W. Griffin - Covert Warriors

“What envelope?” Svetlana asked.

“The envelope containing the small token of Don Armando’s appreciation for my keeping the bad guys away from Hacienda Santa Maria,” Pena said.

Don Armando Medina, the general manager of Hacienda Santa Maria, chuckled.

“Don Armando, you’re actually paying protection money to the Federales?” Castillo demanded.

“Jesus Christ, Carlos!” Pena replied. “I can’t believe you actually asked that.”

“Does that mean we’re paying you or not?” Castillo pursued.

“It means, my naive old buddy, that it’s important that people such as Manuel Jose Guzman, Diputado Procurador General de la Republica, think you’re paying me. Otherwise, Manuel Jose might suspect that I’m honest, and we certainly couldn’t have that, could we?”

“Sorry,” Castillo said.

“Carlos, I knew Dona Alicia, called her Tia Alicia, long before I met you.”

“I said I was sorry,” Castillo said. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“That’s a problem for you, isn’t it?”

“Juan Carlos,” Svetlana said. “He said he was sorry. What did this man have to say?”

“Unless I’m wrong-and I very seldom am, that’s why I’m still alive-at nine tomorrow morning in the restaurant of the Diamante-full title Camino Real Acapulco Diamante, one of the better hotels in Acapulco-he will explain to me when and how Felix Abrego will manage to escape from the Oaxaca State Prison. And then, because he knows how ashamed I will be because of Senor Abrego’s escape from my custody, he will give me an envelope to assuage my pain.”

“The deputy attorney general is working for the cartels?” Castillo asked, surprised.

“ With , I would say, not for . Abrego has many friends, Carlos, and most of them have lots of money.”

“If nobody has anything more to say,” Castillo said, “I think I will have a little grape before we have dinner. It’s been a busy day, and it’s long past my normal wine time.”

As if on cue, someone had something to say.

Castillo’s Brick buzzed.

“Hand me the sonofabitch, please, Lester,” Castillo said. “And we’ll see who is trying to keep me off the sauce.”

Bradley handed him the handset. Castillo looked at it.

“It’s your Cousin Aleksandr, Sweaty,” Charley said, then put the handset to his ear. Sweaty stood up and leaned over the Brick and pushed the LOUDSPEAKER button.

“And how are things on the shores of picturesque Lake Nahuel Huapi, Aleksandr?” Castillo asked in Russian.

“Speak English,” Sweaty ordered.

“Yes, ma’am,” Castillo said, glancing at her.

“Are you alone?” Pevsner asked.

“Clearly no. And Svetlana wants you to speak English.”

“What’s that all about?” Pevsner asked, in English.

“I can only guess that she wants her new buddy to hear what you have to say, and he doesn’t speak Russian.”

“Who’s her new friend?”

“Juan Carlos Pena, chief of the Policia Federal for Oaxaca State.”

“Have you been drinking?”

“Not yet. But make whatever this is quick, will you please? I’m about to start.”

“I gave you my word that I wouldn’t take any of several actions until I first told you.”

“Without my permission is the way I remember that.”

“I’m not in the habit, as you are well aware, of asking anyone for permission to do anything.”

“Why don’t you tell me what’s going on down there on the shores of Lake Nahuel Huapi?”

“I’m in Cozumel. How soon can you get here?”

“If you can convince me this is important and nothing happens between now and, say, nine tomorrow morning, I can be there in time for lunch.”

“I mean tonight.”

“Tonight’s out of the question. I can’t take off from here without letting the local airport-and this means the Policia Federal-know my airfield is capable of night operation. And I don’t want to throw away that tactical advantage.”

“I thought that you were friends with the local police?”

“Stand by a moment, Aleksandr,” Svetlana said. She motioned for Castillo to give her the handset, and when he had, she held it against her breast to muffle the microphone.

“You understand Carlito’s concern, Juan Carlos?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Who besides you would learn the field is capable of night flight if Charley were to take off right now?”

“Nobody,” Juan Carlos replied.

“And you can keep it that way?”

Pena nodded.

She moved the handset from her breast to her ear.

“If I have your word that you’ll do nothing until Carlito approves,” Svetlana said, “we can take off from here in about fifteen minutes.”

“You have my word that I will take no action until I tell him what I am going to do, and why,” Pevsner said. “And, Svetlana, remember who you are. How dare you talk to me that way.”

“I’ll tell you who I am, Aleksandr,” Svetlana said. “The woman who will tell my Carlito to fly over there. Or to stay here. And if we stay here, you will be free to do whatever you wish, and I can only hope that you will realize that you will be doing it alone.”

There was a long silence.

“What’s his name?” Juan Carlos asked.

“Aleksandr,” Castillo furnished.

“Can you hear me, Aleksandr?” Pena asked, raising his voice.

“I can hear you,” Pevsner said. “The policeman?”

“Actually, I’m a little more than a policeman,” Pena said. “But I used to be, and when I was, I learned that there are some women you just don’t fuck with, and your Cousin Sweaty is one of them. I wouldn’t cross her if I was you.”

“Pay attention, Aleksandr,” Castillo said, laughing.

There was a twenty-second pause.

“Then I will expect to see you in a little over three hours,” Pevsner said. “During which time you have my word that I will take no action that could possibly displease either my friend Charley or you, my dear Svetlana.”

The LEDs on the Brick went out; Pevsner had ended the call.

“Why do I think Aleksandr is annoyed with us?” Castillo asked rhetorically, then said, “You going to Acapulco tonight, Juan Carlos? Or do you want to spend the night here?”

“Neither. I’m going with you,” Juan Carlos said. “I’ve been hearing about that sonofabitch for years. Not only do I want to hear what he’s got planned, and for who, I want a look at him.”

“I can assure you, Juan Carlos,” Svetlana said, dead serious, “that Aleksandr’s parents were married. You are speaking of my mother’s sister, and she was not a bitch.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Sweaty,” Pena said. “No offense intended.”

“Watch your mouth in the future.”

“Si, senorita,” Juan Carlos said, contritely.

The Tahitian Suite Grand Cozumel Beach amp; Golf Resort Cozumel, Mexico 0005 21 April 2007

When they had landed at Cozumel International, Castillo had seen “the other” Cessna Mustang, the one used to fly high rollers to the Grand Cozumel casino, and drug money to be laundered out of Mexico. So he was not surprised to find former SVR Colonel Nicolai Tarasov sitting on the balcony of the twenty-third-floor penthouse suite beside former SVR Colonel Aleksandr Pevsner.

Max, delighted to see Pevsner, ran out onto the balcony, reared on his hind legs, draped his paws over Pevsner’s shoulders, and affectionately lapped his face.

“Can’t you control your goddamn animal?” Pevsner demanded.

“He likes you,” Castillo said. “Be grateful. His other mode is ‘rip your throat out.’”

“Very interesting,” Juan Carlos said. “Maybe you’re not the all-around son. . bas. . evil person everybody says you are.”