Unfortunately, at this point, she knew it could go either way.
Chapter Sixty-Three
Obarrio, Panama City, Panama
“Mr. Roco! Mr. Roco! We’ve just learned that after the terrible thunderstorm, Commissioner Gonzáles was found murdered on the golf course. Do you have anything to say?”
Jesus Christ.
Godfredo, alarmed now, jumped out of the car and pushed through the media scrum until he was standing at his father’s side.
Paco’s face showed deep sorrow. “I’m at a loss,” he said, his voice gruff. “It’s a terrible, terrible thing to happen, and our hearts go out to Commissioner Gonzáles’s wife and their family.”
“Señor Paco, we just learned that you’re currently undergoing an extensive auditing process with the Canal Administration. What does that mean? Is the British Consortium in financial difficulty?”
Godfredo felt his pulse shoot up: to his knowledge, Paco hadn’t released any details to the press about the audit yet, nor his relationship to Gonzáles. Moreover, he didn’t look overly surprised to see journalists waiting on the hotel doorstep.
“This has been a trying period for us, I won’t deny it,” Paco said.
Nervously, Godfredo scanned the hungry faces with microphones and sun guns. He raised a hand, shielding himself and his father from the cameras.
“That’s all, everyone,” he said. He pulled Paco by the arm, and broke free of the scrum.
“Señor Paco! We’re also trying to get in contact with the consortium’s chief engineer, Max Burns, but he’s not responding. Do you know of his whereabouts?”
Paco stopped walking.
Don’t stop walking, you idiot!
Godfredo turned back and tried to pull his father away.
“I do not,” Paco said, looking at the journalist earnestly. “Unfortunately, we haven’t heard from our chief engineer in a couple of days. And it’s terrible timing, given the auditor’s findings.”
That set them off.
“Is the British consortium in trouble? … What kind of findings?”
“You mean Max Burns has disappeared?”
“I’m sure there’s a good explanation,” Paco continued, obviously playing dumb. “He’s very experienced with budgeting on this scale. And I should add that he’s an extremely reliable and trustworthy man, despite his tragic family history—”
Godfredo’s mouth fell open.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
Never mind the bald-faced lie about Max’s involvement in the budget … Did Paco really just bring Max’s family into the equation?
“That’s all! That’s all! No more!” Godfredo bellowed, dragging Paco away from the clamor.
“Señor Roco, are you confirming that CISCO is in financial trouble? What do you mean by ‘family history’?”
Paco paused for a moment, then turned back to the media. They fell silent.
“Please, don’t ask me to do your job for you. I have nothing more to say on the matter.”
Godfredo strode across the hotel lobby ahead of his father. It was all he could do to try and keep from hitting his father’s face with his fist.
As they stepped into the elevator, he turned to Paco, shaking.
“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but this is the last time I will speak with you. You’re on your own now!”
Paco pressed the elevator buttons repeatedly, as though the action would somehow speed up the process. “You’re in this just as much as I am, Godfredo,” he said, as the elevator started moving. “You knew the numbers were forged, and guess what? You’re a Roco, just like me. So, like it or not, we go forward together.”
“No, fuck you, Dad!”
“Grow up, Godfredo. I needed to deflect attention, and now I’ve said my bit.”
The elevator pinged, and the doors opened.
“And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m picking up my bags, and I’m going to the airport.”
Paco went directly to his room, and the door slammed behind him.
Chapter Sixty-Four
Casco Viejo, Panama City, Panama
Erika Fisher was seated in the front passenger seat of the black sedan. Outside the car, the streets were teeming with people.
She was en route to the American Trade Hotel, at the heart of Panama’s Old Town.
Fisher ran her tongue over her teeth and swallowed.
Her mouth was so dry.
“Ma’am?”
She cocked her head to one side, listening to her earpiece.
“The Ambassador looks like he might be about to leave the hotel. Orders?”
“Stay put. I’ll be on site in less than a minute.” She issued a further set of instructions to her driver. “You wait outside, I’ll direct him off the premises.”
With a passing glance in the mirror, she arranged her cropped, gamine hair so that it softened her face slightly. She’d had to apply blush that morning in order to hide the increasing pallor.
Quickly, she turned away from her reflection.
As the car pulled up at the hotel’s elegant front façade, she opened the door and stepped out. She was met with a wave of suffocating humidity that caught her off guard for a moment.
There was time to scan the foyer of the hotel before she was approached by a member of staff.
Smiling but disengaged, she bypassed formalities and walked across to the bar.
The eyes of most guests—men and women alike—were on her as she navigated the tables, but she was used to that kind of attention. As a young woman it had bothered her; it had felt as though she hadn’t earned it.
Fisher nodded to the barman, who had half an eye on the small television behind the bar.
“I’ll have the same.” She pointed to Roebuck’s glass.
As expected, her words caused the Ambassador to look up.
For a moment, she was startled by the intensity of his eyes; the symmetry of a handsome, older face. She recognized the look of an Alpha who has just sensed his mate. Or his match.
Roebuck opened his mouth to say something, but his eyes flicked away and he turned to the television screen. The sound was low, but audible.
“… where we have just witnessed a disturbing interview with Francisco—known as ‘Paco’—Roco, CEO and President of CISCO, head of the British consortium’s contractors …”
“Turn it up!” Roebuck barked. Fumbling with the remote, the bartender obeyed.
“… an audit currently being carried out, is expected to confirm Roco’s statement, but in the meantime, there are concerns that missing British engineer Max Burns is responsible for the consortium being close to bankruptcy …”
Roebuck’s mouth hung open.
“This information comes on the back of the news about the brutal killing of the Commissioner for Panama Canal’s Administration, José Gonzáles, the man responsible for initiating the audit on the CISCO files …”
The screen now showed a photo: Max Burns shaking hands with Commissioner Gonzáles at the Presidential Palace.
“Wow,” Fisher said, coolly, as a gin and tonic was placed in front of her. “Who would have thought they’d suspect the British engineer of murder?”
“Huh?” Roebuck looked at her. His tone changed to one of concerned urgency. “Terrible news, indeed. I must …” He looked at his phone once more. “Please excuse me.”
He stood, and waved to the bartender for the bill, while dialing.
“Mr. Ambassador, I think you should join me.”
Roebuck lowered his phone.
“Have we met?” His expression was one of irritation.
Fisher flashed her badge and immediately her agents appeared: two men hovering within meters of them.
“Fisher. Defense Clandestine Service.”
Roebuck looked at her incredulously. “Defense Clandestine? I’d have been informed if there was any clandestine activity in Panama.”
“For various reasons, this operation was not communicated to the Embass
y.”
“What is this?” He sounded incensed.
“I’ll explain in due course, sir. Right now, I’m asking you to come with me.”
Roebuck nodded.
Slowly, he picked up his briefcase and followed her toward the exit. They made their way to the first of the two vehicles.
“Please.” Fisher opened the front door on the passenger side of the first sedan. She cast her eyes around the immediate vicinity as he got in, then made her way to the driver’s side.
The driver looked up as she opened the door. “Ma’am?”
“Join the other unit, please,” Fisher said. “And wait for further instructions.”
“Of course.” Obediently, he unbuckled, then jogged to the second car.
Fisher got in. It was mercifully cool in the air-conditioning.
Without looking at Roebuck, she buckled herself in and checked the mirrors.
Roebuck looked at her. “Where are we going?”
Ignoring his question, she started the engine.
Chapter Sixty-Five
Costa Del Este, Panama City, Panama
Ignoring the driver’s small talk, Max Burns handed over dollar bills.
The cab took off, into the night.
Max walked toward the neon yellow sign at the end of the strip that heralded New Horizons. A fake, concrete boulder with accompanying plastic flamingos stood guard at the gate.
Dull street lights sputtered as he passed, and storm-damaged palm leaves hung limp across the perimeter fence. Many more leaves, sticks and debris had accumulated in mounds along gutters and building foundations.
Once inside the gate, Max saw one orange metal garage roller door after another, all of them closed. Occupied.
As he jogged down one row and turned into the next, he drew some consolation from the thought that nobody who knew him would ever suspect him of hiding out here, among folks who were taking lovers to a pay-by-the-hour motel.
For a brief moment, he thought of his uncle: of the fresh, black-and-white movie calendar that Alan had pinned to his wall, not long before they’d said their farewells.
Distraught, Max stopped jogging.
That calendar was last year’s now.
How many terrible beans-on-toast meals had he missed? How many beers in front of the telly?
Walking slowly, now, he could only think that he trusted Alan with his life, and yet—here, in Panama—the only person he felt he could really trust was Sofia: a prostitute who worked as a night manager in a push-button motel.
How a life can change in a moment.
Skirting around to the next row, he spotted a dimly flickering green light above an open roller door. He ducked inside.
He crossed the small garage space toward an illuminated, red button on the left wall that was well within reach of a driver’s car window.
He pushed it, and the roller door behind him started to close.
A halogen light went on above a black door to his left.
There were no instructions. No swipe card unit.
He opened the door and went in.
Immediately, he was hit with the smell: chlorine, and cheap cologne.
Long, velvet curtains hung, pulled back, at either side of the room. A table with a pair of gold framed Elvis sunglasses sat immediately to his right, and several diamanté-strewn jumpsuits on hangers hung along one wall. To his far left, an electric guitar was poised on a stand next to a large amplifier. Cables were coiled on the floor like snakes and in front of him stood a microphone stand. To his right: a floor-to-ceiling dancer’s pole.
“Okay …” he said, slowly. The smell of chlorine was strong.
He ventured further into the room, which was lit with warmly glowing lava lamps of various shapes and sizes. The far wall was papered with a classic, black-and-white photograph of hysterical rock concert fans. In the center of the room, mirrored ceilings reflected a round bed, sheeted with faux-satin leopard skin and adorned with pillows like big, fluffy red lips. An elaborate, ivory-and-gold telephone was positioned on the bedside table, along with a menu of fast foods.
Presuming it wasn’t just a prop, he picked up the phone’s receiver.
Immediately, he was greeted by a female voice.
“Buenas tardes, bienvenidos a New Horizons—”
He recognized her voice.
“Sofia?”
There was a pause.
“Who is this?”
“Sofia? Is that you? It’s Max.”
“Max! Don’t move! I’ll be with you in a second.”
Moments later, Max turned to see Sofia standing in the doorway. Her face—usually so composed—registered pure shock. “What are you doing here?”
“Sofia, I have nowhere else to go.”
She started running across the room. She was carrying an open laptop.
“What did you get yourself into?” She showed him the screen of her laptop. “Look! Look!”
Horrified, Max watched as a large image of his own face was superimposed behind the news reader onscreen.
“… suspect in the Gonzáles murder …”
“What …?”
“The Commissioner’s body was found earlier this evening …”
“What is this?” Max turned to Sofia. “I’m a suspect?”
But Sofia held up a manicured fingernail for silence, her attention riveted to the screen.
“Max Burns hadn’t been seen for two days, having not shown up to work this morning …”
Max looked at Sofia again, incredulous. She was shaking her head in disbelief.
“… police traced his movements to the Panama City Golf Club, but CISCO’s CEO Paco Roco holds grave concerns for the British engineer. With the British consortium now crying bankruptcy—”
“Bankruptcy?!”
Footage of Paco and Godfredo in front of the press came up on the screen.
Sofia scrolled as she read aloud: “Burns on the run … Prime suspect in Panama murder …” She looked up at him. “Dios mío, Max, I’m so sorry.”
Max sat heavily on the bed beside her.
“Paco sold me out,” he said. “Paco and Godfredo … They set me up.” He shook his head, unable to comprehend.
“What can we do?” Sofia asked, her voice urgent. “Shall I take you to the police?”
Max shook his head.
She closed the laptop. “Would it help if we called the British Embassy?”
“It’s too late for that. You saw the news. They want me for murder. There’s not much the Embassy could do for me.” The words were thick in his mouth.
“Do you want me to call a lawyer? I know a few.”
“I … I don’t know,” Max stammered. “I don’t know who I can trust anymore.” He paused, looking at her, her face oddly unfamiliar without its layers of makeup.
“Is Sofia your real name?”
She was silent.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you.”
“It’s okay. You’re right. Sofia’s not my real name—”
There was a loud knocking on the door.
Max jumped to his feet. “You didn’t tell anyone I was here, did you?”
She shook her head.
“Sí, quien es?” Sofia called out.
A woman’s voice came from behind the door speaking Spanish.
Sofia looked at Max. “He’s here!” she said. She stood up. “Godfredo’s in my office.”
Chapter Sixty-Six
Costa Del Este, Panama City, Panama
“Max!” Godfredo Roco stood in the doorway. “Thank fuck!”
“You asshole!”
Max threw himself at his friend and punched with all his strength. The two of them struggled like teenagers, locked together.
Once more Max lunged, taking Godfredo by the collar and punching. With a squeal, Sofia grabbed Max’s arm, and Godfredo fought back.
Max felt his friend’s fist connect with his cheek.
“Basta!” Sofia yelled. “Stop it! Stop it
, both of you!” She tried to pull them apart, but Godfredo pushed her to one side.
Immediately, she turned and slapped Godfredo’s face.
Stunned, Godfredo stopped. He looked at Sofia.
“Did you just … hit me?” Blood dripped from his chin.
“I did, you crazy bastard! Look at what you’re doing!” She let off a string of fast Spanish and, meekly, Godfredo stepped back, breathing heavily. The front of his shirt was stained crimson, and his cheek was grazed.
He turned to Max. “Hermano, I’m so sorry. This all got so fucked up.”
Max looked at his friend in shock. “I’m not sure I heard you correctly,” he said drily. “Are you apologizing? To me?”
“I won’t let you down again,” Godfredo said. “I promise. I’ll fix this. Dad went too far this time—”
“Where is he? Where’s Paco?” Max demanded. He touched his cheekbone gingerly.
“He left the country. Right after he spoke to the press.”
“Really?” Max rubbed his bruised knuckles. “And you didn’t go with him? Why not? Taking the easy way out is more your style, isn’t it?”
“Max, please.” Godfredo looked at his hands, which were now covered in his own blood. “I’m not going to leave you to fight this one on your own, hermano. You must know me better than that.” He looked at Max, his face imploring. Max was silent. “I’m the only one who can testify that you had nothing to do with the scam my dad and Gonzáles came up with.”
“Wait … Paco and Gonzáles? Wow. This gets better and better.” Max’s voice oozed sarcasm. But then it hit him: Did Paco kill Gonzáles?
He looked at Godfredo.
“No, no! Dad’s not a killer!” Godfredo had anticipated his question. “There’s somebody else, but I don’t know who it is.”
“And I’m supposed to believe you?”
“Really, Max, I don’t know who it is! Dad never told me. Maybe he didn’t know either.”
“Think, Fredo!” Sofia urged. “You don’t have any idea who it could be?”
The Expansion Page 21