A dozen young women lounged on sofas and loveseats, wearing negligees and offering inviting smiles, some sipping champagne, others bottled water. Tomás took them in, and his eyes settled on a stunning blonde, no more than nineteen, with pert breasts and impossibly long legs accentuated by five-inch heels. The bouncer paused, allowing Tomás to eye the wares.
The blonde stood and sashayed over to them, her hazel eyes flashing in the light from the chandelier. “Well, hello, handsome,” she said, her voice smooth as velvet.
“Hello yourself, gorgeous.”
“I’m Lena.”
“Lena. Tomás.”
“Do you want some company, Tomás?” she asked, her tone professionally playful.
“I’m here for the game. But I wouldn’t mind some companionship.”
The bouncer nodded. “Come on, then. None of the boys mind the girls being in the room, so long as they stay quiet. Drink?”
Tomás smiled. “Whiskey and soda with ice. A tall one. Easy on the soda.”
The bouncer snapped his fingers, and Lena went to get his cocktail. “She’ll join us shortly.”
They walked into another hallway and down a flight of stairs to where another door blocked their path. The bouncer knocked twice, then once again, and it opened.
“This is Tomás. Lena will be down with a drink. Tomás likes to play cards,” he said in introduction to the bear’s twin, who was blocking the doorway.
The big man stepped aside, allowing Tomás to enter the room. The air was thick with pungent cigarette smoke. He regarded the round table, seven players seated at it – all men, some young, others older, but all obviously well-heeled locals who enjoyed a game of chance. In a corner a small mahogany bar stood untended. Several girls sat whispering quietly near it, sipping cocktails. Tomás shook hands with his fellow gamblers and took a seat across from the dealer, a gaunt man with a cigarette dangling from his mustached mouth, his sallow expression weary but his hooded eyes rapier-sharp.
Tomás whipped out his wallet and extracted a sheaf of large-denomination bills. Lena arrived with his drink – a water glass filled to the top with amber liquid, a few ice cubes floating in it, rapidly melting from the alcohol. He took a long pull and winced as the liquid fire seared its way down his throat, almost pure whiskey with a splash of soda. The dealer slid a small pile of chips over to him and announced the rules of the game. Tomás nodded and rubbed Lena’s waist appreciatively, pausing to give her behind a squeeze. She smiled and joined her friends by the bar, and the dealer flipped cards to the men after they’d tossed their antes into the pot.
Three hours later, Tomás staggered from the house, a metallic taste in his mouth from too much drink, his money lost, his tryst with Lena disappointing due to his inability to perform from all the alcohol. He shuffled along the sidewalk toward the larger boulevard where he’d left his car, and didn’t register the two men approaching him from across the street until they were right on top of him.
The larger of the two, a stout man in his fifties with the square build of a door, took a puff on his cigar before speaking.
“Tsk, tsk, Tomás. I had you blackballed from all the casinos, and now you insult my intelligence by coming to a cathouse and dropping tens of thousands of pesos?”
Tomás gave him a bleary stare. “Luis, I can explain…”
“There’s nothing to explain. You owe us three hundred and fifty thousand dollars. You haven’t made the payments in two weeks. And yet you can come to this place and lose a small fortune, thinking I wouldn’t hear about it? Do you take me for a fool?” Luis glanced at his companion, a younger man with a bodybuilder’s physique, three days’ growth on his face, a knit cap pulled over his head. The man moved like lightning and punched Tomás in the stomach. Hard. Tomás made a sound like a puppy hit by a car and slowly sank to the sidewalk, clutching his midsection.
After gasping for breath for several seconds, he looked up at the two men, tears of pain in his eyes. “I can get the money. I told you that.”
“You’re out of time. You need to do something now, or next time we’re going to start cutting off your fingers. And Tomás? I’m not joking. This has gone on too long. It’s not my fault you’re a degenerate gambler. But it’s my job to collect, and I feel like you’re stalling us. This is my way of signaling that I won’t be stalled.” Luis kicked him in the side of the chest, and a rib snapped. Tomás screamed in pain. “Stop being a bitch. You earned this. If you don’t have money for me within forty-eight hours, you’ll get more where that came from. Piss me off or try to play me and you’ll be walking on sticks.”
“Wait. I…there’s a way to…to get the money. But I need help.”
Luis glared at Tomás like he’d just scraped him off his shoe. “Help? What kind of help?”
“I…it’s simple. But I can’t be involved.”
“You are involved, Tomás.”
“I can get us a half million.”
Luis regarded him skeptically. “Dollars or pesos?”
“Dollars.”
“Within two days? I think you’re bullshitting me.” Luis glanced at his companion, who drew near.
“No! No, I’m not. Please. Listen…”
“Listen? Fine. You have ten seconds.”
Tomás told him what he had in mind, speaking in a low voice. When he was finished, he looked up at Luis standing over him like judge and executioner, and waited for his reaction.
Luis smiled with the warmth of a vulture circling roadkill.
“You just bought yourself two days. Now go home, clean up, and get some sleep. I’ll be in touch tomorrow morning to discuss logistics. But Tomás? This better work, or you’re a dead man.”
Tomás nodded weakly. The two men turned and melted back into the shadows, leaving him on the sidewalk, sobbing from the pain, and what he’d finally sunk to – a far cry from the promising young winemaker who’d come to the region ten years earlier to conquer the world, his whole life ahead of him, the future bright and his fortune to be made.
He struggled to his feet and shambled toward his car, bruised and broken, detesting himself for what he’d become, and worse, for the unspeakable events he’d just set in motion.
Chapter 5
Two months earlier, Moscow, Russia
Leonid followed the comely secretary into the office of one of Moscow’s most respected attorneys and took a seat across from the great man – Anatoly Filipov, a true power broker in every sense, confidante of some of the wealthiest oligarchs in Russia. Filipov looked up from the document he was reviewing, his beady eyes darting to Leonid’s face, taking him in and assessing him with clinical precision, and then leaned back in his leather chair and cleared his throat.
“You come highly recommended,” he said, his tone cold.
“My customers are always satisfied with my performance,” Leonid acceded.
“This assignment is part of the last will and testament of one of my clients. A young man struck down in his prime. Perhaps you heard about him – Sergei Grigenko?”
Leonid nodded. “A murder, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. Brutal. Grigenko and his mother, both savagely killed.” Filipov fixed him with a hard stare. “The estate had a provision in the event of an untimely death. It was intended to be a deterrent; however, now it’s more his final wish.”
“A provision?”
“Yes. In the event of his dying an unnatural death, ten million American dollars are being held in escrow as compensation for whoever avenges him.”
Leonid’s eyebrow raised a quarter centimeter. “Ten million?”
“Yes. Payable upon proof that his killer has been executed.”
“Do you know who killed him?”
“I don’t have a name. But I do have an image. Several, actually. From a security camera at his building.” Filipov slid a file across the desk to him.
Leonid opened it and flipped through the photographs, stopping at the final one – a grainy blow-up of a woman’s head and should
ers. He studied it for several moments and then looked up at the attorney.
“Is this some sort of a joke?”
“I can assure you it’s no laughing matter.”
“This…girl…killed Grigenko? Got past his security and murdered him, and then made a clean escape?”
“Yes.”
Leonid eyed the image again. “And you want her dead.”
“I don’t. The estate does. And it’s willing to pay you ten million dollars if you can locate her, identify her, and then terminate her.”
“How can I prove I got the right woman, assuming I’m able to do all that?”
“Simple. We have DNA. Blood from the scene that didn’t match Grigenko’s. Apparently there was a struggle. We’ve been able to isolate two discrete blood samples. One was his. The other…hers.”
“And you have no idea who she is?”
Filipov shook his head. “No, unfortunately. But she’s obviously highly competent, which would lead one to believe that she’s professional.”
“Russian?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe is an awfully big question mark. There are seven billion people on the planet. If you don’t even know what nationality she is…”
Filipov grunted. “I’m not an expert in these matters. I’m a simple attorney. I was advised that you’re resourceful, the best in your field, with connections all over the world from your days with the KGB.”
“That’s true. But even so.”
“Here’s what I propose. You distribute the images however you see fit. Do whatever detective work you feel is appropriate. At the point you get a hit, we formalize our agreement. Until then…I am managing all of Grigenko’s estate, which is considerable, as you might imagine. As such, I have some discretion over how funds are allocated.”
“Ah. That’s more like it. So you hire me on a best-efforts basis, and assuming I figure this riddle out…”
“Exactly. Then there’s another ten million in it for you.”
Leonid thought about it. “I’ll need half a million to do this right.”
“I’ll give you two-fifty.”
“Four.”
“I might be able to go as high as three.”
“With all due respect, if she’s pro, as you say, she’s either with an intelligence agency, or used to be with one. That means she’ll be far harder to locate, even if I’m able to learn her identity – which isn’t a given, but which will require me to spread cash around, probably here, to the Americans, throughout Europe, etcetera. Three is laughably low. Do you want this done right, or do you want to waste your money but get a bargain?”
They agreed on three hundred seventy-five thousand as a retainer, and Leonid gave Filipov his wire instructions for an account in Luxembourg. He rose and shook hands with the attorney before taking the photos as he left. They agreed to communicate every few weeks, or when Leonid had something to report. In the meantime, he would begin scouring the Earth for the mystery woman once the money hit the bank.
When Leonid left, Filipov made a telephone call on his private line.
“Yes?”
“It’s Anatoly.”
“How did it go?”
“He took the case.”
“Excellent. How much?”
“A pittance. Fifteen million.”
“So there’s ten left for me?”
“For you and me. I’ll expect to be compensated fairly.”
“We agreed on one million dollars for facilitating this.”
“Yes, well, that seems reasonable. However, two million seems more reasonable.”
There was a long pause on the line. “We can discuss it at the appropriate time. I’ll want to meet this specialist if he’s able to locate her. You can tell him I’m your representative.”
Filipov bristled. It wasn’t in his best interests to have Gavrel, Grigenko’s former assistant, and Leonid, comparing notes – there was too much danger that Filipov’s pocketing of five million of the blood money would be discovered. “Let’s see how he does. It’s a long shot.”
“That’s fine. I’m in no hurry. But Anatoly? Don’t try to cut me out. Life can be very short if you do that. Remember that I am not without resources of my own.”
Filipov’s blood ran cold. Gavrel was as dangerous as they came, and Filipov knew he was playing a potentially lethal, if lucrative, game with the man. But for an additional five million, it was worth it. He’d just need to be clever about how he handled matters.
As with all things, outsized rewards came with risk – a situation he was used to.
He would find a way to manage Gavrel.
Because Filipov, too, was not without resources.
“Of course, my friend. You’re like a brother to me. Now let us pray that this man can find her. If anyone can, he should be able to. His group’s the absolute best.”
“Grigenko believed his security team was the best. I don’t need to remind you how that turned out.”
“Very well. I’ll alert you when I have something for you.”
“Do that, Anatoly. It’s already been too long.”
Chapter 6
Present day
A warm breeze carried the smell of garlic and freshly baked bread from downtown Mendoza’s bustling pedestrian boulevard to the park. Mature oak trees ringed the verdant expanse, providing welcome shade to young lovers, stray dogs, and the occasional homeless person dozing on the newly cut grass. Paths crisscrossed the area, an oasis of natural beauty in the concrete and steel city center.
Jet turned her face up and let the sun play across her features. Occasional gusts tousled her hair as she waited for Hannah’s swing to return on its arc for another spirited push. Hannah kicked her legs high, squealing in delight at the unimaginable freedom of flying through space, even if strapped into a safety seat at the end of two sturdy lengths of chain, and Jet felt a tug, a long-buried memory of her own childhood, when she’d been happy…before the bad times had come to stay for good.
She banished the morose thoughts that were the inevitable conclusion to her trips down memory lane and gave Hannah another heave, propelling her forward and up into the clear blue of the autumn sky. The swing next to her with her best friend Catalina moved in tandem as her mother, Sofia, pushed again. Both girls shrieked in a combination of faux fear and exuberance, which was part of the fun, the women knew.
Jet had met Sofia a month after setting down roots in Mendoza, and they’d grown close, their daughters nearly the same age, common interests their bond. Sofia was a native, upper class but down-to-earth, born and raised in the wine country, with a large home six blocks from Jet’s leased digs. Her husband worked for the family business, a prominent winery making international waves with its breakthrough Malbecs and Bonardas, garnering gold medals, high ratings, and a legion of fans who loved the highly concentrated, rich taste. Sofia was also a stay-at-home mom, doing her best to keep her daughter out of trouble as she savored their time together.
A constant topic of conversation was the private schools and the prospect of the kids going to kindergarten in a few short years – a subject that held both trepidation and relief for them, as at least a small slice of their lives would be returned to them while the children were in school. It simultaneously signaled an important threshold beyond which their offspring would slowly grow up and seek their independence in a world fraught with risk.
Catalina was Sofia’s pride and joy, her only daughter, fruit of a six-year marriage that Jet intuited had gone through some rocky patches. Mother and daughter were virtual carbon copies, Catalina’s high cheekbones and intelligent blue eyes the mirror image of Sofia’s – much as Hannah eerily resembled Jet in not only appearance but also mannerisms. Both little girls had long hair, and could well have been sisters had it not been for their language. Hannah was beginning to absorb Spanish, easy when that age, her sponge-like brain soaking up everything around her. Sofia spoke good English, a tribute to her education and the foresight of her parents
, who had insisted that she learn not only her native tongue, but also English and Italian – the first the language of commerce, the latter that of winemaking in Argentina, a legacy of several huge immigration surges from Italy a century earlier.
“They look happy, don’t they?” Sofia said with a smile.
“They should be. Every day’s new to them, and everything a welcome surprise,” Jet agreed.
“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if they could stay like this forever?”
“It would be. But that’s not how the world works, unfortunately. I still can’t believe how fast Hannah’s growing up.”
“I see the same thing with Cat. She’s like a…like a little replica of me. That’s what everyone says.”
“I definitely agree. Two peas in a pod,” Jet said and registered the puzzlement in Sofia’s eyes. “I meant two nearly identical elements. It’s an expression.”
Sofia nodded and heaved Catalina again. “Sometimes the idiom gives me…confusion, yes?”
“Your English is very good.”
“As is your Spanish. You speak like a native, Rebecca.” Jet was using that name in Mendoza.
“My accent’s different.”
“True, but that’s nothing bad.”
“We can switch to Spanish if you like,” Jet offered.
“No, no, like I said before, I need practice, or I’ll lose my English over time.”
Jet arrested Hannah’s swinging to a groan of protest, but Jet was ready to go after an hour in the park. She had to get Hannah fed lunch and sufficiently napped to be up for their trip to the zoo that afternoon. Jet told her to gather up her toys and put them into her backpack, and Hannah’s face looked like it was ready to explode in tears until Jet reminded her that they had a big day planned. The thought of seeing the monkeys and lions reined in Hannah’s natural inclination to resist, and she trotted off to collect her things as Catalina did the same.
“So we’re still on for two thirty, right?” Sofia asked as she moved to the bench to get her sweater.
“Absolutely. Hannah would never forgive me if we missed it. Where do you want to meet?”
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