James Grippando - A King's ransom

“What’s going on?” asked Matthew.

“Army’s getting close. FARC’s gearing up for a battle.”

“I thought Joaquin wasn’t part of FARC.”

“He’s not. They’re kicking him out of their territory. FARC commanders put up with him so long as he was selling his kidnap victims to them. But he’s been asking for too much money lately.”

“Where are the other captives?”

“FARC took them.”

“What?”

“I think it’s like back rent. Joaquin’s been a squatter on their turf, so they just took four of his prisoners. They let him keep two.”

“Why us?”

“Just a guess on my part. Joaquin thinks I’m the least trouble. And you’re worth the most money.”

It sickened Matthew to think that things were so bad with Joaquin he almost wished he’d been sold to FARC.

“Up,” said the guerrilla. It was a girl this time. Cerdo was gone. At gunpoint she marched Matthew and Emilio across the busy camp toward Joaquin and the rest of his band. Joaquin was in a serious-looking conversation with one of the FARC commanders. They were checking a map, apparently deciding on the best way out.

Matthew glanced back toward the hut. From about thirty meters away he caught sight of Nisho and the Colombian woman seated on the ground near the campfire. On the other side of the fire, closer to Matthew, Cerdo was talking with two FARC guerrillas. He was laughing and pointing back toward the women. Finally, he got down on his knees, hands together in the praying position, whining and begging in Spanish, “ Please, stop, you’re hurting me! ”

The men all laughed, but Cerdo laughed hardest, and Matthew realized what was happening. He was recounting their rape of Nisho, as if telling the FARC boys what they had to look forward to.

Joaquin called his men together. He had his map, and he apparently had FARC’s blessing on his way out. Turning over Nisho and the Colombian woman had guaranteed his right of passage.

“ Vamos ,” said Joaquin. Cerdo came running along, his belly bouncing.

Matthew glanced back one last time at their camp, toward the two women prisoners. He thought of his own wife and daughter and felt an almost uncontrollable urge to grab a gun and do the right thing. But between Joaquin’s group of bandits and the FARC guerrillas, he would have been killed before firing a single shot.

“ ?Te amo, Nishooooooo! ” shouted Cerdo . A chorus of laughter followed from Joaquin and the others who’d been at the river that day.

Filled with anger, Matthew forced himself to put one foot in front of the other as they marched down the side of the mountain. He didn’t know where they were going, and it no longer mattered. At that moment he vowed that wherever they ended up, he’d seize the first opportunity. He’d kill Joaquin first, Cerdo second.

Whoever else he could take with him would just be gravy.

I’d wanted to sleep on things, but that night was fitful. I needed three million dollars. Time was short and options were limited. I could go the legal route and be stonewalled by the insurance company. Or I could ply quick and dirty money from Guillermo and worry about the consequences later. Problem was, Guillermo, too, had stonewalled me on my visit to Nicaragua.

By morning I’d settled on a new angle.

I knew from my visit to Nicaragua that Guillermo’s wife spent six months a year in Palm Beach. According to Lindsey, that was the reason she hadn’t known Guillermo was married. I wasn’t sure I completely believed her on that, but he certainly could have led her to believe that he wasn’t happily married. The important thing was that with just an introductory phone call from me that morning, Vivien Cruz had agreed to a noon meeting at the historic Breakers Hotel in Palm Beach.

“Mrs. Cruz?” I said, approaching her at poolside.

She was reclining in a chaise longue, wearing a bright yellow bathing suit that set off her dark suntan. The suit was cut high at the hips, giving her shapely legs the illusion of even greater length. She sat up and removed her designer sunglasses, revealing a face much younger than I’d expected. There were a few telltale lines at the eyes, but it was still clear that Guillermo had not married his high-school sweetheart.

“My, don’t you look like your father,” she said, smiling. “You must be Nick.”

We shook hands, and she settled back into her chaise. I sat in the deck chair facing her, the hotel in the background. The Breakers was a beautiful old hotel that evoked the grandeur and style of the Italian Renaissance, its impressive towers, ornamental stonework, and iron balconies inspired by the Villa Medici in Rome. The manicured croquet grounds were adjacent to the pool, and the ocean was just a short walk east, beyond the seawall. Aside from the usual old money, it catered to a wealthy international clientele-Arabs, Germans, and, evidently, pretty wives of rich Nicaraguans.

“Something to drink?” she asked.

“No, I’m fine.”

“I’d say you’re extremely fine, but you still must be thirsty.” She signaled to the waitress, who headed off to the bar for two of whatever Vivien had been drinking.

The “extremely fine” remark seemed calculated to rattle me, but I let it go. “I visited your husband in Managua a couple of weeks ago.”

“Oh, how’s he doing?”

“You haven’t talked to him in two weeks?”

She drew a deep breath, thinking. “Let me see. . no. We’ve played message tag, but I don’t think we’ve actually caught each other.” She sipped the last of her drink. “Has he helped with your father?”

“At first he was a big help, especially on site in Cartagena right after the kidnapping. Less so as of late.”

“I would have expected Guillermo to be right in the hunt.”

“Honestly, I haven’t asked him to do much.”

“Don’t be shy. I’m sure he’d be happy to do whatever you asked.”

“I’m a little nervous about asking.”

“Why?”

I paused, measuring my words. “I’ve had some discussions with the FBI. Seems the bureau doesn’t have a very high opinion of your husband.”

“No kidding.”

The flip response took me by surprise. “Would you like to hear what they told me?”

“Why not? I suspect that’s the reason you’re here.”

“They think he’s sitting on a fortune in illegal money. From the looks of where you hang around on a typical weekday afternoon, I’m almost inclined to believe them.”

“Don’t be fooled. Guillermo’s a cheapskate. I don’t even have a membership here.”

“Then how do you get in?”

She glanced at the muscular young lifeguard posted at the entrance to the pool area, then looked back at me. “Let’s just say I give a great. . back rub.”

“That’s probably more information than I needed.”

She smiled, as if enjoying the shock value. “I’m not bragging. Just being honest.”

“Being totally honest, what if I were to tell you that the FBI thinks your husband is hiding drug money to the tune of about ten million dollars?”

She laughed, as if it were ridiculous. “He’s been dodging those accusations for years.”

“I’m hoping they’re just accusations.”

“Guillermo came into a lot of land after the revolution. He also found himself in a nasty divorce with his first wife. Every time he sells a piece of real estate, she’s supposed to get half. It’s a game they play. He makes a sale, he won’t give her the money, she calls her lawyer. Then the race is on. He starts moving the money around from company to company, from bank to bank, trying to hide it like. . well, like a drug dealer. It usually ends with her going to the DEA or FBI, threatening him with trumped-up drug charges that never pan out.”