by Roger Weston
“Because I know how cruel they have also been to you, Ajax. I saw how Nick was promoted over you even though you were the better man. I heard about how El Jefe tried to keep you at a distance because you were an embarrassment. Look at you, Ajax. What are you doing here? Why are you living in Thailand?”
“Can we change the subject? I don’t like where this is going.”
“I’m sorry, Ajax. I know how painful this must be for you. I pity you. You’re being held down by your own family. They’ll never allow you to reach your potential. You’re like an eagle with its wings clipped. You can’t fly, so you content yourself with—”
“I have everything. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You have nothing, Ajax. You have money and lots of it. So what? What good is all your money? The man who makes $70,000 per year lives almost as well as you.”
“Really? Does he drive a Rolls Royce?”
“No, but his Toyota is just as good. When are you going to wake up, Ajax? You’re falling for the bait and missing the true reward. They posted you to a Far East backwater to get rid of you. They’re embarrassed of you, Ajax.”
“I have things to do. Why did you come here?”
“You need to hear this, Ajax. You’re life is being stolen from you. You’re throwing away your chance at greatness—and why? For fancy cars? How foolish can you be?”
“I was happy to see you, Irina. I don’t think I am anymore. I think I liked you better when you were dead.”
“It hurts, doesn’t it, Ajax? The truth hurts. I know all about it. How much pain do you think they caused me? They tried to kill me—my own husband and father-in-law. What did I do to deserve that kind of treatment? I did nothing to deserve it. How much do you think I’ve suffered over the past five years? I had to abandon my own crippled son. A thousand times I wanted to die. I hated myself. I felt worthless. If they abandoned me, then I must be no good. No good! But I lived, Ajax. I endured because I had a purpose.”
“And what is that?”
“I am not worthless. I was betrayed, but I’m not going to take it anymore. I’m going back, and I’m going to take what’s rightfully mine.”
“You’re going to take back your son? He’s an adult now.”
“I’m going to take back my position. I’m going to get power—not just for myself, but for you, too.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. You are the greater man, but you were mistreated and cast off—just like I was abandoned. We are the same, you and I. Nobody can do anything to us. We are too powerful. Together, there is nothing we can’t do.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Then open up your ears and listen. Just do what I tell you, and the world will soon know how great you are. I will make you into an international idol…”
“How are you going to do that?”
“I had the Confession, but I lost it. I’m going to get it back. You and I are going to change the world. I’m going to release the Confession to the world. We’re going to change history—and that’s only the beginning of what we’re going to do. We’re going to show the world how great you are. What power have you achieved? None. You’re a merchant. You said you’d rather die than live without power, but look at you now. You’re like a dead man who lives because you compromised everything you valued. You gave up your destiny for money. You can still be what you were born for. You can still have what you crave.”
“I’ll listen to what you have to say.”
She stepped toward him. “I will share everything with you. We will show the world how great you are, but for now I need a favor as a good faith gesture.”
“What’s that?”
“My enforcers need help. One of them was killed trying to recover the Confession. I know you can help me. We can do this together. I need you to find a fisherman and maritime historian named Jake Sands. He has the Confession. I need you to find him and recover it.”
“I’ll work with you,” Ajax said. “Do you want Sands dead or alive?”
“Whatever is clean? Alive would be nice because then we can find out what he’s been doing before we get rid of him.”
Ajax called a number on his scrambled smartphone. “José, I got a job for you.” He gave his instructions.
After he hung up, Irina said, “Excellent. Listen Ajax, I’m sure you heard the tragic news about Phillip Abbey.”
“Yeah, he was assassinated at his own party. I went with El Jefe once to Abbey’s home, the Thames Pearl. Beautiful place. El Jefe’s probably not mourning, though. Abbey was a constant thorn in his side.”
“He would have been a thorn in your side, too, but not anymore. Nothing can be allowed to stand in your way. Nothing. Nobody!”
“I won’t ask who was behind that assassination.”
“There’s no need to ask. Members of the Augean Command who would dare stand in your way cannot be tolerated. Now there’s something else I need you to do for me. You’ll have to leave for Canada immediately.”
CHAPTER 19
September 10
270-Acre Estate in Campobello Island, New Brunswick, Canada
Francis Straine held his putter in his hands and tapped the golf ball. It rolled over the beige wool carpeting and into his automatic-putt returner, which sprung it back to him. He had only putted five times, but just couldn’t do this today. It was one of the moods that had come with age and loneliness. At age 65, he probably should have retired like some of his friends, but he loved business too much. He would probably never retire. He would have too much time on his hands to think about the past.
Dropping his putter on the rug, he sat down on the Chippendale sofa and returned to polishing silverware on the marble-topped coffee table. Polishing silver was an emotional experience because it reminded him of so many special family occasions. He recalled the dinner with Margaret after the Bermuda vacation. He figured it must have been at least twenty years ago, but it seemed like just last year. Straine felt his eyes getting moist. He knew he had really screwed things up royally. There was so much to regret. He polished a fork and laid it down by the others.
Frank Sinatra was crooning over the sound system. Straine enjoyed Sinatra music. It was the same music that he had enjoyed listening to with his family while growing up in New England. It brought back old memories for him. As he polished a silver Tiffany jug and bowl, he was reminded of a dinner party he’d had ten years ago. His mother had still been alive back then, and she’d come up for a visit. She had been so impressed with the Tiffany pieces. They were a lovely set. Both the jug and the bowl were made of hammered silver and featured little turtle decorations. In the old days, he would have brought his cook and had her polish the silver, but this time, he’d left his staff behind. Besides, he wanted to do it himself. It reminded him of his mother’s visit. While she was alive, he had taken her for granted. Now that he had the time and the luxury to entertain, she was gone. At least polishing the old silver reminded him of the old times. He picked up his handkerchief and dried his eyes. Then he continued polishing the silver jug.
He had won the race for success, but he missed his mother. He wished she was here now to see how successful he had become. He wanted to make her proud of him. Back when she had visited, he had been a multi-millionaire. Now he was a billionaire. She would have been proud of that. She would have been proud to hear about the powerful people he associated with. As a kid, he had never made her proud. His teachers said he couldn’t learn. They said he couldn’t pay attention. At different times they had accused him of having dyslexia, ADHD, low intelligence, mental problems, and a bad attitude. They sent home depressing report cards. One loser even accused him of being too masculine. Francis Straine had proved them all wrong. He saw himself in the same mold as Thomas Edison or Albert Einstein. He had talent, but overworked teachers who were buried in regulations had no time or energy to deal with a student who didn’t fit into the system. If a student was different, he was damaged goods. Straine’s physi
cal and social learning style had never fit into the public school system, so they blamed the student, said he couldn’t learn, and ran him out. Only his mother had understood him. She had believed in him despite all the bad news.
Now, as owner of insurance giant Strada & Griffin, he could take days off any time he wanted, which was almost never, but today was one of those rare days. Unfortunately, he was alone. He couldn’t even call his mother on the phone. He had played eighteen holes, which was nine more than he was used to. It didn’t take eighteen holes to do a business deal. Nine was plenty. Usually, he played nine holes.
He loved golf more anything. Golf was the essence of life. He loved to play nine holes over a long lunch and return back to the office to make phone calls and hold meetings until eight. From 8:00 until midnight he would work on corporate strategy and analyze spreadsheets. Today, however, he had been tired and saddened thinking of the nasty things his ex-trophy wives had been saying about him to his estranged children. He longed for the good old days when life was simple. He would happily give up his billions if he could return to the early days with Belinda and start over again. Back then, he had sacrificed everything on the altar of personal greatness. Usually he stayed so busy he never had time to think, and even now he wasn’t sure taking a day off was a good idea. He was getting depressed. Today, he had everything in the world, but he felt like he had nothing.
His home was beautiful—all of them were, but his 6,000 square-foot Dutch Colonial summer cottage on Campobello Island was especially relaxing even if a bit lonely. It was a great place to entertain, but he had come here to get away from people. His doctor had told him he needed to take it easy.
When he heard the knock on the door, he got excited. Who could this be? He wasn’t expecting anyone. Who even knew he was here? Nobody. He turned down the volume on the Frank Sinatra. At the window, he pushed aside the gold damask drapes, but he didn’t recognize the Cadillac in the driveway.
When he opened the door, he faced a man holding a handgun with a silencer, aiming it right at him. The man was tall, dark, and had movie-star good looks. His look of confidence was so extreme it was creepy. It had been a long time, but Francis recognized him.
“Ajax,” Straine said. “What are you doing?”
“You’re standing in the way of progress, Francis.”
“What progress? What are you talking about? Is this related to El Jefe?”
Ajax shook his head. “I don’t have time to explain. I came to say good-bye.” Ajax pulled the trigger again and again. Straine fell to the ground, and Ajax kept firing until all sixteen shots were gone.
CHAPTER 20
September 11
Jake entered the soaring, brand-new Banco de Santiago building and took the elevator to the 57th floor of what was billed as the tallest building in Buenos Aires. In the executive offices of Santiago Bank, a smiling brunette with big round glasses gave Jake a slip of paper with an address on it. “Señor Rosario asks that you meet him at this address. It’s just five blocks away.”
It was an older four-story cement building. Jake was allowed into the reception area by a big thug and patted down for weapons. He was led into a large open remodeled warehouse of around 8,000 square feet. Down past the long, narrow, one-lane swimming pool, a Mercedes was parked by a big warehouse-style door.
The office walls featured locked glass showcases and featured models of a variety of small arms—AK47s, M-16s, the Italian ARX160, the South Korean K11 Dual-Caliber Airburst weapon, the Swiss Waffenfabrik-Bern E22/C42, and many others. Jake could smell and even see cigar smoke hanging in the air.
He looked at the guns for a while and then broke a rack on a pool table, set a ways off from the wall displays.
“Very good.” The voice startled Jake. He looked up and saw a dark-haired man with big tinted glasses. “I am Nick Rosario.”
He looked like a retail salesman with an attitude and tinted glasses. He looked like the sort of salesman who would be courteous to his customers, but then he’d make cruel comments about them to another salesman in the back room. Nick Rosario was not at all what he appeared to be, however. He may have looked ordinary, but Jake knew that in truth he was extremely rich and on track to becoming one of the most powerful bankers in the world. He was slated to take over the Santiago Bank, which boasted over a thousand branches worldwide and was valued at over fifty billion.
They shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. “Nice gun collection,” Jake said. “I’m partial to the AK-47.”
“Yes, they are very popular worldwide, the weapon of choice for guerillas. You have good taste. I think I’m going to like you. This could be the beginning of a mutually profitable relationship.” Nick gestured at the table. “Do you want to play?”
“Your turn,” Jake said. “I just broke.”
Nick sank three balls in a row. He was shooting for solids. He finally missed a shot and looked surprised. He said, “The AK-47 is responsible for more casualties than any other gun in existence. If your clients want a high body-count, this is a gun they’ll want to consider. Every year, AK-47s kill on average 50,000 people in the world’s various conflicts.”
“Yes.” Jake nodded as if he was impressed. “It’s a wonderful product.”
“Yes, the world is full of unmarked graveyards thanks to the AK.”
“My customers will be very happy.” Jake sank two stripes in a row. Then he decided that he’d better not cream Nick or he might not get financing for the arms deal. Would Nick be petty enough to lose a million dollar deal over a lost game of pool? It was possible.
Jake missed.
Nick smiled. “They’ll be happy about more than just 3,000 AKs. Your order is enough to keep their little war going for a while. Was it the Sudan?”
“I was sworn not to talk about it.”
“I love a man of his word. I met another one about twenty years ago. He was murdered.”
“That’s comforting.”
“Yes, anyway, we’re also talking about night-vision equipment, 175-milimeter artillery pieces, Rascal Panther Frequency-hopping radios, GPS systems, FIM-92 Stinger missiles, and Land Rover Multi Role Combat Vehicles. Whoever your buyers are, they must have either oil money or are the recipients of US foreign aid.”
“Anything is possible.”
“That’s a pretty package of weapons and equipment. They will be very happy. It’s to die for.”
Jake took a shot.
“A little too much angle on it,” Nick said. He sank two balls, then missed. “I’ve looked at your package. I’ll be happy to provide your financing, but I’ll need to see the collateral first. When does your ship arrive in Buenos Aires?”
“A couple of days.” Jake put chalk on his cue.
“You’re very efficient,” Nick said, pushing his tinted glasses up on his nose. “I always believed that cream rises to the top.”
“Thank you. As you know, I’m new to the industry. I did time in New York and made some great contacts in prison—immigrants who have reason to want heavy weapons. They also have contacts abroad. By working with me, you can help me move to the next level.”
“My pleasure.” Nick ran the table. “No doubt your clients will have follow-up orders. Most of my income is repeat business. You’ll soon find that’s where the real money is. For now, let’s take care of the loan paperwork. It’s in my office.” He gestured toward an open door on the opposite side of the warehouse.
After the loan paperwork was filled out and the terms of financing discussed, Nick led Jake to the door. A couple of thugs were sitting at a little table nearby playing cards.
“I appreciate your working with me,” Jake said. “Hopefully this will be the first of many deals.”
“Now you’re talking my language. I have to say, though, that you are a horse of a different color.”
“You’re not the first one to say that.”
“Will you be in town until your boat arrives?”
“Of course.”
“
Good. Drop by my office in the Bank of Santiago building. My receptionist will have opera and tango show tickets for you.”
“One more thing, “Jake said. “I want to see the merchandise. My buyer needs assurances. My shipping agent just called with lucrative cargo deals that I’m going to have to pass up. I need assurances that everything will go smoothly.”
Nick said, “You already posted your ship as collateral. Unless your lawyer objects to the terms, and you assured me he won’t, you have to follow through.”
“I’m going to, but it’s my ship on the line.” Jake glared at him and pointed. “Do not mess with me. Do you understand? I’m risking everything. I need some assurance that everything meets expectations.”
“Relax. Meet me this afternoon at the waterfront. Wait in your car by this address.” He wrote on the back of a business card. “A black SUV will stop next to your car. Follow it.”
“Just make sure he’s there,” Jake said. “I don’t take kindly when someone wastes my time. I don’t like to play hardball, but believe me, I will.”
The thugs put down their cards.
Nick said, “Mr. Sands, relax. We’re going to do a great business together. Just be there at two-thirty. You’re going to like what you see.”
CHAPTER 21
From Nick’s building, Jake walked several blocks. A river of compact cars flowed past under the green street lights. He stopped at a corner and took in the scene: Across the street, an old woman in a black dress stood on the 5th-story balcony of a high-rise apartment building watering her plants. All of the balconies had bushes or little trees rising out of planters. On his side of the avenue, a busy pedestrian street branched off from the main thoroughfare. He stood near a tree with purple blooms. Music was being piped through a sound system on the pedestrian street. Well-dressed people flowed past him on the sidewalk.
He stood by a crowd of people who were waiting to cross the street when the light changed. He got out his phone and called Ashley.