by Ridge King
“Just fine, Ramona, just fine.”
“It’s hard to believe it’s only three weeks till Christmas,” she said, a little out of breath.
“I know. In four weeks, we’ll know if dad’s the next President.”
Ravelo held the chair for her and Seijas placed the menu by her side.
“Thank you, Luis.”
“De nada, Señora,” he answered with a slight bow before leaving the table.
“Your father will arrive within the hour,” said Ravelo.
“Thanks, Santi. That gives us plenty of time for a quick lunch. What would you like to drink, Ramona?” Jack asked as Ravelo moved away and a waiter leaned in.
“Oh, just a glass of Chardonnay.”
“Bring a bottle of the 2009 Far Niente. And I’ll have a beer, a Stella.”
The waiter left them alone.
“How do you think she looks?” he asked.
“How does anybody look when they’re dying of cancer?”
Jack didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.
“When I saw her yesterday, she told me she wanted to live long enough to see if Sam won the election,” he said.
Ramona laughed.
“She just told me that if he does win, she wants to live long enough to see him inaugurated.”
“Well, he might make it,” said Jack, thinking of his conversation with Phil Slanetti at the Horizon party about how important Matt Hawkins of Wyoming might be. “I’m having one of the more important votes come down for a visit before Christmas, if it all works out.”
“Let me know—and be sure to tell Sam—that if he needs someone to fill in for Sofia during this time that I’ll be happy to help.”
“Thanks. I will.”
Jack knew there’d been rumors about a liaison between Sam and Ramona after his mother Louise died, but Jack had been only 10 or 12 and away at school, and Sam had never spoken of it, so it had never been discussed. With Sofia ailing and certain to die before too long, people were bound to be interested in what moves Sam might make after she passed.
I don’t really care, Jack thought as the waiter dropped off his beer and her white wine. Whatever his dad wanted was fine with him. If he won the Presidency, he’d have a lot on his plate. One thing was sure: his dad had always been the kind of man that not so much loved female companionship as demanded it.
* * *
At that moment, Governor Sam Houston St. Clair sat in the rear cabin of his Bell 206L-4 LongRanger feeling guilty precisely because he was thinking about “female companionship” after Sofia died.
He was on the chopper with just Chief of Staff Francis Clougherty and two Secret Service agents, having left the others in his party to travel from Opa-locka airport in cars and vans. But the noise in the chopper precluded any chitchat, so Sam was free to look out the window and dwell on his own thoughts.
The conference call that morning with the medical team he’d assembled to treat Sofia had spelled it out in no uncertain terms: his beloved Sofia would die before the New Year. The cancer had metastasized and spread to her liver. It was only a matter of time.
His thoughts naturally drifted to Ramona and Bedelia, the two women with whom he’d had affairs after the death of Jack’s mother, Louise Perkins (from an old Boston Brahmin family) and before he married Sofia, from a prominent Cuban exile family in Miami.
Louise had never really liked Miami and spent as much time in her native Boston as was practical, forcing Sam to maintain a lavish mansion on Beacon Hill. She was wildly against Sam going into politics, and it was only after she died that Sam entertained the idea of running for office.
Sofia supported him fully, but in her heart Sam knew she didn’t want him to go into politics. “Dirty work, politics,” he remembered her saying.
Where Louise spent her time locked up in the vastness of Flagler Hall, shunning Miami as much as she could, Sofia was a vital and energetic part of the community. Being Cuban helped, of course. But they were entirely different women.
Sam didn’t think Sofia knew about Ramona, and the reason he chose Louise over Ramona was Héctor. Louise was devoted to Sam and wouldn’t leave his side (until after they were married, when being in Boston suddenly became more important than being with Sam).
Ramona dated Héctor at the same time she was seeing Sam, who didn’t see that he was probably making a mistake by bringing the dyed-in-the-wool New Englander to live with him in his mansion on the Bay in Miami.
In any case, what was done was done. They shortly had a son, Jack, who grew up to distinguish himself in the Navy, following in Sam’s footsteps as a SEAL.
After Louise died, Ramona was still happily married to Héctor, with three lovely daughters to show for it, and Sam married Sofia, a friend of Ramona’s. A year later, she gave birth to his second son, Rafael, so unlike Jack in so many ways, with his dark olive skin, his black wavy hair, his Cuban exoticism. Jack was still very much the stoic, reticent New Englander and he still reminded Sam of Louise every time he laid eyes on him, with those clear icy blue eyes.
Bedelia was another matter altogether.
Sam had done quite a bit of business with her husband, Toth Vaughan, a real man’s man, with whom Sam had made a fortune in the mining industry in Canada and Africa.
When Bedelia had a son, Jonathan, Toth flew around on Cloud 9. Jonathan was not the son Toth wanted. They fought bitterly as Toth tried to “make a man” out of Jonathan. Sam was sure Toth died not knowing his son was gay. That part of himself Jonathan held in as much as he could until his father died. He’d even married Patricia in an effort to please his dad.
Sam had had an affair with Bedelia while she was still married to Toth. Since he and Toth traveled all over the world together, it was common practice for Sam to stay at Horizon whenever his business took him to Washington, just as Bedelia and Toth stayed at Flagler Hall whenever they passed through Miami.
The first time it happened with Bedelia, Sam just happened to get into Washington a day before Toth, who was coming from Paris. Sam had come in from Tokyo. Bedelia and Sam had both sworn themselves to secrecy so they wouldn’t break Toth’s heart. He was such a proud man. And they swore it would never happen again, but it did happen, again and again and again—whenever they could find the time, they slept with each other. They were both guilty, yes, but their guilt didn’t stop them from conducting what could have been a ruinous affair for both of them.
It went on for years, up until the time Sam met Sofia, and Sam put an end to it. He knew Bedelia was furious, but Sam had decided it was time to get on with his life. He’d had one son, Jack, with his first wife, the elusively cool cucumber from Boston, but Sam wanted more kids.
Bedelia was not pleased when Sam married Sofia. Sam knew it, especially as Sam naturally asked Toth to be his best man.
Bedelia seemed all right to Sam at the wedding in Washington’s National Cathedral, even whispering to him as they danced at the reception in Horizon’s ballroom later that day how happy she was for him. But Sam didn’t believe her, not deep down. The thought flitted through his mind that Bedelia might rise in a rage—“hell hath no fury like a woman scorned”—but he knew she was much too level-headed for those kind of histrionics. Toth and Sam were very close both personally and in business. She’d just be making more trouble for herself if she blew the whistle and revealed the truth to her husband.
Her manner changed three months later when Toth died suddenly in a boating accident trying to reel in a marlin off Bimini. He’d been pulled overboard by the strong fish and got caught up in the line, which strangled him.
Sam had been on the boat. Bedelia was back at Flagler Hall with Sofia. Sam was the one to break the news to her. He remembered the look in her eyes that moment—he’d always remember it. Her eyes said, We could've been together. But it was too late. He was already taken. Sam always thought Sofia suspected something was up between them, or had been, or something, but he was sure she didn’t know quite simply because she’d neve
r asked Sam anything about Bedelia.
Bedelia went back to Washington. Their son Jonathan inherited a vast fortune, but so had Bedelia. She moved out of Horizon into another equally lavish mansion, not wanting to be in the house she shared for so many happy years with Toth, leaving it to Jonathan to live in and maintain.
“We’re on approach, Governor,” came Gargrave’s voice through Sam’s headset.
“Thanks, Gargrave.”
Sam looked out and saw several attendants come out to greet them at the helipad next to Flagler Hall.
Sam found it odd that on the whole trip down from Washington, first on the plane and then here in the chopper, he hadn’t once thought about his fight to win the vote in the House that would determine if he’d be the next President. Not once. Just now as they were landing he thought about it. It was almost as if he was such a long shot to win that he might just as well not think about it at all. But of course they were winning over one state at a time and now stood within striking distance of getting a winning majority of 26 states.
What am I going do if I win? he thought. More precisely, he mused, for this was what really consumed him: Who’s going to be my First Lady?
* * *
“So what’s the story with our nasty little Derek?” Ramona asked, drawing Jack quickly out of his reverie.
“Yes, there’s been some activity,” he said.
It seemed almost impossible that Ramona’s almost casual request a few weeks ago for Jack and his agency to look into Derek’s activities with Howard Rothberg and Dade International Bank had led him to a sunken narco-sub in shallow waters an hour out of Key West where he’d recovered over $60 million in cold hard cash, but it was true.
“What are you smirking at?” she asked as the waiter came up.
“I was just thinking of your bill with my agency,” he laughed.
“I know it’s been expensive following him around and all that, but I don’t want to expose the law firm any more than I have to.” She turned to the waiter without picking up the menu. “I’ll have the chicken salad. It’s so good here.”
Jack thought under the circumstances it would be comedic to send Ramona a bill for the $30,000 or so it’d cost his agency so far to follow all the characters involved in this little heist story, but he’d have to bill her something just for the sake of appearances.
“The pulled pork sliders and another Stella,” said Jack, draining his first bottle.
The waiter poured another glass of Chardonnay for Ramona and left.
“Have you gotten everything you need from Lucy?”
When Gargrave, tailing Lucy Azzinaro around town on a hunch, discovered her meeting with Derek in a fleabag hotel where they had sex, Jack decided not to include their surveillance of Lucy in his report to Ramona.
All Ramona had asked Jack to do was find out what Derek was up to with some suspicious wire transfers running through her law firm to Howard Rothberg at DIB. Since Ramona’s husband Héctor had died suddenly and mentioned something about Derek on his deathbed, Ramona had had to resign her Federal judgeship and return to manage their prestigious law firm. And because she wasn’t sure what to do about Derek, she’d called Jack in to investigate. She’d given him full access to one of the paralegals in her finance department, Lucy Azzinaro, who had been briefing Jack on the wire transfer activity.
“Yes, Lucy’s been very informative, given us lots of helpful information,” Jack said. He’d already decided not to tell Ramona that while surveilling Derek, they’d been led to Omer Flores and Laurencio Duarte and the sunken sub.
“Good,” said Ramona, picking up her fork as the waiter left the chicken salad. “What have you found out about the wire transfers? Where are they ending up?”
Jack was on delicate ground here. He didn’t want to tell Ramona so much that she went into a rage and upset the applecart by firing Derek and Lucy and God know who else in the firm. There was still too much to learn from Derek. No, it was not a good idea to tell Ramona that her ex-son-in-law was sleeping with Lucy Azzinaro and was up to his neck in wiring drug money out of the country through DIB. While the damage was done, there was no need for her to know about it—yet.
“We think we have a couple of very solid leads on this,” Jack said carefully. “A couple of things lead us to think drug money’s involved.”
“That’s what I thought the minute Héctor told me to look into Derek.”
“Well, this is Miami,” Jack said.
“If only Héctor had lived long enough to tell me more,” said Ramona.
“Yes,” said Jack, reveling in the rich fatty taste of the pulled pork and the thin toasted buttered bun.
“And how are you treating my dear Babylon?”
“Babe and I are getting along quite well, thanks,” he smiled.
“What do you think about your brother and Antonia?”
Jack shrugged and shook his head.
“As long as they’re happy. Who am I to say?”
“That’s what I think,” said Ramona. “Raven is of course on the warpath. I’ve quit taking her calls. She’ll never get over you, Jack.”
“She’ll have to, Ramona, there’s no other way. I gave it everything I could, you know that.”
“I do know that, which is why I’m so hard on her.”
“It doesn’t help that her boyfriend is Rafael’s captain on the Fearless.”
“No, that doesn’t help.”
Jack looked up as Santiago moved across the thick carpet as quietly as a Special Ops soldier might crawl toward a nighttime target under cover.
“Your father is landing, Mr. St. Clair.”
“Thanks, Santi.”
“Let’s go out and meet him,” said Ramona.
“Yes.”
They got up and walked into the Great Hall and outside toward the helipad. They stood back as Gargrave brought the LongRanger to a gentle landing and the rotors powered down. Sam hopped out of the machine and walked over to Ramona, taking her hands and giving her a big kiss on the cheek, immediately throwing his arm around her shoulder, shaking hands with Jack with his free arm.
“Very sweet of you to be here, Ramona.”
“I spent some time with Sofia and then had lunch with Jack.”
“That’s great. How’s she holding up?”
“As well as can be expected.”
At the imposing entrance were gathered several club members watching the show. Sam played the candidate and dutifully shook hands with everybody as Jack and Ramona stood aside.
“I can’t imagine putting up with this for four years in the White House,” said Ramona.
“No,” said Jack. “Me, either.”
They pulled up the rear as Sam went inside and straight up to see Sofia. Standing by the entrance were some of the onlookers. One was a St. Clair Island resident, Tony Verges, a big Democratic fundraiser and assistant secretary of defense in the Administration preceding Norwalk’s. Jack could tell he’d just finished a round of golf with Roberto Duva, the billionaire condo developer who was almost singlehandedly responsible for the towering buildings that lined Brickell Avenue downtown.
Duva greeted Ramona.
“Ramona! You look ravishing!”
“Oh, thank you, Robby. You’re such a flirt.”
“Tony,” Jack nodded to Verges. “Robby.”
They all shook hands.
“Jack. Your dad’s looking quite well, given what he’s going through with Sofia,” said Verges.
“Yeah, it’s tough on him, sure.”
“Our thoughts are with you,” said Duva.
“Thank you, Robby.”
“Not to change the subject, Jack, but I was just talking to Tony when we finished our round, and it doesn’t make sense that I’m the only billionaire in Miami who’s not a member of the St. Clair Island Club.”
“How many billionaires do we have in Miami anyway?” Jack asked. “There’s Micky Arison, Norman Braman, Ed Ansin and a couple in the Grove, right?”
&n
bsp; “It would be a nice gesture to invite Robby,” said Verges.
“I’ll certainly speak to my dad about this, but only after things settle down.”
“Of course,” said Duva. “Thanks, Jack.”
Everyone said goodbye and Ramona took her leave as the valet brought her car around.
Jack had seen Gargrave standing discreetly behind them, and as soon as Ramona was gone, Gargrave moved over.
“What’s the latest?”
“Well, sir,” said Gargrave. “I’ve had some additional feedback from contacts of mine at four banks that received the wire transfers through DIB that were initiated by Derek Gilbertson at the Fuentes law firm.”
“Which banks?”
“The Banco Ruiz Crespo in Buenos Aires, the Rio Sonoma Banco in Rio, the Banco de Crédito de Caracas and the Unibancolombia in Bogota.”
“And?”
“The money, just as we thought based on the initial feedback, is definitely going into the Cuban National Bank in Havana after two or three more transfers through third countries.”
“Do you suppose Derek even knows this?”
Gargrave shook his impressively large bald head.
“I seriously doubt it, sir. They get their cut after the first transfer is made into the banks where I have the contacts. There’s no way he or Mr. Rothberg could be sure where the money goes after that.”
“And no reason why they’d give a damn. They’re just smuggling drug money out for all they know, not helping to fund the Cubans.”
“Exactly.”
“How are we doing getting the money from the Mirta out of Camilo’s safe house in the Keys?”
“We’ve been moving quite a bit of it. We have to stop every time your father comes to town because the Secret Service triples the detail here on the island.”
“Yes, we’ll want to get it all safely stored in the panic room before they announce who wins the election.”
“Yes, sir. It goes pretty well. I go out in one of our boats and meet Camilo around the bend far out in the Bay. His boys load me up and I bring it in. The Secret Service agents don’t pay any attention to me. Then I bring it in slowly over the next couple of days before we make another run.”