Lucio sat back in his comfortable arm chair, a cigarette in one hand, a bottle of Cusqueña in the other as he looked through the window. The large fields around the camp were soothing to the eye, and yet he couldn’t relax. Telling his men to handle the prisoners with care hadn’t been successful. He had cursed their brutality since the moment he had seen Ethan lying in the sand with Sandro’s boot on his belly. The behavior of his men was debatable, and he wondered why his orders hadn’t been fulfilled. He despised men unable to follow orders, especially when it came to valuable packages.
Alano had assured him there had been no other way to handle the hunk. He had tried to break free and hurt the others on every possible occasion. There were injuries to show, and Lucio admitted he hadn’t seen that coming. From the description, Lucio learned that Ethan Mahoney couldn’t be treated like any other prisoner they had kept during the years. He was a trained bodyguard, a man used to fighting in several forms of self-defense. Tying his arms on his back hadn’t been enough. In his heart Lucio understood his man’s complaints, but he was nevertheless disappointed.
More curses slipped his mouth. The conversation with Cisco had been strenuous. The Colombian was impatient to the degree it made Lucio angry. He hadn’t been allowed to visit the plantations he was about to own, and yet Cisco tried to determine place and time of handing over the couple. They had quarreled, both unwilling to give in, finally shouting at each other with some threats mixed in. That hadn’t been helpful, and Morales had the inner strength to apologize. In the end they had agreed on meeting in two days. Lucio hadn’t given away the whereabouts of the prisoners, and Cisco had further denied Lucio a look at his new property, while the two million dollars had already been transferred. Lucio realized that dealing with a Colombian drug lord of unknown origin was more than a hazard game. He wished to not get too close to that man again. Gut feelings told him to either stay away or risk being bitten to death by a very hungry shark.
* * * *
Vancho slapped the desk with his hand. “I already told you I can’t just take my car and drive up somewhere, as we don’t even know where exactly your friends are kept! Your impatience is getting on my nerves! Damn it, Ryan, I understand your concern, but this is way too much! Go back to your hotel room, shower, take a nap, eat something and come back later or better—tomorrow! No, I won’t discuss this! Out!”
“Okay, I’m out. Just gimme a call.” Ryan clenched his teeth so hard they hurt. He turned away, realizing the officer wouldn’t budge. He slammed the door shut, shocked the secretary and apologized for his rude behavior. Still, he was on edge and furious to be condemned to do nothing until Captain Hierro called. It felt like he had waited a long time, but only two hours had passed. Outside on the sidewalk he forced himself to take a deep breath. All he could see was Ethan and Jazmin chained in some dirty kennel, clinging to each other and hoping for a savior to arrive. It was the image he couldn’t shake, the one that kept him from thinking clear-headedly.
He took an embassy car to the Marriott Hotel. When he handed the keys to a hotel employee, a slender, wiry looking guy emerged from the shadow right of the entrance, trying to look casual. He wore his dark brown hair longer on one side, which led to the constant swing of his head to get rid of the strands of hair hanging over his right eye. His skin was slightly tanned, the clothes practical from the short-sleeved shirt to the faded out jeans and black leather shoes with laces. He held a can with coke in his hand and was sucking on the straw. A leather bag hung over his left shoulder, giving him the appearance of a college boy though he was in his late twenties. Ryan passed him by and went through the door to fetch his key. Gut feelings told him to turn around. The young man was still standing close to the entrance, glancing at him.
“Mr. Griffith? You’ve got a note here,” the employee said and handed him the key and a white envelope. “It was delivered in the afternoon.”
“Thanks.” Once again Ryan looked back. The man was gone. Sighing, he opened to read the message. I was a friend of Nathaniel Weller and would like to talk to you. Sincerely, Nicolao Senterra. A phone number from Lima was added on the lower edge. Ryan looked up. “Do you remember who gave this to you?”
“Sure.” The employee smiled and pointed through the lobby. “This young man over there. That’s Nicolao.”
Ryan was irritated. It was the same man he had seen outside. He waved the can in his direction yet made no advance. “You know him?” he asked the employee.
“Oh, of course, sir. He’s a reporter of La República.” The young man’s smile broadened, and he looked proud. “He’s a local celebrity, so to say.”
“I see.” Ryan put his room key away and pondered whether to talk to Mr. Senterra. His curiosity won over his distrust. He crossed the lobby. “Okay, you’ve obviously been waiting for me. Why do you know my name, and what do you want?”
“Let me introduce myself.” He reached out for a handshake, which Ryan dutifully ignored. Senterra dropped the hand and readjusted the strap of his bag.
Out of instinct, Ryan made a step back.
“Okay, I’m Nicolao Senterra. My friends call me Nico. I work for a Lima newspaper. I wrote the story about the international counter-terrorist conference, and in this context I saw you bodyguard-ing the Secretary of State Geoffrey Nolan. I inquired about your name, and here I am.” He smiled invitingly. “I need to talk to you.”
“I’m no local celebrity,” Ryan replied. The reporter frowned at the angry undertone. “And my name’s truly not on any list. How come you know it?”
“You’re the last of the staff remaining here. I’m sure you’re staying to investigate about Weller.” Senterra exhaled and lifted his hands. “Please, believe me, I’m not out for mischief. I’m not here to make an interview to reveal stupid details of the secretary’s life. Can we sit down at the restaurant, maybe? I haven’t eaten all day, and I’m starving.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
Senterra flinched. It looked odd on his stubbly face, and Ryan needed a moment to realize the reporter had partial face palsy. “I want to talk with you about Nathaniel Weller. Come.” He led the way to the restaurant, and Ryan’s rumbling stomach made the decision to follow.
They sat down, and the waitress took their order after a few minutes of silent pondering over the menu. Ryan ordered the first dish on the list with meat in it, knowing he wouldn’t eat anything else for the rest of the evening.
“Okay, so here we sit, we ordered. Talk.” Ryan arched his brows. “And leave your hands where I can see them. I’m not in the mood to be ambushed at a table.”
“Ambushed?” Senterra smiled lopsidedly and put his hands flat on the table cloth. “Okay, you don’t know me, but that doesn’t justify that much distrust. Really. I meet with strangers every day. If I was so negative around people, they wouldn’t tell me anything.”
“The people I meet so up close and personal are out to kill the SecState. So keep your hands on the table and you’ll be fine.” He opened his hands, palms up. “Weller?”
“I was his friend.” Senterra arched his brows. “Were you involved in his killing?”
“You said you have information. Spill it.”
Senterra grimaced. “I’ve been friends with Nathaniel and his family for some years. Months ago, he told me he was in trouble, but didn’t want to go into detail. So I inquired a bit. That’s my job.”
“Spying on a friend?”
Senterra rolled his eyes, impatient. “I guess he wanted me to, but couldn’t say so. His family was endangered, I could tell, just by his dropping a hint. I learned that Lucio Morales had spread out his tentacles toward potential informants of all kinds months ago. Might be even longer, I’m not sure. By ways of blackmailing and bribing, he had recruited many men and women in crucial jobs like bank management, tax office, government agencies, police, and also persons with knowledge about foreign services. I can’t tell you exact numbers, but the net is wide-spread.” Senterra exhaled and pushed back his hair. “Nathaniel had been working for the US Embassy for years. He had been a liaison officer to the local newspapers and press agencies once. That’s why I know him. We became friends, but he never told me insider news,” he hastened to add. “He was always very professional. Private issues, yes, but never secret information.”
“That’s what we doubt.”
“I understand that. Fact is, Morales is behind all of this blackmailing. He knows of every important step in Lima, no matter police or government.”
“Which gives him advantage how?”
The reporter shook his head. “That’s a lot of advantage! Knowing what’s going on in the biggest city of the country, and especially if there are actions planned against his cartel.” Senterra’s eyes were wide with urgency. “But the important thing is—after I informed Nathaniel about my results, he started his own inquiries and sent them back to me. He was clever. I was just his eyes and ears on the street, but he had insider options I’d never have dreamed of.” He turned to open his leather bag.
Ryan was alarmed. “Hold the horses, Senterra! Make that move slowly, or I’ll drag you across the table.”
“Oh, okay, sorry.” Senterra handed Ryan the bag, put a strand of hair behind his ear and smiled. He looked very young. “Have a look yourself. It’s the green folder.”
Ryan took it out.
“Nathaniel used the embassy’s technical equipment to follow Morales’ movements in Lima and outside. I know he had contacts he didn’t reveal, and knew about Morales’ people around here. Dealers and such. He collected data of telephone calls.”
“Fine. Why didn’t he give them to the police?”
Senterra rolled his eyes again, and his impatience showed in his words. “First—he was one of Morales’ targets. Second—he didn’t know whom to trust inside the police department. It would’ve been possible he spoke to the wrong person, wouldn’t it? Third—revealing the information to anyone meant he’d endanger his family even further. He tried to live his life, Mr. Griffith, without being bossed by a drug lord. Do you understand that?”
“So he gave all the information to you. For what?”
“To publish them.” Senterra looked sad. “I’m about to work this over and hand it to my editor.”
Ryan nodded, eyes glued to the words Weller had written about possible hideouts. “How old is this information?”
Senterra shrugged. “Some have dates, some don’t. He sent me the last bits six days ago. So they’re pretty up to date.”
“I need a map to locate the names he wrote down.”
“Skip to the end. There’s a drawing with all possible places.”
Ryan skimmed through the sheets in feverish haste until he looked at a drawn map on which he made out the coast, the mountains and nothing beyond in the great green rain forest. Weller had painted light blue circles and written names beside them. “Are these cocaine plantations? Camps? Villages? What?”
“Small settlements, mostly. He told me he could triangulate satellite calls and thus determine the thugs’ whereabouts.” Senterra shrugged again. “But I’m not sure if this is true or wishful thinking. After all, he wasn’t a man of the CIA, and I’m not sure how much of this...” He sighed and wet his lips. “Listen, Mr. Griffith, I show this to you because I assume there’s more to it, okay? It’s worth investigating and finally finding Morales and his gang. But, lately, Nathaniel was... confused, hysterical. A stranger on the street could make him break into a sweat. He saw enemies everywhere and was unable to think clearly. That’s why he had to hide his family in the basement of the conference hall. There were other possibilities, but he didn’t want to see them. He was no bad guy, okay? Just cornered. He thought he was out of options and wanted to save his family at all costs. And you shot him. Why?”
“Can I borrow this?” Ryan shut the folder. “You’ll get it back. But—” He bit his lips, not knowing how much he should tell. “These locations might be important for another ongoing investigation.”
“Does it have to do with the kidnapping right in front of the hotel?” Senterra wiggled his brows and looked smug as he leaned back. “Come on, Mr. Griffith, Benison was very proud of what he had achieved. He told it to almost anyone willing to listen. And the night of the earthquake is very well documented from many sides.” He reached for his glass. “Do you—”
“That’s why you know my name!” Ryan hissed through clenched teeth. “You spoke with Benison, and he told you of the two men from the embassy coming to ask questions, right? Is that why you waited for me?”
Senterra put down the glass, sober again. “You hold information in your hands you wouldn’t have without me. And a kidnapping is quite a story, don’t you think? I can also help you find witnesses. People know me.”
The waitress brought their orders, but they refrained from eating.
“You tried to reach Reyes at the US Embassy, and he brushed you off. Now you come to me, hoping I’ll be easier to wheedle.” He put down the folder and bent across the table. “I’m not. I’m not working with you. I confiscate these documents in order to solve a crime, not to deliver you knowledge for a thrilling story to make you the next winner of the Pulitzer Prize!”
“You need the names of the places where Morales’ men might be. Admit it!” Senterra leaned forward as well. His voice was intense. “I want to see this bastard out of business, imprisoned, maybe dead. I wouldn’t mind. You hear me? He drove my friend mad so he was finally killed and leaves his family without a father! You’re searching for your friends so eagerly you were almost crying when Benison told you what he had witnessed. They mean a lot to you. Nathaniel meant a lot to me. Why don’t we work together to bring this shithead to justice?”
* * * *
They heard Sandro’s annoyed impatient voice long before he unlocked the door. He ordered Ethan to sit against the rear wall with his hands laced on his head. Only when he obeyed did Marisa cross the threshold, hands full with two sleeping bags and a bundle on top. Jazmin got up to take it from her, and Sandro closed in right behind her.
“Don’t dawdle!” he warned Marisa.
“Hope this will be warm enough for the night,” the young woman said quietly, head lowered as if to avoid getting hit. “And in the towel there are some more dressings and salve. Against inflammation, you know?”
“Yes, I know. Thank you.” Jazmin wanted to embrace her for her kindness and told her with a glance. “Thanks for bringing this to us.”
She smiled shyly. “Your hair is beautiful. And the clothes...” She bit her lips looking at Ethan. For a second her expression lit up to a smile. “Oh, there was nothing bigger in size. I’m sorry.”
“It’ll suffice,” Ethan replied evenly.
“Get out!” Sandro grumbled and attempted to push her when she didn’t move quickly.
“I’m going!” she replied stubbornly. “No need to hassle me!” She left, and Jazmin saw Alano standing outside, a gun loosely in both hands.
The door was locked, and Jazmin turned to Ethan. “If they come checking on us so frequently, we’ll hardly be able to slip away.”
“It’s not yet dark.” Ethan inspected the sleeping bags and looked around the cell before he got up to have a look around the camp. “Let’s see what we can improvise.” He smiled at her. “Princess, don’t look so gloomy. We’ll make it.”
* * * *
“You’re not truly saying you’ll take my information and run off, right?”
Ryan bit his lips. They had decided to eat and then, when they were satisfied, continue debating. He was still convinced he shouldn’t get involved with some local reporter out for a good story. However, Senterra’s report about the friendship with Nathaniel and his family touched him. Between the lines Ryan read that Senterra meant a lot to Weller’s kids, like an uncle. He knew the family members inside and out, spent his free time with them and was very worried about the future of the mother and their children now that Nathaniel was no longer there. Maybe he would write about Ethan and Jazmin. Maybe their rescue would make it to the headline, and the young and eager reporter would gain admiration from colleagues and his boss. Still, gut feelings told Ryan Senterra was willing to aid in the search out of respect and humanity.
“I’ll take this material, show it to Vancho Reyes at the embassy and have the army captain decide how to proceed,” Ryan summed up. “I won’t take you with me,” he interrupted the reporter’s request before he could speak. “Reyes will have my balls if I take you there after he refused to talk with you.”
Senterra cocked his head, still a smile around his lips. “Why were you so certain Reyes hadn’t talked with me? After all, he knows my name. He knows who I’m working for.”
“It’s not his job to bring Morales to justice. It’s not even his job to assist me in my search. Remember—he’s the liaison officer between the embassy and foreign visitors like the Secretary of State and his staff.”
Senterra gave in, sighing, and clearly not liking it. He put the napkin beside his empty plate. “Don’t exclude me, Ryan. Promise me that. I’ve worked too hard on all this to just hand it to you and forget about it. Morales ruined my friend’s life—among many others. So I want to be a part of the hunt.”
“That sounds too much like an action movie plot to me.” Ryan frowned. “Two lives are at stake, and I’ll do what the captain says in order to get my friends back alive. It’s not like hunting a wild boar through the woods, not caring for casualties.”
“Oh, hell, I know that!” Senterra pushed his hair back behind his ear. “Just let me participate in any way possible, okay? Report back to me. Let me feel that there’s progress. Who’s your connection in the army?”
“I won’t tell. It’s Reyes’ contact, anyway.” Ryan paid for his meal, took the folder and stood. “I’ve got your number. I’ll let you know what Reyes said about this.”
“In case you forgot—I know where you’re staying.”
Ryan didn’t reply to the reporter’s grin and left the restaurant, hurrying to deliver the good news to Vancho.