Relic

by Roger Weston

On the video, Stuart shifted around uncomfortably in his chair. “As I said, I know about the Rosario Banking Dynasty. These are some very bad people. How much trouble are you in?”

  “They don’t like me at all.”

  “You sure know how to pick your enemies, don’t you?”

  “I’m going to Buenos Aires. Take care of business. You know what I mean. What did you find out anyway?”

  “You may want to rethink your plan. This is worse than you know.”

  “How much worse can it get? They already threatened my life. They killed a person who was boarding my boat because they thought it was me.” Jake told him the whole story, including about the girl named Irina.

  Stuart shook his head. “This is bad. You have no idea who you’re dealing with, Jake. These aren’t just a bunch of Ivy League bankers. You saw what they did in Seattle.”

  “Yeah, I know, it’s—”

  “Way I see it, you’re up to your neck,” Stuart cut in. “I don’t see how you get out of this alive. I’ll tell you what I can do. I’ll put you up in a safe house in Havana. You can stay there for a few days until we get you a new identity. Then you can start over in Australia or someplace else—you name it.”

  Jake shook his head.

  Stuart leaned forward. “Don’t answer too quickly. It may not be the life you’re used to, but it’s better than dyin’. That’s your other choice.”

  “I’m going to Buenos Aires. I’m going to infiltrate the Rosario Dynasty.”

  “No. That sounds reckless. Bad idea if you want to live.”

  “I’m going to find out what’s going on. And I’m going get the evidence that I need to defend myself in case I’m blamed for either of the two deaths of the men or the disappearance of the girl. I’m also going to find out why they’re willing to kill people over a relic that’s not even made of gold or silver.”

  “What’s it made of?”

  “Lead, from what I can tell.”

  “Maybe it’s something else. Maybe the relic isn’t what they’re worried about.”

  “That’s why I’m going to Argentina. To find out.”

  Jake heard some background noise. Stuart half-turned in his chair. He was looking off to the side. “Hold on,” he said. He grabbed his MP5 and walked out of the video feed. He returned a minute later and set his gun back on the table. “It’s nothing,” he said. “Trash day. Look, I’m not so sure about your plan.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re more likely get killed than learn anything. You try it and you’re a dead man. I don’t want to have to tell your mother the bad news.”

  Jake took a deep breath and shook his head. “I’m wasting time. I’m going to deal with the people who tried to kill me.”

  Stuart pointed at him. “Let me tell you something. I spent seven years preparing you to be a Navy SEAL, and then you walked away from it. You broke my heart. You were talented, but more than that, you’ve got as much sand as anyone I ever met. You went through SEAL training that would make any BUDs graduate puke on his shoes and piss his pants just like you did. You didn’t go through six months of hell, either. You went through seven years of it when you’d barely gotten through puberty, and except for a few broken bones, you never let me down. I have plenty of confidence in you, but let’s face it. You never did become a SEAL or a ranger or a green beret or anything else. You became a boat captain and a maritime historian. Last I heard, you were going around the world street fighting and trying to find old log books for your collection. You were well trained, my friend, very well trained, but that was years ago. Your skills are rusty. You haven’t been improving your escape, evasion, and survival skills.”

  Jake shook his head impatiently. “I’m not interested in escape and evasion. I’m interested in attacking. These lowlifes attacked me. Now I’m going to bring the fan to their front door. Sorry to waste your time.”

  Jake started to stand up, but Stuart said, “Just hold on a minute. I needed to see if I could talk you out of it. If I could, your mother wouldn’t have to crucify me. Since you’re so determined to get yourself killed, I guess I may as well help you.”

  “I’d appreciate it.”

  “I’m gonna come clean with you, son, and this is just between you and me.”

  Jake nodded.

  “Look, I know all about the Rosarios because we’ve had them in our sights for a while now.”

  Jake narrowed his eyes. “You want to take the Rosarios down?”

  “Yes, it’s complicated. They’re considered untouchable by conventional enforcement organizations, whether police, special forces, or intelligence. You don’t mess with the bank.”

  “Why not?”

  “Power. Rosario banks laundered tens of billions of dollars in money for drug cartels over the last five years. They’ve made even more from their participation in the global arms trade. Keep in mind, much of this activity is legal although they’ve also made billions from illegal sales. Our main interest is the fact that they are involved in illegal sales of attack helicopters, fighter jets, cluster bombs, and depleted uranium projectiles. These inflict high injury and death tolls on civilian populations. Sometimes these sales are in defiance of arms embargoes; more often, they should be. When you sell arms to diabolical, evil men, bad things happen.”

  Jake sat there frowning, listening.

  “I could go on and on about the Rosarios,” Stuart said. “Let’s talk about financing weapons sales to Columbia, Russia, China, Saudi Arabia, Turkey, Pakistan, Afghanistan… Believe me, these people are busy.”

  “Why haven’t you taken them out?”

  “You don’t even know who you’re talking about. I already said these aren’t just bankers. These are bad boys. Over just the past several decades, the Rosarios sold weapons to the Mujahadeen who fought against the Russians. Colonel Muammar Qaddafi was a regular customer but also an inspiration. El Jefe was impressed with how Qaddafi bankrolled coups, assassinations, and revolts in close to a dozen countries.”

  “El Jefe?”

  “Yes, that’s what they call him. He is Santiago Rosario, the godfather of the family. He’s a banking legend, but he’s also done weapons deals going back decades. There were too many customers to keep track of, particularly since written records were never kept. Zaire was a gold mine because it fought several wars. There was always money to be made in the Philippines. North Korea had an appetite for missiles.

  “The list goes on and on: There was El Salvador, Nicaragua, Honduras, and Suriname. There was Yugoslavia, Ukraine, Columbia, Mexico, Rhodesia, and the Sudan. There’s no way to know how many people have died as a result of the weapons supplied by Rosario. A million is a conservative estimate, which still is not a lot if you compared it to twenty million killed by Stalin or the forty million massacred by Mao in China.”

  “Like I said, why haven’t you taken action against them?”

  “We have to deal with our paymasters. They have priorities. Believe me, there are a lot of bad players out there. Unfortunately, one company of private operatives can’t take them all out. We need help. The Rosarios are on the list, but we’re putting out other fires. We have various scenarios drawn up, but the time isn’t right yet. I don’t know when it will be, but I’ll do what I can to help you. What do you need?”

  Jake thought for a minute about everything he’d just learned about the Rosarios. He said, “I need a freighter.”

  “A what?”

  “Cargo ship. I don’t care how old it is, but I need it yesterday.”

  “Do you know what you’re asking me for?”

  “Look, if you can’t help me, I’ve got to go.”

  “I didn’t say I couldn’t help. What do you need a cargo ship for?”

  “I’m getting into the arms business. I need you to give me that identity you were talking about, but not so I can scuba dive in Australia. I need you to give me a dirty, ruthless background—but I’ll keep my name, Jake Sands. I want a legend so they’ll accept me as a n
ew player in arms trading. I’m still a boat captain and shipwreck professor, but that’s just a cover. Got it? I need a dark, secret life to go with it, a heavy background and references in case they check up on me.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “Simple. They’re bankers and they’re in the arms business. I’m going to borrow money from them, secured by your ship.”

  “What? Are you crazy?”

  “No, you can paint the ship later and give it a new name.”

  “And what about all that money you plan to borrow?”

  “I’ll never see it. I’ll have a weasel clause inserted in the loan contract requiring the deal to be reviewed by my attorney. It’ll be a straightforward note to purchase cargo, but off the record, it will be money to fund my arms deal. I’m just a middle man with plans to deliver weapons to somewhere in North Africa.”

  “And what’s the point in all this?”

  “The point is the deal will never close. I’m going to get inside and take them down.”

  Stuart shook his head. “If your mother ever finds out about this, she will rip my head off.”

  “She won’t find out.”

  “Right. I’m not going to lie to her over your casket.”

  “Are you gonna help me or not?”

  “Meet me in Galveston tomorrow. I’ll give you a ship and a crew. The only catch is that they have cargo to deliver on the way.”

  “Time is of the essence.”

  “See you tomorrow.” Stuart told Jake an address, which Jake wrote down. No sooner had Jake signed off when he got a text message: “Call me. Urgent. Ash.”

  Jake tried to call Ashley, but there was no answer. He’d have to try again later. He just hoped Ashley was okay.

  CHAPTER 13

  September 9

  Galveston

  Jake followed Stuart’s directions to the ship, but Stuart was nowhere to be found. A thin man in jeans, a dark shirt, and sunglasses waved as he walked down the gangplank.

  “You must be Jake.”

  “That’s right.” Jake was fine with using his regular name. Sometimes the best cover was no cover. Jake owned a tramper that ran cargo up to Alaska as well as a fishing boat. His real background was bound to be the most authentic. Not only that, Irina had already met him. If he ran into her again under an assumed name, it would look bad.

  “I’m Captain Foley. I understand you need us to make a stop at Buenos Aires.”

  “That’s right,” Jake said. “I can’t give you any more details about it. I just need to know you’re on your way. Is there any way I can track your course?”

  “Sure, you can check our progress. I’ll give you the website. You’ll see our blip on the map.”

  “When will you get to Buenos Aires?”

  “About a week.”

  “Can you go faster than that? Three or four days is better.”

  “Look, we have a schedule to keep. There’s a lot of money at stake.”

  “This is important. I thought Stuart talked to you.”

  “He was called away on emergency. He just said to help you out.”

  “Yes, that’s why I may need you to be flexible on timing. It’s a fluid situation.”

  “We don’t operate that way.”

  “I need your help, sir. Are you going to help me or not?”

  He was silent for a moment while he consulted his smartphone. He said, “Yeah, I’ll work with you. You’ll need to keep me posted.”

  “Thank you.”

  Jake walked a couple of blocks and was looking for a cab over in front of The Great Storm Theatre, a theatre devoted to The Great Storm of 1900, one of the worst disasters ever wrecked upon the people of Galveston, where around 8,000 people died.

  Jake knew he would be walking into a hornets’ nest in Buenos Aires. He could use a little help, so he called his old pal Edger, a jockey in Lima, Peru. Edgar had an unusual skill set and was very helpful in dealing with underworld thugs. Unfortunately, a message machine said that he was out on the racing circuit. Jake frowned. If he ever needed some help, this was it. Now he was going to be on his own against a vicious criminal organization. He felt like a tree branch headed for a wood chipper. He figured that he would have to remember everything that Stuart ever taught him—and even that might not be enough. No matter how many years of training he’d undergone, Stuart was right. He was rusty.

  Then Jake got an urgent call from Ashley.

  CHAPTER 14

  “Where have you been?” Jake said. In his mind he was picturing Ashley. He envisioned his lovely assistant in the lobby of a hotel somewhere, her transfixing brown eyes focused on some scrap of Maravillas shipwreck history, her red bangs falling over her eyebrows. He envisioned her as safe and at peace; in truth he was worried.

  “I am in Spain,” she said.

  Jake gasped. “Really? Is everything alright? In your text message, it sounded like there was something wrong.”

  “I was in a car accident, Jake, on the way to the airport. I think someone tried to kill me.”

  Jake was silent for a moment, then, “What?”

  “I was run off the road—intentionally.”

  “Are you alright?”

  “Yes, I was shot at. I think he would have come back and finished the job, but several other cars pulled over to help.”

  “Thank God you’re alright. I’m so sorry, Ashley.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “You’re going to need to stay off the grid for a while.”

  “I know how to get lost, Jake, but there’s a reason why I called you.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I arrived in Seville this morning. I’ve been in the Archive of the Indies. I learned something about the artifact that you hid for me at the beach. I’ve learned how it’s connected to the Maravillas shipwreck.”

  “You’re kidding.” Jake walked very slowly along the sidewalk in Galveston.

  “No, and you’re not going to believe it.”

  “Try me.”

  “I think it’s the confession of a man who called himself the world’s greatest sinner.”

  “Now I know you’re kidding.”

  “I know it sounds crazy, but once you start connecting the dots, it starts to make sense.”

  “What do you mean, connecting the dots?”

  “I’ve done some research on the Maravillas and the history of the treasure galleons.”

  “Sorry to interrupt, but who was the greatest sinner in the world?”

  “He died in the Maravillas shipwreck of 1654. The treasure fleet was wrecked in the Bahamas Channel on their return trip to Spain.”

  “I’ve got that much, but who was the sinner?”

  “He was a man of great wealth and grandmaster of a secret society and think tank called the Augean Command. Evidently, he was the greatest sinner of the world because of his involvement with the Augean Command, which removed all moral considerations from geopolitics. He turned geopolitics into an actual game played in secret by the elite, mega-wealthy power-players.”

  “Really?”

  “That’s right, Jake. The greatest sinner was a man named Camilo Torres. He was a financier of treasure galleons and an advisor for a group of men who ruled the New World in the tradition of Davila.”

  “I know that name.” Jake walked a little faster on a crosswalk where cars were lined up.

  Ashley said, “Pedrarias Davila was the jealous and avaricious governor who took control of Balboa’s Pacific provinces and laid claim to one of the more ruthless careers in history. He had Balboa beheaded based on fabricated lies. Over the next sixteen years, Davila founded Panama City and carried out horrendous atrocities against the Indians. Davila engaged Cordoba, who committed every outrage against the natives. At his death in 1530, Davila had enslaved or killed off two million Indians.”

  “And you’re telling me that all of this is somehow related to the artifact that I found on my boat?”

  “Be patient, Jake. We�
�re still talking about Pedrarias Davila.”

  “All right.”

  “Davila had secretly amassed so much gold that his wealth equaled or exceeded that of Europe’s wealthiest financiers. During a return trip to Europe, he quietly met with Europe’s wealthiest men, founding the Augean Command.

  “A hundred years later, Camilo Torres, the greatest sinner, was the Augean Command’s grandmaster. He was returning from the Spanish colonies on the Nuestra Senora de las Maravillas. When the ship wrecked in the Bahamas Channel, he was one of the unfortunate victims of the tragedy.”

  “What did this guy do?” Jake said. “Why did he call himself the greatest sinner in the world?”

  “I’m still trying to figure that out. A priest survived the wreck. He confessed Torres, but of course he never revealed what was said.”

  Jake said, “The artifact is some kind of confession. It must be Torres’ confession. It must be bad.”

  “I’ll be researching this all day today and tomorrow at least. I’ll let you know as soon as I find out.”

  “What about the artifact?”

  “Two experts are looking into it. They signed secrecy agreements.”

  “All right. Great work, Ashley. Stay safe, and keep me posted.”

  Jake checked the time and then put away his phone. He waved down a taxi and got in.

  “Airport,” he said. It was time to go to Buenos Aires. It was time to do what Stuart assured him would end in his death. It was time to infiltrate the Rosario Banking Dynasty, or as some called it, the Rosario Crime Family. This might prove extremely difficult. Posing as an arms trader was no guarantee he would infiltrate anything. It would get him close to the action, however. Then he would need to find vulnerability and live long enough to exploit it to his advantage.

  CHAPTER 15

  Buenos Aires, Argentina

  Valentino Varas had been back in the country for 19 hours, back from New York to attend his father’s funeral. Valentino was a young man aged 31. He had brown, gently-arching eyebrows over intelligent eyes that were teary at the moment. On his way to the parking lot, Valentino was walking alone through the Recoleta Cemetary, which was the most exclusive cemetery in Argentina. Only the rich and famous could be buried here. Plots sold for over half a million because you could be buried next a sports star or a famous politician or business icon. It was prestigious, not only for the dead, but for the survivors. To be buried here was the ultimate status symbol. The statues alone cost more money than most people made for years of work. Mostly, Valentino ignored the monuments. He wanted to get out of this place.