It reminded her what kind of person she was dealing with. “It’s okay. I think we should go together. Run fast and straight. Keep low. Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  They braced themselves at the edge of the bushes, then when Julie gave the word, they sprinted toward the trees. Fifty feet seemed like a mile, but they made it over the bridge and into the trees. Concealed by the mature mangos, they remained motionless until their breathing had returned to normal. They could see the back of the house now, a hulking monster of glass and stucco. Only a couple of lights were on, and everything seemed quiet. From their new vantage point they could see a curving walk running between the expansive patio and a swimming pool. The water looked calm and inviting.

  The first sign of trouble was a pair of guards moving quickly out the back door and into the garden. Their guns weren’t hanging loosely by their sides, but were tucked up close to their ribcages, and their fingers were on the triggers. Lights started to go on in the house, until the entire back of the mansion was lit. They could see shadowy figures moving about in the rooms, but couldn’t make out who they were or what they were doing. Another few guards spilled out into the garden, and began looking around.

  “They’ve discovered we’re missing,” Julie said.

  “What do we do?” Shiara asked, scared.

  “I don’t know, Shiara. I honestly don’t know.”

  Javier Rastano’s face turned six shades of red, then one of purple. “What do you mean, the women are gone?”

  “Their suite is empty, sir,” the guard said. “And there’s no sign of how they got out.”

  “Jesus Christ. Get someone upstairs and check on the boxer. If he’s not in his room, I want to know. And scour the house. Turn the lights on and check every room, every closet. Get at least six more men in the garden.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Javier ran down the stairs, through the games room and down the hallway. A couple of guards stood at the door, but he pushed them aside and barged into the suite where Julie and Shiara had been captive for the past two weeks. Everything appeared normal. He moved around the room quickly, into the bedrooms and the bathroom. Once he had ascertained that the women were gone, he slowed down and looked the living room over carefully. Once, twice, then three times, until his eyes finally rested on the air-conditioning grate. Every room in the house had one and, because it was so commonplace, he had even never noticed it before. He looked more closely, and saw that the grate was almost tight against the wall. Almost. And that no screws showed.

  He jumped on the dresser under the duct and grabbed the grate in his hands, then gave it a good pull. He looked inside the duct. There was some dust, but only near the edges. He slammed the grate on the floor.

  “Get me a schematic of the ductwork on this floor,” he yelled.

  Pedro noticed the increased activity levels immediately. One of the guards came running in, gave Pedro a curt nod, and searched the room. Pedro asked him what was up, but the man didn’t answer. He finished the search and returned to the hall. Pedro could hear as the guard called in on his radio, reporting back that the boxer was in his room, and all was clear.

  Pedro clued in on what was going on. Julie and Shiara had escaped.

  Pedro jumped off the bed, and dimmed the lights. Then he stood at the window and watched the scene playing out in the back garden. A handful of guards were searching, but it was going to take them hours to cover the entire estate. He watched and waited. If Julie and Shiara had made it out of the house and were still on the grounds, they would be somewhere in the garden. And with all the guards out, they wouldn’t be moving. He watched for the slightest motion; a sign that someone was trying to remain motionless, but cramping up. It took almost twenty minutes, but he finally saw a tiny glint of light from the grove of mangos close to the pool. Something or someone had moved. He kept his eyes on the location and, about ten minutes later, he saw a defi
nite movement. Once he had the exact spot, he could make out the dim shape of a person, hunched over and immobile. It had to be Julie or Shiara.

  What to do? Leaving them in their current predicament was impossible, they’d never make it to the morning. Their position was too close to the pool, and the guards would be methodical in their search. They’d be discovered in another hour or two. He had to do something.

  The gardener’s shed was the best option. The guards would have checked it first thing, and probably wouldn’t bother to check it again. And his guns were hidden there. If the worst case scenario came to pass, at least he’d have something to defend himself with. He made his decision. He slipped on a dark shirt and pants, checked the hall and ran to the back staircase. If he was careful enough, he should be able to reach the women without the guards seeing. Then they could try for the gardener’s shed or go over the far wall. Either option was better than leaving Julie and Shiara to the mercy of the guards.

  Chapter Sixty

  Alexander Landry was just pulling the Infiniti Q45 out of the above-ground parking lot when there was a rap on the passenger’s window. He jerked around, his hand automatically going for his service revolver. Cathy Maxwell’s face was looking through the glass at him. He rolled down the window.

  “Christ. You scared me,” he said.

  “Sorry,” she said casually. “Where are you going?”

  “Just going for a drive to clear my head,” he said. “Want to come?” His shooting hand relaxed and rested on the gear shift.

  “Why not,” Cathy said, waiting at the door, and when Landry hit the automatic door locks, she jumped into the passenger seat and snapped her seat belt in place.

  They drove through greater Rochester without speaking. When they reached the southern edge of the city, Landry took the secondary road leading to the hamlet of Honeoye Falls. The road was narrow, without shoulders or lights, and twisted dangerously through the undulating hills. An occasional farm slipped past, but mostly the road was a deserted band of asphalt connecting unknown points. Other than the vehicle’s headlights, the faint points of stars and a full moon provided the only light. Landry kept the SUV at just over the posted speed limit.

  They drove on. A road sign indicating a side road was briefly illuminated in the headlights and Landry slowed the vehicle. He turned sharply to the right onto the gravel road, the deep grooves in the tires throwing rocks against the undercarriage. He drove a hundred feet or so, then stopped and turned off the engine.

  “What’s going on, Alexander?” Cathy asked.

  “I’ve got to take a leak,” he said, pocketing the keys and sliding out of the driver’s seat. “Be right back.” He disappeared into the thick underbrush.

  Landry was just zipping up when he heard a twig snap behind him. He spun, his hand going for his gun. “Who’s there?” he asked the darkness.

  “Who do you think?” Cathy Maxwell answered, moving closer, so she was visible. Her pistol was leveled at his chest. “Take your gun out with two fingers and throw it to your right,” she said. Her tone of voice left no doubt that she would pull the trigger if he did anything but what she said.

  “What the hell are you doing, Cathy? What’s going on?” He complied with her demand as he spoke.

  “You really are thick, Alexander,” she answered, moving to within ten feet of her partner. Enough distance that he couldn’t reach her before she fired, and close enough that he stood no chance of escaping into the maze of trees and shrubs.

  He glanced at the gun. The safety was off, and her finger was wrapped tightly around the trigger. “You?” he asked incredulously. “You of all people, Cathy? He killed your parents.”

  She laughed, her icy bark cutting through the cool night air like a razor. “You know what amazes me, Alexander? That no one, not one person, took the time to have a close look at the whole thing. If they had, what really happened would have been obvious.”

  “Why don’t you tell me, Cathy. I’m genuinely interested.”

  She smiled. He was buying time, but it didn’t matter. The outcome of this confrontation was without doubt. “Pablo was in La Catedral prison when my parents were murdered. Everyone assumed he was responsible, that he had sent his sicarios to Boston to do it. But that’s the beautiful thing about assumptions, they’re often wrong.”

  “What actually happened?” Alexander asked.

  “Fernando Galeano and Gerardo Moncada ordered the hit, and their brothers, Mario Galeano and William Moncada were the killers. They couldn’t get to me so they butchered my parents.” Her face was contorted with rage. “The bastards were going to get away with murder, Alexander. They were too well insulated by the cartel for us to get to them. I needed another way.”

  “So you went to Pablo.”

  “I saw it as my only option. Pablo or the Ochoa brothers were the only ones who could get close enough to the Moncada and Galeano families to exact revenge. I did what I had to.”

  “But you killed one of his men in front of thirty onlookers.”

  “He didn’t care. In fact, when I snapped that guy’s neck, it told him what kind of person I was. For some reason, he took a liking to me. It’s what happened after that that no one knows about. Pablo cleared the room. He and I were alone. He knew why I was there. He offered me Moncada’s and Galeano’s heads in return for my allegiance. I didn’t even think twice. I wanted the bastards who had killed my parents more than anything in the world. Cementing a pact with Pablo seemed a fair price to pay.”

  “Was it?” Alexander asked, his voice filled with disgust.

  “Yes. Pablo is a murderer and a drug dealer. But he keeps his word. He’s kept up his end of our business arrangement over the past thirteen years. And in all that time he never asked me to give up a single DEA or CIA agent. In return, I’ve kept quiet about his new life.”

  “You knew all along that Pablo was still alive?” Alexander asked.

  “Of course. I helped him escape from Centra Spike more times than you could possibly imagine. Centra Spike and Delta would have had him numerous times if he hadn’t been warned in advance. It was part of the deal. Then he came to me in the summer of 1993 and told me he wanted to disappear. I told him the only way he could hope to get the Americans off his ass was to die. He and I set it up. It went off without a hitch. But you already know all that. Pablo was dead and the cartel finally collapsed. We all went home. I hitched up with Darren and got on with my life. Of course, it wasn’t Pablo who died in that tiny courtyard.”

  Landry was truly puzzled. “But you called Darren from the restaurant and told him to get out of the house, that you were worried about Pablo coming for your kids.”

  She laughed again, a sinister sound that carried through the chilly night air. “For a high-ranking DEA agent, you really are stupid, Alexander. Darren moved the kids in case Eugene actually got to Pablo and my involvement in this somehow leaked out. We have a house in a country without an extradition treaty with the States. He took the kids there. I can run if I have to.”

  “You sick bitch,” Landry said.

  Her body trembled with rage. “You brought this on yourself, Alexander. All I needed was the vehicle to get to Pablo’s house. But you had to pick just that time to go for a drive. Now look at the mess we’re in.”

  “How does it end?” he asked quietly.

  “You die,” she said, pulling the trigger. The first bullet smashed into his breastbone and deflected enough to miss his heart, but the second and third bullets found their mark. They bored through flesh and muscle and tore his heart apart. Landry dropped to the forest floor, blood pouring from the gaping wounds.

  “I noticed you didn’t wear your Kevlar vest tonight,” Cathy whispered, as she watched him bleed out on the ground. She waited ten minutes, until the blood was beginning to congeal. Then she left.

  It was time to visit Pablo.

  Chapter Sixty-one

  Pedro stole through the house in his socks, holding his shoes. He reached one of the
side doors leading to the garden and slipped on his Nikes. Using the ornamental shrubs and eucalyptus as cover, he ran from tree to tree until he reached the cover of the mango grove, fifty feet from the house. He waited for a minute, listening for the guards, then whispered.

  “Julie, it’s Pedro. I’m coming to you. Don’t say a word.”

  He moved through the trees to where he had spotted the women from the window. Julie and Shiara were crouched behind the shrubs, amazement painted on both their faces. He put his finger up to his mouth, and shook his head.

  “Follow me. We’ll try to make the gardener’s shed.” He sliced through the trees with a natural agility, the women close behind. They were forced to wait quietly a few times as groups of guards marched past, intent on checking another part of the estate. They were getting close to the shed when Pedro moved out from his cover just as a guard rounded the corner.

  “What the hell are you doing out here?” he asked, as he recognized Pedro.

  “Javier wants everyone looking for the women,” Pedro said. “Me included.”

  The guard relaxed his grip on his weapon. “You see anything?”

  “Nope. I was just looking through those trees, but all I saw was a couple of toucans.”

  “Okay.” The man continued down the path, and Pedro motioned for the women to follow. They were close to the shed, just one more open expanse of grass near the rear wall. The guards patrolling the perimeter and searching for the escaped women were scarcer here, and Pedro figured their chances were good. He waited until the moon disappeared behind a cloud and then whispered, “Let’s go.” The three of them sprinted the eighty feet to the trees that delineated the shed area. They reached the thicket safely. Pedro pointed to the small building tucked against the wall.

  They dashed inside. “Oh my God, Pedro,” Julie cried, hugging her friend close. “How on earth…?”

  “I’ve been in the house for a few days,” He swept Shiara into his arms too, and held them both close. “But I didn’t know where Rastano was keeping you.”