CHAPTER FORTY

They flew to Mexico City three days later, on December 21. Kelly took the allotted time off for the Christmas holidays, and Richard Tolman had signed off on six additional days, giving Kelly until January 3 to return. It was just approaching the supper hour when they checked in at the Marquis Reforma Hotel and Miguel, the concierge who had introduced Taylor and Alan to Ricardo, recognized her the moment she walked into the lobby. He smiled and bowed slightly as he approached.

“You are back, Senora Simons,” he said, tastefully not acknowledging that she was with a different man. “Welcome.”

“Thank you, Miguel.” She turned to Kelly. “This is Kelly Kramer. He’s a good friend of mine from Washington, D.C.”

“A senator? Congressman, perhaps?” Miguel said, shaking his hand.

“Nonpolitical. Sorry.”

Miguel shrugged. “I always ask. I once had a famous author stay here and didn’t find out until after he left who he was. I think it’s nice to take an interest in people, especially what they do for a living.”

“Of course,” Kelly said, not offering what his job was.

“We’ll need separate rooms,” Taylor said.

“I’ll arrange it. Why don’t you and Mr. Kramer sit in the lounge and have a drink. I’ll have the rooms assigned and your luggage delivered. Would you like the rooms next to each other?”

“Yes, please,” Taylor said.

They left their bags in the lobby and headed for the bar. Kelly and Taylor had decided they would approach Ricardo, the driver who had taken her and Alan to the antique shop that night, to help them. When she and Alan had traveled to Mexico City, Taylor had made all the arrangements, including the hotel. There was absolutely no chance that Miguel or Ricardo could possibly have known Alan prior to their arrival. That meant Edward Brand did not know Ricardo. It was impossible for Kelly or Taylor to be involved in meeting with Brand, as he knew who they were. Ricardo would make for the perfect front man—providing he wanted to take the risk.

The bar was well appointed, with rich teak woodwork on the tables and booths, and original oil paintings of rural Mexican scenes on the walls. Soft music was playing, but otherwise the space was quiet. Kelly ordered a beer and Taylor a glass of red wine. They had been flying for almost six hours, and both were tired. At the high altitude the alcohol hit them quick, and Taylor felt giddy. She cupped her hands around the glass and stared at the deep red wine. It reminded her of blood.

“You think this Ricardo fellow will go for it?” Kelly asked.

She shrugged. “No idea. But what are our options? We need a native Mexican to work the Monte Alban angle. Someone who can convince Brand that he knows where the treasure is and how to get it out. From what I saw when Ricardo was driving us around the city, he’s the guy. He’s connected, articulate and smooth. We just need to convince him to do it.”

“How do we contact him?”

“Miguel, the concierge. He knows how to find Ricardo.”

Kelly took a long draught on his beer and set the empty on the table. “This too crazy for you? I mean, going after Brand like this.”

She shook her head, her long hair moving with the motion. “No. It’s exactly what I need right now. The bastard deserves whatever he gets. I had a vision of him and Alan on the streets, destitute and homeless.” Her eyes had a hard edge to them. “I liked it.”

“That’s not like you,” Kelly said.

“There’s a line, Kelly. When you cross it, you burn all the bridges you spent years building. It takes a lot for someone to cross my line, but when they do, watch out. ‘An eye for an eye’ just doesn’t cut it. I want more. I want to put these men in the gutter. I want to destroy them.”

Kelly pursed his lips and swallowed. “Okay. Fair enough. But if I ever start edging up to that line, let me know.”

She laughed, and the softness returned to her eyes. “Sure. I’ll do that.”

Miguel entered the bar and approached their table. “Your rooms are ready,” he said.

“Thanks, Miguel,” she said, waving to the waiter for the check. “Miguel, do you remember Ricardo? He was the man you had drive Alan and me around last time we were in Mexico City.”

“Of course. Why?”

“I wonder if you could arrange for us to meet with him.”

Miguel looked confused for a moment, but then his smile returned and he said, “That shouldn’t be a problem. When would you like the meeting to happen?”

“Quickly.”

“I’ll phone him.” He glanced at his watch. “The best time to see Ricardo is in the evening, as he’s quite busy with his restaurant-supply business during the day. I could see if he’s available for this evening.”

“That would be great,” Taylor said. “Say, in about two hours?”

“Ten o’clock. I’ll call your room and let you know.”

“Thanks.”

Taylor and Kelly retreated to their rooms, and Taylor drew a hot bath. The phone rang before she could lower herself into the steaming water. It was Miguel. The meeting was on for ten o’clock. She hung up the phone, dialed Kelly’s room and told him, then slid into the bath. Evenings in late December in Mexico City weren’t exactly tropical, and she had a chill through her bones. She lay in the water, adding more hot every few minutes, until her fingers started to prune. Reluctantly, she pulled herself out of the tub and rubbed her skin with the soft towel. After she was dried, she put on new makeup and dried the ends of her hair that had dipped in the water. Then she dressed and checked her watch. Time to meet Ricardo. She knocked on Kelly’s door, and they took the elevator down together. It was ten to ten, but Ricardo had already arrived and was sitting in one of the corner booths. He caught her eye and gave her a subtle wave. When they reached the table, she did the introductions. The two men shook hands, and they all slipped into the booth.

“Miguel said you wanted to speak with me,” Ricardo said. He was as Taylor remembered him, tall and light skinned, with penetrating brown eyes and well-groomed black hair just off his shoulders. His smile was brilliant white and his nails freshly manicured. He was dressed in a pressed white shirt and black trousers.

“I did, but not until we’ve had a drink. I’m parched.” Taylor wanted to get an idea of what Ricardo was like—whether he was a risk taker or a stay-at-home kind of guy. She had her suspicions, and they leaned toward him being the more adventurous type. After twenty minutes of animated, and often very funny conversation with him, she had her answer. Ricardo was exactly who she had hoped. He skydived on occasion and drove a racing car on weekends at one of the local tracks. He was single and dated regularly, but seldom the same woman. And he was smart and funny. He had a quick mind, which would be a definite asset if he were to meet Edward Brand face-to-face at some point. It was pressing eleven o’clock when the talk drifted around to why they were at the table together.

“Do you remember my husband, Alan?” she asked Ricardo.

“Yes. Not vividly, but I do remember his face.”

“Well, it turned out that Alan wasn’t who I thought he was. I’ve got a bit of a story to tell you if you have the time.”

“I’m yours for the evening,” Ricardo said, motioning to the waitress for another round. “Please continue.”

Taylor spent the next fifteen minutes detailing what Edward Brand and Alan Bestwick had done. Every detail, including how Alan had faked his death by plunging over the cliff at La Laguna. She told him of her trip to Paris and how she had seen him on the street in the Latin Quarter. When she was finished, she sipped her drink, her throat dry from talking so much. Ricardo was quiet, his face serious.

“Your husband deceived you quite badly,” he said. His voice was soft, but there was an edge to it. “That is cowardly. In Mexico, many men fool around on their wives and bed other women, but it is few and far between that a man would do something like this. Your husband is a snake.”

“Good description,” Taylor said.

Ricardo rubbed his closely shaved chin. “How do I figure into all this?”

“Kelly, maybe you should take over here,” Taylor said.

“Sure,” Kelly said. “We think there may be an opportunity to get Taylor’s money back from Edward Brand. But we need help.”

“What sort of help?” Ricardo asked, reclining back into the soft leather.

“There’s a series of ruins about five miles northwest of Oaxaca City. Monte Alban. Have you heard of them?”

He nodded. “Yes, of course. In school we take classes in Mexican history and Monte Alban is one of the more interesting parts. If I remember correctly, the Zapotec Indians built the city in about 200 or 300 ad. And one of the tombs they found was full of priceless works of art. It was quite the find.”

“That’s the place.”

“But the government has closed down any archeological work because of an earthquake. It was back in 1999 or 2000, I think.”

“1999. And that’s what makes this the perfect bait for Edward Brand,” Kelly said. “The place has the potential to yield millions of dollars in treasure, but no one can get at it. But what if someone could get in? And what if they found a bunch of treasure? But for some reason, they were unable to get it out. Say, an official who needed his palm greased before he would turn a blind eye. And if the person who knew where the treasure was didn’t have that money, then the gold and jewels would just sit there until someone else discovered them.”

“Unless this person could find someone with money to pay off the corrupt officials,” Ricardo said. “I understand.”

“So that’s where you come in. You have to hook Brand—get him to believe that you have access to hundreds of millions of dollars in ancient Aztec and Mixtec treasure. And once you have him believing, you need him to wire money from his account to one of these officials.”

“And you take the money,” Ricardo said.

“Sort of,” Taylor interjected. “We’ll only ask him for half a million dollars, and since that money will be traceable, we don’t really want it. But that gives us access to his account numbers. Once we have those, plus the passwords, we can empty the accounts. That’s where the real money is.”

“How much?” Ricardo asked.

Taylor thought for a minute. Brand took over two hundred million dollars out of the scam, but he would have had serious expenses. Even if he kept twenty-five percent of the total, that amount was still substantial. “Fifty million, give or take,” she said.

Ricardo whistled, a low monotone note that carried through the smoky air. “Fifty million?”

Taylor and Kelly both nodded. “At least,” she said.

“That’s a lot of money.” Ricardo was very thoughtful. He sipped his drink, then waved at the waitress for another one. He waited until she had dropped off the rye and coke before continuing. “What is my share?” he finally asked.

“Depends on what we get,” Kelly said. “But we’ll guarantee you one hundred thousand dollars, even if we don’t get a single peso. Paid up front.”

“And if we get a peso, how much of that peso will I get?” he asked.

Taylor could read the interest in his eyes. It was extremely high. “Ten percent,” she said. “Capped at five million, even if we take in more than fifty.”

“Ten percent,” Ricardo repeated. “That seems low.”

She shook her head. “Ninety-nine percent of this con is knowing who has the money and what kind of person he is. The final one percent is pulling it off. You’re well paid at ten percent.”

Ricardo did the math for each increment up to fifty. If they were anywhere near the fifty million, the amount was staggering. “Is he dangerous?” he asked.

“Extremely. He’s already had one of his men kill an FBI agent. You don’t want to blow your cover. The chances are good he’d kill you on the spot,” Kelly said.

Ricardo arched one eyebrow. “Now that’s an honest answer.” He was silent, thoughtful. When he spoke his voice was distant. “I’ve had a good life. One filled with nice clothes, fast cars and lots of women. I’ve built a thriving business in a city where it is very difficult to succeed. Now is the time of my life to enjoy this success.” He paused to finish his drink. “But there has always been something missing. A piece of the puzzle that wasn’t there. I never knew what it was. Not until tonight. But now I know. Although Mexico City can be dangerous, I have never been in a life-or-death situation. I’ve never had to rely on my abilities to think fast and say the right things to stay alive. And that is what is missing.”

“And . . .” Taylor said.

“And tonight, you have presented me with a very unique opportunity. Perhaps one that could fill that void.”

“You’ll help us?” she asked, then held her breath.

He smiled, but his eyes were serious. “Yes, I’ll help you.”

It was Taylor’s turn to smile. She reached over and shook his hand. “Then we’re a team of three.”

“A team of three,” Ricardo said. “I like that. It’s got a—how do you say it in English?—a certain ring to it.”