“No,” Godfredo said. “And I don’t want to know. Not after today.”
Sofia turned to Max. “Someone with a big reputation.”
Steven. Of course.
Steven was the only one who knew he’d be at the golf course that morning when they killed Gonzáles.
Max sat heavily on the bed once more, a wave of fatigue rolling over him.
Whatever this thing is, it’s much bigger than me.
He looked at Sofia. “Can I borrow your phone?”
She nodded, and quickly handed him her cellphone. It was encased in hot pink, with champagne diamantés.
“Who are you calling?” Godfredo asked.
“Karis. She’s the only one who can deal with this. The local cops aren’t going to believe me.”
Godfredo contemplated this for a moment. “So … you’re suggesting a Smithsonian scientist can help you solve a murder?”
Max sighed. “Fredo, Karis is an undercover agent with the US government.”
“Oh. My. God! That makes her even hotter!” Godfredo’s triumphant expression froze. “Wait, you’re not serious.” He looked at Sofia. “Is he serious?! Oh my God. How fucking cool is that?! Max! You’ve been screwing a CIA agent—!”
“Shut up, Godfredo,” Max said, wearily. “Really. For once in your life, stop talking.”
“Okay,” Godfredo said, backing off. His eyes were sparkling. “So … Let’s go!”
Max turned to his friend. “No, Fredo. You’ve already caused enough trouble for me. You wait with Sofia until I call you. I have to do this on my own.”
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Casco Viejo, Panama City, Panama
Dropping the television remote, Karis ran to the window of Max’s apartment. Standing to the side, in shadow, she shifted the venetian blind slightly with one finger, and surveyed the street below.
A local police officer stood there, looking up. He was talking into his radio.
Behind her, the television broadcaster’s words delivered their sting.
“The Panama Canal expansion project’s chief engineer Max Burns is on the run after bankruptcy and embezzlement claims. Speaking at a doorstop a short time ago, Paco Roco, head of the British Consortium’s contractors, CISCO, spoke about the company’s financial catastrophe …”
She didn’t wait to hear more.
Max must have known about this. He must have.
How could I have misjudged him so badly?
Karis’s heart rate increased as the door clicked softly behind her. She ran along the corridor to the fire exit at the far end. She took the stairs two by two, slipped out the emergency exit and found herself in a gated courtyard with old stone walls.
A tree stood in the corner. She knew it would be easy climbing and, indeed, within seconds, she was crouched in the lower branches, assessing her options.
In her hand, the Abbey phone started vibrating silently.
She didn’t pick up: to break the silence and talk right now might mean the difference between being spotted or getting away.
She kept her eyes on the street, but she was only half concentrating: she—of all people—couldn’t baulk at the idea of Max being a Chinese asset. Coming from her—an undercover agent—that would be ridiculous. But if he was involved in the death of Gonzáles … that was another matter. That would make Max Burns a cold-blooded killer.
The police officer made his move, entering the building via the main entrance, and Karis prepared to step across to the wall and jump. She landed on the pavement below, startling a pair of cats. They skittered across the street.
As she moved along the sidewalk toward the nearest cross street, her phone started vibrating again. She looked at the screen.
Her hands went cold and she stopped walking.
She accepted the call and waited, silently.
“Agent Deen?”
Karis’s stomach somersaulted. It was Max’s voice.
Softly, she said, “You know, then?”
“Yes.” His voice was neutral.
She didn’t speak. She didn’t know where to start; how to explain.
“Can we meet?”
“Max …” She spoke slowly. “I need you to hear me: if it was you who killed the Commissioner, I won’t be able to help you. Do you understand?”
There was silence for a moment.
“I know who killed Gonzáles. I think you need my help more than I need yours.” His tone was icy.
“Okay. Where do you want to meet?”
“Why don’t we meet out front of the Smithsonian?”
“The … Smithsonian? Come on,” she said, defeated. “I was just doing my job.”
“Right. And you’re really good at it.” There was a long pause.
“Okay,” she conceded. “Give me ten minutes.”
The phoneline went dead.
Karis allowed herself a moment to pull her scattered thoughts together. She took a couple of breaths before starting to run along the street toward Avila’s location.
Gripping the phone, she dialed.
“Tuck? Where are you?”
“I’m headed your way. The white Honda came back to the Chinese Embassy, and there was only one occupant.”
She peered up the street. “Wait. I see you!” She ended the call and sprinted the last stretch toward the yellow cab as it approached. It came to a stop on the side of the street.
Breathless, she flung the door open and climbed in. “I need to get to the Smithsonian!”
“Why?”
“Drive, Tuck! Max called me.”
Avila looked at her, without moving the car. “You trust him?”
“What choice do I have?”
After a moment, he nodded. “Okay.”
He swung the wheel and they headed out of the Old Town.
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Balboa, Panama City, Panama
“Dead bodies,” Erika Fisher said, under her breath.
She turned the wheel, taking the car off the main road, and drove toward the broad tree-lined avenue that was Calle Roberto F. Chiari.
“I’m sorry?”
Fisher looked at Roebuck. “That’s what the transoceanic railway was used for.” She pointed in the direction of the railway that passed alongside the canal. It was just out of view. “Even before it was completed, it was shifting hundreds and hundreds of dead bodies, to get them out of Panama. To get them home to their loved ones.”
She gave a grim smile. Not at the grisly history of deaths at the hands of malaria and abysmal working conditions on the Panama Canal construction site a century ago, but—rather—at her own words. A couple of weeks ago she wouldn’t have dwelled upon the missteps of the past, nor on the tribulations of strangers, opting instead to look to the future.
A lot can change in a few weeks.
She could feel Roebuck’s calculating gaze on her as she drove.
“What exactly is your directive, Agent Fisher?” he asked. There was an edge of challenge in his voice: he was clearly trying to gain the upper hand.
“I think it’s you who killed Commissioner Gonzáles yesterday at the golf course,” she said.
Roebuck attempted to protest, but she cut him off. “Don’t get me wrong: it was an interesting plan. And it might have worked out—getting our American engineers back into the Canal project after it was declared bankrupt.” She glanced at him. “I can well imagine you: swooping in to offer a helping hand on behalf of the mighty United States of America. And in exchange regaining our stake in the administration of the canal. It’s a very neat solution to a very messy situation.” She smiled grimly. “You’d have been the hero of the day, Larry! And wouldn’t that have given you a huge step up in Washington—?!”
“You have no right to accuse me of anything!”
Fisher was calm. “Sir, that’s precisely the problem we face: you feel you’re above the law. But we have a record of you speaking with Commissioner José Gonzáles on several occasions—”
�
��Have you been surveilling my communications?! I’m an Ambassador for the United States!” Roebuck’s tone was harsh.
Fisher was impassive. “My team had—for other reasons—been intercepting the calls of Commissioner Gonzáles; not yours. But you made the mistake of calling him on his cellphone.” She glanced at Roebuck. “You might have been on a secure line, but he wasn’t. That’s how you put yourself on our radar.” She sighed. “In any case, it’s a moot point. Right now, you can see you’ve put me—and our country—in a very difficult situation. How do we explain to the world that we have power-hungry Ambassadors running around killing people?”
“You’re grossly overestimating my ambition. I’m just a patriot from a small town in Indiana, who wants to serve his country.”
Fisher laughed, her tone brittle. “I know.” She kept her eyes on the road. “That’s the error we all make at one point or other, when we’re in this patriot business: we start to believe our own hype.”
“You’re not making sense.”
“Okay, let me make it plain.” She fixed her eyes on him for a moment. “As I see it, there are two options. First: I bring you to justice. But you need to be aware that if I turn you in, you will be put on trial in the Panamanian and US courts, and the international media will have a field day—”
“I get it, I get it.” He cut her off. “What’s the second option?”
“The second option is that you give me your gun.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“What makes you think I’m carrying a gun? Don’t you think I’d have thrown it away already, even if I was stupid enough to use it? Which, by the way, I have not admitted.”
Fisher slowed the car. She took a turn onto the street that led to the CISCO Construction Group’s head office. They were only a few hundred meters from the Panama Canal Administration Building.
“Sir, I don’t think you would have thrown the gun away. You of all people know an Ambassador is well protected. You have complete diplomatic immunity. Nobody would ask you—nor suspect you—of carrying a firearm. That’s how I know you kept it, and how I know you’re carrying the murder weapon with you as we speak.” She turned the wheel and accelerated. “And so I’m going to ask you again to hand it over.”
There was silence for a long stretch.
Fisher worked to control her facial expression: if the gamble didn’t pay off she’d have nothing.
She exhaled slowly—mostly to try to expel the pain that was in her chest.
For a moment, she wondered if she need worry that he might pull the gun on her. But she was sure he’d realized by now that he was in too deep for that.
“I assume you didn’t register the gun,” she continued mildly.
He kept his silence.
As they reached the parking lot out front of the building, she slowed the car to a standstill. The place was badly lit, bar a couple of lamps that illuminated the main entrance to the building.
“You know what’s funny?” Fisher said, as she switched off the engine. “We really thought the Chinese were behind this.” She cast a look at Roebuck, curious to see his response. He clutched his briefcase close to his body. “Can you imagine? We already had two clandestine teams on it.” As she remembered the look of abject concern on the Secretary of Defense’s face, she fought back a smile. “Implicating the Chinese in the failure of the canal expansion would have given your plan a real boost, you understand that, right?”
Slowly, Roebuck nodded.
It was the first indication that her gamble was going to pay off.
“I got spooked,” he said. He turned to her and he shook his head. “To get the Chinese involved was never part of my plan.”
She nodded, and he held her gaze.
“But when it happened … I needed to pull out,” he said. “It was getting out of control. It had to cut any ties that would connect me with Commissioner Gonzáles.”
“I understand,” she said. She inclined her head toward the sprawling whitewashed building. “This way, sir.”
They got out of the car.
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Smithsonian Institute for Tropical Research, Panama City, Panama
From where he stood by Sofia’s tiny red Toyota, Max could see the cab’s headlights approaching.
He heard the sound of tires crushing fallen leaves and twigs as the car came to a standstill some distance from him. Two figures got out. One of them was Karis Deen.
She approached him alone.
Max’s pulse started racing.
Perhaps ten feet from him, she stopped. “Max, what happened to your face?! Are you okay?”
She was so very beautiful.
“Is caring about me also part of your job?”
“Come on, Max.” She was unsmiling. “Tell me what you know.”
Immediately, Max shut down any feelings he may have had. “It’s the Chinese,” he said abruptly. “Steven never signed in at the golf club this morning, but he made sure I was there to meet him.” He paused. “He always signs in. I think the Chinese are trying to frame me for Gonzáles’s death.”
In the half light, he saw a flicker of confusion on her face. “You think the Chinese also set up CISCO to destabilize the expansion project?”
“I’m not sure what Paco’s connection with Gonzáles was, and when it started. Godfredo told me that he and his dad didn’t know who was pulling the strings behind Gonzáles. I guess when the Chinese realized that the Americans were increasing their intelligence, they decided to get rid of their main contact, Gonzáles. Or maybe killing him was always part of their plan.”
Over her shoulder, Max saw the second figure—a man—was now approaching. “I’ve got Jay,” he announced. He had a cellphone in his fist.
He handed it to Karis. It was on speaker.
“Jay, it’s Karis. I’m with Avila and Max Burns. Max believes the Chinese may be the ones behind Gonzáles’s death.”
“Karis, no. You were right. The Chinese have nothing to do with it. It looks like it was one of our own.”
“What do you mean?” She turned her back to Max.
“It’s the US Ambassador in Panama: Larry Roebuck. And Karis … Fisher’s in Panama.”
“Fisher’s here? Why?”
“She didn’t trust your report about the Chinese. And when she learned about the possible connection with the US Ambassador she decided to go to Panama herself. She instructed us not to inform you. And we believe she’s with the Ambassador now.”
“You believe …?”
“We don’t know for sure, but we just received word from her back-up team that she secured the Ambassador and then stood her team down.”
“Why the hell did she do that?”
“I don’t know. And a few minutes ago, she deactivated her DROP cellphone.”
“No way! So you can’t track her?! Where did you last see her?” Karis turned, and Max could see her face was grim.
“Avenue Morgan.”
“The Canal Administration Building,” Avila murmured.
“Thanks, Jay. We’ll call you as soon as we know more.” Karis ended the call. She turned to Avila. “We’re on our own. So let’s go to—”
“I’m coming with you,” Max interjected.
Karis turned to him, her expression one of surprise. As though she’d almost forgotten he was there.
She shook her head. “Agent Avila and I will sort this out. I’ve got your number, I’ll contact you when—”
“No way,” Max cut her off. “I’m not standing around here while other people try to take everything away from me again. I’ve been there before, and I’m not going to let it happen. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
Karis tipped her head, observing him for a moment. “Okay. Why would they go to the Administration Building?” she asked. “What could they be looking for?”
“I don’t know. Let’s find out.”
Karis nodded slowly. She turned back to Avila. “Tuck,
you go to the American Embassy to see if they show up there. “I’ll take Max to the Administration Building. If you get in trouble, call me.”
Avila nodded and made his way swiftly toward the cab.
Karis looked at Max. With no trace of emotion in her voice, she said, “We’ll take your car. You can drive.”
Chapter Seventy
Balboa, Panama City, Panama
With Max at the wheel, they made their way along winding streets. Debris from the storm—leaves and sticks—came into sharp relief under the car’s headlights.
As they drew closer to the majestic Panama Canal Administration Building, Max slowed the vehicle and scanned the roadside. He glanced at Karis.
“You want me to park around here somewhere? In the shadows, maybe?”
Karis’s lips twitched, and Max could see she was fighting a smile. “It’s okay, you can go a bit closer.” She turned to look at him. “Wait, stop!”
Max hit the brakes.
Karis was pointing to the other side of the street. “Over there! That’s Fisher’s car.”
Max peered through the windshield.
Sure enough, a black sedan was parked in the corner of the otherwise deserted parking lot, out front of the cluster of Spanish-colonial-style buildings that had housed CISCO headquarters for the past eighteen months.
“My office …” Max said. He turned to Karis. “What would they be doing there?”
“They want the CISCO files,” she said. “What’s in them?”
“I have no idea why they’d want my files.” Max shook his head. “But maybe they’re not looking to get something,” he said slowly. “Maybe they’re looking to leave something.”
“What do you mean?”
“A gun? The murder weapon?”
“That doesn’t make sense. I can’t see why Fisher would frame you for the murder of Gonzáles.” Karis was silent for a moment. Then she pointed toward the parking lot. “Drive that way,” she instructed, coolly.
Max turned the wheel, and a sign became visible: CISCO Construction Group. Employee and Visitor Parking.
“And you’re sure it’s Fisher?” he asked. He drove directly into the parking lot.
The Expansion Page 22