When she opened her bedroom door, instead of a sheepish and tired Dani, she was shocked to find a face that looked like it had been in an accident; bloodied, a cut over his right eye, swelling and bruising distorting his jaw.
“Dani, are you okay…what happened? Where were you all night…was there an accident? Oh my…you’re cut up! Dani…”
He had a wild look in his eyes, and she remembered the pungent odor of wet leather, and of something sickly sweet, like pipe tobacco, only stronger.
He frowned at her. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in town.”
“I…I had a cough, Dani. Are you all right? I think you need a doctor.”
“No. I’m... I have to leave. Tell Mamma I’ll call, but I have to go south. I made a bad mistake, and I need to go somewhere nobody knows me. I need to grab some stuff, and then I’ll be gone awhile.”
“But your face…”
He grabbed her by the shoulders, staring down into her eyes. “Antonia, I don’t have time. I thought the house would be empty. I only have a few minutes. I need to be out of here. There are some…scary people looking for me, and I don’t have time to explain…” He let her go and began pacing like a tiger, his mental torment plain to see.
She was terrified. Dani wasn’t afraid of anything, and he was acting like he’d seen a ghost. What was happening?
“Dani…”
He brushed past her. “Get out of my way. I’ll call when I can; now leave me alone so I can finish…” As Dani began stuffing random clothes into a bag, she caught a glimpse of a lockbox. He’d pulled it out of the bottom of his closet, where she could see a hole left from a loose board.
Antonia burst into tears. Whatever this was it was bad, and frightening, and her idol was a bloody mess, and was screaming at her, and she couldn’t take it. Dani moved to her, in the doorway, and got down on his knees to hug her.
“Angel, I’m sorry, don’t cry…it isn’t your fault. I messed up, and I have to leave so I can figure out a way to make it better. Don’t cry. It’ll be okay. Tell Mama I’ll call, and don’t worry. It’ll all be okay…” Dani didn’t sound very convincing, but she loved him so much she almost believed it would be okay.
“Please don’t leave me alone, Dani. I’m scared. I…this…I don’t understand what’s happening…”
“I have to go. I’ll call soon.” He got up, grabbed his bag, and ran down the stairs. She thought about following him, but her legs felt like they were paralyzed. Her whole body was shutting down; it was all she could do to make it back into her bedroom. She registered the front door slamming shut, and then the sputtering of Dani’s bike as he tried to coax the engine back to life. It coughed each time he kick-started it, burbled for a second, and then died. She would often wonder if it was the drizzle that had conspired to foul his chances with the motor, or if he’d been so frazzled he’d flooded it.
Suddenly, the gravel drive was filled with other engine noise; at least one car and a couple of Vespa motor-scooters. She peered over the sill and watched her brother grab his bag and sprint for the far end of the drive, hoping to make it to the field that surrounded their house. He almost did, but one of the assailants swung a bat and clipped his arm, sending him sprawling face-first into the gravel. She stifled a scream.
A young, swarthy man she’d never seen before got out of the little car and walked over to Dani, wielding something menacingly. The others joined him, forming a ragged circle around her brother. She couldn’t make out what they were saying, but then the young man kicked Dani in the face. The baseball bat thudded again, and then again, and through the drizzle she could see red smeared across the pale wood. She didn’t know what to do, couldn’t scream, couldn’t move. They were killing Dani, in front of her, and she couldn’t stop them; there were no grownups around to do anything.
Dizzy, she watched as her brother struggled up onto his hands and knees, shakily, obviously badly hurt and disoriented. One of the men grabbed his hair, and the dark-skinned man moved quickly, swinging a tire iron he’d been dangling by his side. It caught Dani on the temple with a thick wet thud, audible even through the heavy leaded glass of the century-old window. Dani collapsed in a heap. One of the others grabbed his bag and began rummaging through it. Apparently satisfied, they were preparing to leave when the second motorcycle driver pointed towards the house, straight at her vantage point. They all looked up, seeming uncertain as to what to do next; then the car driver barked something, and they approached the house.
Antonia was too frightened to breathe, much less cry. She knew they’d probably seen her in the window, and that if they wanted to get in, they would. She heard the front door rattle, and then heard glass break downstairs. Grabbing her stuffed bunny, she ran into her parent’s room, racing for their large closet. Maybe they’d think the house was empty, and that whatever they’d thought they’d seen was a trick of the rain and the light.
She looked at the shelves lining one wall, peered up at a little panel, and made her decision as she heard cautious footsteps creaking on the stairs. She was up in a few seconds, and pushing at the door, stirring cobwebs, moving it grudgingly on its ancient hinges. Crying silently to herself, she climbed into the darkness, and carefully lowered the old boarded hatch back into place. There was almost no light, with water dripping here and there, making the dank, ominous space even more frightening. She moved silently through the collection of ancient chests and moldy boxes, and settled into the farthest corner, behind an old tarp that covered a hodgepodge of wooden crates.
She heard the men beneath her, arguing, and barely kept from screaming when something crawled across her bare leg. Eyes closed, teeth clenched, she didn’t dare smack it for fear of the noise it would cause, so she just stayed as quiet as she could – hoping it would all soon end.
Light slanted into the darkness, as someone pushed up the attic door and poked his head in, looking around.
Antonia, trembling in the far corner, remained still as she could, other than the involuntary shudders in her stomach and jaw.
Seconds passed.
Something squealed in alarm as the intruder pushed the door higher, preparing to enter the space. A rat ran across the floor in front of the assailant from one pile of boxes to a wet lump of debris. The man recoiled in nervous disgust and dropped the hatch, his footsteps moving out of the bedroom area and back down the stairs.
Antonia didn’t take any chances. Paralyzed with fear, she remained curled up in a fetal position as the noise from the intruders receded, and ultimately became silent.
That was how the constables found her, two hours later.
Bitten nine times by spiders; twice by rats.
She’d never made a sound.
Her parents rarely mentioned Dani after the police concluded their investigation. He’d suffered massive brain damage from the blow to his skull, and after weeks of lying in intensive care, he’d hemorrhaged uncontrollably while in a coma, dying alone in the middle of the night. Without any further information, there wasn’t enough evidence to solve the case; his killers had left no clues. Some broken glass, a few muddy footprints in the house, but nothing that ever led to an explanation of why a young man’s life had been extinguished on a rainy summer morning.
Nobody had seen anything from the neighboring homes, and nobody came forward to advance a story. Drugs were hypothesized, local gang involvement, revolutionary terrorist cells around the university, jealous attacks by angry boyfriends; all were floated, and ultimately, none explained anything.
A part of her parents died that morning, as did a piece of Antonia. The family tried to put the grisly attack and Dani’s death behind them, but it changed everything; there was always the time before that day, and the time after. It seemed so long ago now, at least twenty years, but every now and then the shadows came to visit, and the dream would come, unannounced.
She hated the rat dream.
She hated that it had returned once again, complicating everything further.
Antonia knew tonight would be a long night; a night when sleeping pills and dozing with the lights on was an unwelcome but necessary ritual. She resigned herself to yet another encounter with her demons, and decided whatever happened, she wouldn’t let the past interfere with her present anymore. She wasn’t nine, and the bites had long ago healed over.
She hoped she could make good on that commitment.
Focal Point: Chapter 23
The following morning Steven was startled awake by the requested call, and he vaguely wondered why he’d taken to sleeping so late. Then he remembered; the time change. Nine in the morning here was six in the morning California time. He got up and surveyed the scene outside. A few clouds drifted and billowed in the sky, but nothing ominous. Stiff breeze, though. Small whitecaps on the crests of the water.
He called down to the front desk, ordered breakfast and asked about the hurricane, to be informed it was still moving slowly in their general direction and had been upgraded to a category three overnight. Some guests were leaving early so if it continued to approach, he’d be moved to another suite; the only real issue they anticipated, if it hit, was some flooding on the lower floors. The hotel had seen far worse than a category three and was still standing as testimony.
The web was functioning fine, so Steven checked the stock and the boards. Down yesterday by forty cents, up today by thirty.
He had an e-mail from an unknown address. Opened it. It was Stan Caldwell. The e-mail contained instructions for getting a PGP key and for communicating with encryption. He opened another window and followed the instructions, generating his key. He replied to Stan with an encrypted e-mail as a test, and after a few minutes, he received an encrypted e-mail back. He unscrambled it, and read:
[Greetings. How goes the war? Nothing new here. Been scanning the news every day to find out if you’re alive, but so far no go. Hope this message finds you well. Remember, I don’t want to know where you are. Stan.]
He typed a response:
[Couldn’t be better. Should have a ton of info on Griffen within a week. Life continues to be interesting. I’ll need a wire transfer sent next week to an offshore attorney; between $75 and $100 thousand. I’ll get you instructions soon. Take care. Dead Guy]
He opened his other e-mail, from Spyder, with trepidation.
[So here’s the theory, Bowman; and remember I warned you wouldn’t like it. I believe the government is using some trading entities, Griffen’s among them, to fund covert operations in areas that can’t be officially sanctioned. I believe the rot goes all the way to the top of the intelligence agency. I’m pulling in some favors from some buddies who can confirm this, and should know if I’m right within a short while. If I am, you’re up against way more than you thought.
Oh, and just to further ruin your day, I’m waiting for some dynamite on Allied’s vaccine secret sauce. If that turns out to be as bad as I think, you’ll be able to blow them wide open – it’s worse than if you discovered they were shipping light beer to hospitals instead of vaccine. But I need to be sure before I say anything. If I’m correct, this is far bigger than anything we suspected. Watch your back. Spyder]
If the U.S. was allowing market manipulation because it was generating cash from the process then there were no barriers to crime in the markets; and further, the government was allowing innocent companies and investors to lose everything so they could make a buck. Spyder was right; it stank to high heaven.
He now understood how Griffen could feel invulnerable – unafraid of any consequences. He had the cops on the payroll, literally. So what was Steven, or more to the point, ‘Bowman’ to do if it were all true?
Lost in thought, he heard a knock on the door. Breakfast. Steven realized he was famished. He opened the door to find Antonia holding a tray with his meal on it; breathtaking as usual, in a cotton cover-up. His concerns vaporized instantly.
“You ordered room service, sir?” she said, holding back a smile.
“Wow. That’s quite a menu they provide. I’m really glad I ordered the Continental and not the American.” He took the tray from her. “Come in. How did you manage...?”
Antonia tapped her temple with a finger. “I saw the maid with the tray and slipped her a tip. She seemed good with that. How did you sleep?”
“Like a log. The untroubled rest of the innocent.”
“I don’t know about the innocent part, but I’m glad you’re well rested.” She considered him, stroking her chin. “That goatee makes you look like the devil. Have you always had it?”
“It’s all part of my evil disguise as a pirate of the Caribbean. Arrrr. Arrrrrr.” He fashioned a hook with one of his hands and squinted in what he imagined was a pirate-y fashion. It wasn’t.
She clapped her hands together, threw back her head and laughed. That laugh. He was done for. But the wedding ring hadn’t come off; dead husband was still leading in that race. Part of him hated his knee-jerk observation.
“Your roots are starting to grow in lighter. You look like a pop star. What did you look like before you became James Bond?”
“I have lighter hair, wear it a little longer, no goatee. Boring,” he explained.
“It probably looked good,” she said, studying his cut. She folded her arms and adopted a mock-frown. “So what’s on the agenda today, Pirate Boy?”
“I hadn’t really thought about it,” he admitted. “I talked to the front desk and they said the hurricane was still small, could easily miss us entirely and just rain tonight. Anything strike your fancy for the day? Tomorrow could be stormy.”
“I heard there was a place where you could swim with dolphins. Now I’d like to do that. After yesterday’s boat ride, I want to touch one – swim with them,” she bubbled, having obviously planned the suggestion.
“Sounds like a plan,” he said. “You want coffee?”
“Please. Just black.”
They spent the next half hour bantering back and forth, and agreed to meet at the front desk in ten minutes or so; she had to change into a swimsuit. He didn’t offer to help – he could break a nail or something.
He called Alfred to let him know the wire was set for Monday, and that all he needed was the instructions and amount. Alfred updated him on his progress, informing Steven he’d gotten several names of investors in the offshore fund and would have the rest by day’s end. Steven jotted them down. Santa Maria De Ignacius Charity, out of Panama. Terrasol Investment Advisors, from Argentina.
Nothing rang any bells.
Alfred asked him about the hurricane; wanted to know if he’d stay on the island if it looked like it was going to hit. Alfred also told him he was looking into the Jim Cavierti matter, but hadn’t uncovered much so far. Steven suggested finding out where Jim had stayed as a starting point. They agreed to talk again later that day or the following day, as and when Alfred accrued more information.
He went back online and contacted the Group.
[Hey, guys, it’s Bowman here. Would you find out everything you can about these two entities: Santa Maria De Ignacius Charity in Panama, and Terrasol Investment Advisors in Argentina. They’re connected with the Griffen Fund, supposedly significant investors.]
He decided not to make the clandestine connection public for the moment, so he signed off, already late for the front desk.
There she stood…waiting in the lobby for him, chatting with the desk clerk.
Her voice was filled with glee. “They said they’d take us to the dolphin park. It’s over where the boat was. They also told me the hurricane is still two hundred miles away – maybe moving north of us, but we won’t know for a while longer if there’s any chance of it coming here. So for today, everything’s good,” Antonia concluded. “And look! here’s the van to take us. Buon, andiamo.”
As they drove to the dolphin park, the driver handed Steven a card with the hotel phone number on it, telling him to call when they wanted a pick-up. They found the entrance to the main building and were informed they�
�d just missed the 11:30 session and the next available time was 1:30. A hundred twenty-five bucks for one person to swim; perhaps the dolphins were made out of platinum or laid golden eggs?
They took a stroll to the outdoor café and enjoyed a well prepared, leisurely lunch. Antonia was chatty, though seemed a little nervous about the hurricane. She had more questions for him.
“So, what do you do after you have all the information you came for…what’s next? Where do you go?” she asked.
“I don’t honestly know, Antonia. I’ll know once I have all the input. What I do know is I’m going to take this Griffen character down. He’s not going to get away with ruining my life and killing my friends, among other people. I’m going to put a stop to that.” He thought about it. “Now that you mention it, I really don’t have the faintest idea what’s next.”
She nodded. “You and I, then, are alike that way. You don’t know what comes next, and neither do I. I don’t know what I’m going to do once I leave here; I called my friends and apologized last night, told them not to bother waiting around for me, that I was on an adventure.” She took a bite of her sandwich. “It does feel like an adventure, Steven.”
“I figure I’m here for at least another week. I don’t really have a time horizon past that. Week by week. That’s what I’ve been left with,” Steven mused out loud.
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