Max now looked across the table at Karis, who was doing an admirable job of listening to Godfredo’s story about yet another nautical incident from several years ago, this one involving a catamaran and a speed boat.
“You hungry?” Max spoke to her in the lull between words, as Godfredo had mercifully stopped talking to take a swig of his beer.
She shook her head. “I should go, and at least unpack.” She slid her half empty glass to one side, retrieved her bag and pushed back her chair. “Take it easy, Godfredo.” She smiled warmly.
Max followed her out onto the street, resisting the urge to pull her toward him.
“So would you like a lift—?”
“Are you around tomorrow night—?”
They’d spoken at the same time, their words a jumble, and she giggled.
For a moment, he wasn’t sure what to say: he certainly hadn’t been expecting her to ask to see him again.
“Tomorrow would be lovely,” he said, tentatively. He pulled a card from his wallet and handed it to her. “These are my contact numbers.”
She held it in her hand. “Okay, great. Thanks.”
“Wait, tomorrow is Wednesday, right?” he asked. “I can’t meet tomorrow. I have a standing arrangement with a friend.”
“Oh. Okay.” She seemed disappointed.
“But maybe you can join us? It’s my friend, Steven. You’ll like him. He’s the Chinese Ambassador. Maybe you met him last time, at the signing ceremony?”
“Maybe.” She frowned. “I don’t remember. But is it a formal thing? I don’t know if I’d have the right clothes.”
Max smiled. “No, it’s not formal. He’s always off duty when he’s with me. We usually just play a game of cards or go out to eat. You’ll like him.”
She nodded slowly. “Okay. As long as I’m not interrupting.”
“Not at all. Steven will be excited to see you again.” He wanted to reach out and brush a stray hair from her cheek, but he knew he had absolutely no idea what was going through her head.
“’Bye,” she said.
“Yes. Right.” Puzzled, he watched her walk away. “See you tomorrow.”
The beautiful Karis Deen.
Pushing all thoughts of her from his mind, he started back toward the café; he had more than one man’s share of work on his plate already, without having Karis Deen mess with his head.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Hippodrome, Panama City, Panama
Paco Roco waited in the shade offered by one of the large horse trailers. It was late afternoon, and the stable hands weren’t in evidence, most likely taking siestas, having been up at five or earlier to start the day’s training.
Paco peered into the trailer. Like most of the vehicles in the compound, it was empty, except for the swathes and bales of hay that were piled against one end. It looked big enough to hold a Los Bravos revival band, plus twenty or thirty screaming fans.
“Francisco. Thanks for meeting me.”
Paco turned to see José Gonzáles approaching him along the broad avenue-like stretch of dirt road that formed the backbone of the stable complex at the Hippodrome.
Paco held out his arms. “Good to see you.”
Gonzáles embraced him. “I’m sorry. I’ve had a lot on my mind. Unfortunately, things aren’t going quite as planned. Walk with me.”
Gonzáles put a hand on Paco’s back, and the two men walked.
“Do you know anything about your kid having any contact with the Chinese Ambassador?”
Paco shook his head. “Godfredo, you mean?”
“Anyone. Godfredo. The English engineer …”
“Yeah, Burns sometimes plays golf with a Chinese guy called Steven.”
“That’s the one. Steven Zhang. Do they meet often?”
Paco frowned. “What’s bothering you?”
“My contact … He thinks there’s something more going on.”
Paco turned to look at his friend. “What do you mean?”
“He says there are powerful people—and I think he means the Chinese—who might try to sabotage the whole project, so we need to get moving.”
Paco roared with laughter. “Sabotage the project? Jesus. And I thought I had that dubious honor!”
“You’re being hired to do the job, you moron, not sabotage it.” Gonzáles clearly wasn’t in the mood.
“Christ. Someone got out of bed on the wrong side today.” Paco sighed and patted his friend’s arm. “It will get done. As we discussed. No need to lose the rest of your hair.”
Gonzáles looked at him, but his stare was empty: he was clearly thinking about something else. He shook his head. “The sooner this is over, the better, I tell you. I can get Rosa to the Caymans …”
Paco nodded, his hand still on Gonzáles’s arm. “Yes, yes, my friend. And it won’t be long. We just released the last payments to you.”
“And you?”
“Taken care of.”
“Okay,” Gonzáles nodded, exhaling. “And you’re sure there will be no paper trail?”
“I’m sure. I’ll be putting out a press release within the month, and then your guys can go ahead with the audit.” Paco started laughing. “They sure as hell won’t find much. In every sense.”
Gonzáles cracked a smile. “Good. Very good.” He ran a hand through his thinning hair. “Jesus. I’m getting too old for this kind of pressure.”
Paco forced a laugh, though privately he thought Gonzáles might be losing his edge.
“Well, make sure you don’t leak anything to the press,” he said. “Not yet.”
“No, no, of course not,” Gonzáles said. He clasped Paco’s arm, then broke away, walking toward the timber construction at the end of one of the small side roads.
Paco watched his friend for a moment, then began walking to keep pace.
Something was going on, but he wasn’t sure what.
He followed Gonzáles to the stable hands’ hut. Inside stood a simple arrangement of equipment: a hose, a couple of stools, an icon of Jesus on the wall.
Nobody was around, so Paco felt it was safe to speak. Still, he kept his voice low.
“José, you need to tell me if you’re involved in something bigger than our plan. Something you can’t handle.”
Gonzáles paced. He still seemed nervous. But he shook his head. “It’s okay. As long as you haven’t seen any of those Chinese sniffing around.”
“Come on, José. They’re all working in the Mini-Marts, selling vegetables.”
“Hey!” Gonzáles stopped pacing and pointed at Paco. “Quit being a smartass. You know what I mean. You need to be careful, in case there are some bigger fish involved here. We need to watch our backs.”
Immediately, Paco took Gonzáles by the lapel of his jacket. “No you listen to me, José. You need to tell me who this ‘contact’ of yours is, or you’ll have no insurance. I won’t be able to help you if things go wrong.”
He released Gonzáles, and straightened his friend’s jacket for him.
Gonzáles shook him away. “I can’t tell you. You know that. It’s for your own safety, Francisco. There are powers involved here that neither you nor I can handle.” He paused. “You do your bit, and I’ll do mine.” He wiped dust from his sleeve. “Let me know when you’re ready to move ahead, and I’ll meet you one more time to go over the final details. But after that, I don’t want any more contact. You hear me?”
Paco held up his hands in a gesture of acquiescence. “Of course, old friend.”
Gonzáles shifted uncomfortably in his jacket. “How are the yearlings?”
“Fine. The trainer is a prick, but he’s doing good work.”
“Okay.” Gonzáles nodded slowly. “Okay.”
He nodded once more and walked away.
Chapter Fifty-Four
The Abbey, Virginia, USA
Agent Jay Stevenson was standing at a large, waist-height console. Commercial-display-sized screens were mounted in front of him, and there were ten other co
nsoles with operators at standing desks stretching along the length of the theatre-like room.
He turned to Fisher. “Agent Avila is online.”
“Put him up.”
Tucker Avila’s face appeared in a video conference window in one quadrant of the large, mounted screen. Fisher—head to waist—appeared in the other.
“Agent Avila.”
There was a slight delay, but then Avila spoke. “Ma’am, Agent Deen has made contact with Burns and Zhang.”
“Already?” She paused and looked at Jay. “Is Agent Deen’s DROP device transmitting?”
Jay looked at his screen. “Yes. I’m getting her biometrics.” He glanced up at Fisher. “But she didn’t activate the transmission function.”
“Okay.” Fisher turned to Avila. “Tucker, would you please make sure both of you always activate the transmission function when you engage with a target?”
“Of course, Ma’am. I will make sure of that.”
“So please go on.”
“Agent Deen has reported nothing suspicious so far. She thinks it’s a dead lead.”
Fisher frowned. She could believe Deen’s instincts were good, but were they that good?
“How can she know this after one meeting?” she asked.
“I watched the restaurant and they were there for three hours and seven minutes. So it wasn’t a brief meeting.”
“And afterwards?”
“She was taken in Zhang’s car back to the Chinese Embassy.”
Fisher baulked. “Sorry, did you just say the Chinese Embassy? In the Ambassador’s car?”
“Yes. But they were only there for a short time. Then they left.”
Fisher bit back a smile: the girl was good. “And you followed, of course.”
“Yeah, that was a bit of a problem. I had to fall back because Agent Deen got out of the car with Burns at his apartment. They talked in the street, and then they went off for a walk.”
“In the middle of the night? Why didn’t you park and pursue on foot?”
Avila pulled a frustrated face. “Ma’am, the path they took was right through the middle of the old town. There’s no way to follow without being seen. It’s the middle of the week: the place is deader than a graveyard after midnight, except for a few locals and about seven hundred cats. And the locals all know each other. It’s not like the weekend, when it’s crazy as a circus.” He smiled briefly. “So I made the call to back off.”
Fisher nodded. “Okay. You think she’ll get a second meeting with Burns?”
Avila nodded. “I’d say so.”
“So what was her impression of Zhang?”
Avila shook his head. “She was at bit at a loss, I’d say. She said both Burns and Zhang are quite academic, and they talked about stuff like posh food and golf.”
“Posh food and golf,” Fisher repeated slowly, with more than a little sarcasm.
“That’s what she said, more or less.”
“We’re not in the more-or-less game, Agent Avila. When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it. Shall we start over?”
“Yes Ma’am.” Avila cleared his throat, and announced, “Agent Deen reported that she laughed a lot, because of their attention to detail when it came to quails’ eggs and amuse-bouches. Specifically, celery sorbet. She said Zhang is very well travelled, and he understands a great deal about the culinary arts.”
“And golf?”
“Zhang likes golf, but Agent Deen got the impression that over the past year Ambassador Zhang has been overtaken by Max’s skill in the game. Zhang expressed what she termed …” He looked at his notes for a moment. “She called it ‘good natured frustration.’”
“Zhang was frustrated?”
“Ma’am, I think the point was that he is good-natured.”
Fisher folded her arms across her chest. “Avila, what’s your take on Deen’s approach to this? Would you say she was overstepping?”
“I wouldn’t rule it out. She may be playing it a bit close to the line—with Burns, I mean. It got a bit hot out there, after they were dropped off by Zhang.”
“Meaning?”
Avila shrugged. “I think she’ll do whatever it takes.” When there was no response, he added, “Ma’am.”
“Thank you, Agent Avila.” Fisher nodded, and indicated to Jay to end the call.
“Agent Stevenson,” she said, “before Agent Deen left, did you get the feeling she was nervous?”
“Nope.” Jay shook his head. “She trained as a marine. I doubt she’d know the meaning of the word.”
Fisher looked at him silently. “Do you think she’s spent time with Burns before? On her previous assignment in Panama?”
“She only mentioned that she’d met him at the signing party, and he seemed like a nice guy.”
“Thank you Agent Stevenson.”
Fisher left the room.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Panama City Golf Club, Panama City
Cursing to himself, Paco Roco walked the long stretch on the green. His shirt was wet, his forehead dripping. And, as if it wasn’t enough that he was getting rained on, he could even feel rivers of sweat sliding down the back of his legs.
“I’ll be playing a round alone. Meet me at the fifteenth hole.”
“Why not the club house like normal people?”
“Too many ears.”
Gonzáles hadn’t been as spooked as he was the last time they spoke, at the racetrack, but he had reminded him that—after this—there was to be no more contact.
Paco squinted through the drizzle, knowing it was only a matter of time before the sky unleashed torrents.
Gonzáles was probably that speck out there on the fifteenth hole.
The horn blared again: the one that told everyone to vacate the golf course on account of the weather. The sky was dark. Thunder could be heard from afar, and the wind was picking up.
Like anyone would need a horn to know we’re about to be hit by a fucking lightning storm.
Golf was a game Paco had never understood. All that standing around and shunting a ball from A to Z, using the time in between to talk strategy or have meaningful heart-to-hearts in small groups of soft-assed fairies. There was no point. The roar of the entire fucking crowd was right there with you at the racetrack, and when your horse came in … Well, there was no feeling like it in the entire world.
“You got it wrong, Paco, it’s about the mind,” Gonzáles had reprimanded, when Paco once questioned his time spent on the course. “It’s about having the staying power and the balls to stick with your game. It’s just you out there. You against the opponent … and yourself. Trusting your abilities. And besides, all the deals I ever made that were worth anything were deals I made on a golf course.”
Well, at least he now had an explanation for how Gonzáles had climbed from a nobody Argentinian contractor working for CISCO to high-ranking government official in Panama since they parted ways twenty years ago.
He trudged on in the suffocating humidity, heading for cover: that thick swathe of trees that cut alongside the fairway.
Or the midway or the causeway or whatever the fuck you call it.
Once under the canopy, away from the direct rain, his mood improved slightly. Puffing as he walked, he conceded that perhaps he’d been a bit harsh. Gonzáles was, after all, looking after his—Paco Roco’s—interests.
But as for China … Paco snorted with laughter as he thought about it. Really, what was there to sabotage any further? He, Paco, held all the cards himself. Didn’t he?
As he strode across the green, he wondered who else would benefit from a delayed end date. Perhaps some trade would be lost, but the canal itself wasn’t under threat. Their plan was straightforward: make sure they win with a very low offer, cry bankruptcy, and ask for more money from the Canal Authority in order to be able to finish the expansion project. And now? Now they were so far into the game, they wouldn’t dare replace the existing team—the time it would take for a new team to step in wou
ld increase their costs even further.
Yes, Gonzáles’s plan was definitely well thought out.
Paco’s lips twitched into a smile.
He was keen to see how the next step was going to pan out. The Burns kid didn’t have any idea that they had already shifted all their profits to an offshore bank account in the Bahamas, nor that there were no funds available to finish the expansion project.
He was still a few hundred yards away—approaching from behind—when he saw Gonzáles.
He wasn’t alone after all.
Paco stopped walking.
There was another man. They were both looking away from Paco—out towards the next hole, perhaps—and it wasn’t one of those yes-sir caddies that follow you around with golf clubs.
Maybe that’s why Gonzáles wanted to meet; maybe he changed his mind, and this was the ‘informant.’
Yes, that was it. Clever Gonzáles! He was claiming his insurance, in case the whole thing went belly up.
Paco started walking faster toward his friend, a smile on his face.
Gonzáles swung his club.
As he watched the ball arc away from the two men—a tiny white dot shooting into a dark mass of black cloud—Paco saw the other man’s club come down hard on Gonzáles’s head.
Gonzáles crumpled, his knees buckling.
Paco froze, unable to turn away.
Without breathing, he watched as the man pulled out a gun.
Immediately, Paco threw himself to the ground. The knoll would barely hide his bulk, despite the shrubs.
The Expansion Page 18