Chapter 15
Alberto De La Cruz was a ruggedly handsome man in his fifties.. His Spanish ancestry dominated his features over his south American Indian heritage His demeanor was one of confidence, of a man used to being in charge and getting what he wanted. A shock of silver hair swept back from his tanned face and curled slightly at the nape of his neck. He wore white, draw string linen pants and a white linen shirt that billowed gently from his body in the breeze. Barefoot, he paced slowly across the large veranda of his expansive house, looking absently across the sparkling sands to the frost capped waves of the sea that was his back yard.
Alberto was an organizer, a facilitator, putting people with the ability to pay large sums of money with the subject of their desire, mainly drugs and weapons. He started off running a protection racket in the back streets of the Columbian town of his childhood, developing his expertise in underworld businesses until he was one of the foremost gun runners in the world. Alberto was worth hundreds of millions now, but he wanted to be worth billions, and the opportunity was at his fingertips. Holding a cell phone to his ear he listened patiently as he stared out to sea, a slight frown creasing his clean shaven face.
Alberto De La Cruz snapped his fingers while listening on the phone, and a young, well muscled man wearing sandals, shorts, a Hawaiian shirt and a shoulder holster with the butt of a pistol sticking out of it, appeared immediately at Alberto's side.
“Iced tea.” Alberto said, holding the receiver away from his mouth. The man silently nodded and walked away.
Cushioned deck chairs and chaise lounges spread uniformly across the veranda with serving tables next to each one. A central table with a mosaic tile surface sat under an over hang that offered shade on a third of the veranda nearest the sliding glass doors of the house. Alberto walked into the shady part and sat down at the table as a glass of iced tea was placed in front of him. He leaned back in the chair and took a sip of the tea as he continued to listen.
The speaker finally finished and Alberto took another long drink of the tea, filling the space between him and the calling party with silence.
“That does not make me happy, Spike.” he said evenly in slightly accented English. “It was very unprofessional of you to let her become aware of you. It was very unprofessional of you to scare her and give her a hint of why she is of interest. Do not allow your own perversions to interfere with your job anymore.”
Alberto paused, taking another sip of tea as he thought. “Who is this man that she is with?”
Alberto listened, his lips tightening slightly. “You don't know? Why don't you know? I thought you've been researching her.” He listened. “I see. Well, I expect you to find out.
“Oh! And, Spike, you lost six men in a gun fight with a business woman and a hippie. I don't know what kind of people you're hiring, but I expect professionals and I want a professional job done.
“This is big, Spike. Very big. The stakes are incredibly high. You do your job well, you walk away a rich man. You fuck up any more, you don't walk away at all. Do you understand what I'm telling you?” He listened. “Good. We want that memory stick, so get the girl and let's draw her traitorous brother out of hiding.
“Plain and simple. Get the memory stick, then kill everybody who knows what it is, meaning Jenkins, the girl, the hippie and anybody else who joins their party.” Without another word, Alberto clicked the phone off and sat it on the table.
Picking up his ice tea he sauntered over to the thick, low wall of the veranda and stared out at sea, inhaling deeply the fresh ocean air. Alberto felt good. He was on the edge of hitting the big time. No more Warlords or minor dictators buying a few million dollars worth of guns and ammunition. Once that stick was in his hand, he would be catered to by the very rich – people of power who wished to be much more powerful, and, would see to it that Alberto De La Cruz was also a very powerful man.
---------------------------------------------------
At the same time Alberto was standing on his veranda looking out at sea, Susan was also standing on a veranda, though much smaller, looking at the same view 400 miles north of where Alberto stood. She clasped her hands to her arms as if she was hugging the breeze close to her chest. She also inhaled deeply, a smile on her lips, her eyes closed as she savored the scent of the ocean and the sound of frothing waves sizzling on the shore.
Brad came up behind her and put his arms around her. She leaned back on him, feeling a total peace within the moment. “Nice hideout.” she said.“If we had actually had a chance to date I would have eventually brought you here just to impress you.” Brad said as he put his cheek against her head and took in the same scenic view.
“I guess we passed up a lot of steps leading to this moment.” Susan said.
“Yes we did.” Brad confirmed. “In fact, we may have shot through months in a matter of hours.” He smiled. “I think we passed the stress test together quite well.”
“Yes, and with such little damage”, she said with teasing sarcasm, “just a bullet through my left shoulder and a blue mark on my right shoulder that looks like Rhode Island, and you trying not to limp on your right leg.”
“Yep.” Brad nodded. “We came out of that pretty good, didn't we, considering the odds.”
“Do you think we're safe here?” Susan asked.
“It depends on how good these people are and how well they're connected, but even with that I would say, yes. We're safe here. This is a very nice and popular hotel with tourists. I mean, look at that view.” he said waving his had towards the white sands and deep blue sea against a crisp sky. “They wouldn't expect us to come to such an obviously touristy place, especially a pricey one. Hopefully, they think I'm just a local hippie who might have two dimes rubbing together in my pocket, and neither of us knows what we are doing.
“The Land Rover is parked two blocks from here in a neighborhood. I paid for the room in cash, so there is no credit card trail. From now on, we don't use your cell phone to call out. We only use the throw away phone that we bought on the way into Santa Cruz. Anything we do must be paid for in cash.”
“You thought of everything, didn't you?” She said, amused.
“I hope so.” he said.
“What are you going to do about your cattle and your horses?” Susan asked, realizing that going home could be dangerous for Brad.
“I have a helper that I called. He'll take care of everything until I get back.”
Recon wandered through the open glass doors of their suite wearing a jacket with “Service dog” written on each side and laid down in front of them with a deep sigh.
“I guess we could remove that jacket now.” Susan said, unstrapping it and laying it on the veranda table. Recon slapped the floor a couple of times with his tail in gratitude.
“How did Recon get his name?” she asked, sitting down in a chair under a large umbrella, leaning down to scratch the dogs neck, which he seemed to enjoy thoroughly as he moved closer to her.
“That was his job – recon.”
“He's an army dog?” she asked.
“Corporal Recon.” Brad replied with a grin. “Recon is a highly intelligent, well trained dog. His specialty is to take point, which means, sort of check what's happening in front of a team. He can smell the enemy and warn us, or check out a potentially dangerous place with senses more superior to ours.”
“So, you was his handler?” Susan asked.
“No. I was an operations leader, so I had more than one team. Recon was a member of one of my teams. His handler was killed in action, and Recon, like me, was ready for retirement. I loved Recon. In fact, we all did, but other than his handler, Recon and I were real tight. So, I asked for him when I was in rehab from a bullet wound in the same operation that killed his handler. Luckily for both of us, I got him.”
Brad reach down and scratched Recon on the head. “We're just a couple of old war horses looking for some peace and quiet.”
“I thought those kind of dogs were German Sheperds.” Susan stated.
“In his heart, Recon is Rin Tin Tin. He's one of the best team dogs I've ever known. He's brave and comprehends situations well. He even has good manners and character.” Recon lifted his head and licked Brad's hand once as his tail slapped the floor.
Sitting next to Susan at the table which sprouted the shading umbrella, Brad pulled the folded piece of paper from his pocket that had been in the jewelery box. Looking at the note he said, “I'm curious about this phone number. Whoever it is, the number leads to someone who knew your brother, and has at least a rudimentary idea of what's going on, and possibly of who is hunting you.
“I'd like you to call the number and identify yourself, and also find out who is at the other end. See if you can find out who our adversary is. Put it on speaker phone”
Brad handed Susan the phone and looked at his watch as she punched in the numbers. After many rings, Susan was considering hanging up when she heard the receiver click on, followed by silence over the line.
“Is anybody there?” she finally asked.
“Susan Jenkins?” a male voice asked.
“Yes – how did you know who I am?” She asked, surprised.
“I was hoping I would never hear this phone ring. This line was meant for you alone. Tell me what has happened.” the voice requested.
“First, you tell me who you are.” Susan demanded.
“I was a friend of your brothers. We worked together on a project in which you, unfortunately, are now involved.”
“Why are these men after me?” she asked.
“You could be the key for them obtaining some very expensive information. Your brother was working as a double agent. As the agent of these people, he was suppose to bring the information to them, but once he discovered what the information was, he decided to go underground. He couldn't return the information, as it would have exposed his double agent status. Caught between two very real dangers, he decided to eliminate the information as being available, and eliminate his self from the scenario.
“The information is far too dangerous to expose and too important to destroy. So, it is in limbo, and only your brother knows where it is. It is to stay that way until it can be returned to where it belongs.”
“You know where it came from, don't you?” Susan asked.
“Yes.” he responded.
“And you also know why you can't simply return it.”
“Yes. There has been an infiltration which has not yet been discovered. He left the information in a secure spot for your brother to pick up, assuring his identity would not be exposed”
“Are you a government agent?” Susan asked.
“I prefer not to identify myself or whom I work for, but if you tell me where you are I will see that you are picked up and put in a safe place.
“By-the-way, did Jeff leave you anything before he disappeared.?”
“Yes. A kiss on the forehead.” Brad, still looking at his watch, drew his finger across his neck, telling her silently that it was time to hang up in case a trace was being conducted.
“I'll call you back.” Susan said, cutting off the man's protest with the click of a button.
“He knew too much inside information.” Brad said.
“Do you think he is a government agent?”
“I'm not sure your brother was an agent, so I don't know about this guy either. Your brother might have been an independent vendor who does deep work for pay. This guy you just called may be a partner of Jeff's and Jeff may have trusted him, but when you have something in your hand that is worth billions of dollars, loyalties can be tested to the limit.
“One thing for sure is that American intelligence agencies knows who your brother is, and so do the weapons dealers who had the information stolen. This guy you just spoke to seems to be an invisible factor to both parties.”
"Yes, but he's in place to protect me." Susan said.
"He was at first, possibly before he had more information than he does now about what was stolen. At this point, we can't be sure of his intentions, and we can't take any chances. Let's see if we, I mean, you, can set up a meeting with him."
All content - poems, posts & images - are ©2010 by John Evans. No permission is given to post, share, copy, print, e-mail, reproduce, distribute or link to. All Rights Reserved. Please contact John Evans at JohnEvansPoet.Com for licensing inquiries.
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