Stuart Woods: Santa Fe Edge

TEDDY AND LAUREN were having a good breakfast at their new Santa Fe home.

“You’re humming,” Lauren said.

“Am I?”

“You only hum when you’re very happy,” she said. “Why are you happy? Does it have something to do with whatever you were doing last evening before dinner?”

“You might say that,” Teddy replied. “I was out neutralizing Todd Bacon.”

“Do you really think you can neutralize him?”

“I worked it from two angles,” Teddy said. “I sent him an e-mail from Lance Cabot, recalling him to Langley for reassignment.”

“Well, that might get him out of Santa Fe for a few days, but do you really think that they will stop looking for you?”

“They just might. I sent Lance a note about that very thing a few days back, and by now he’s had time to see the wisdom of my suggestion. Lance is a practical fellow. When I used to equip him for missions, he always displayed that. Some of the boys and girls who went out were dreamers, but not Lance.”

“I hope you’re right,” Lauren said. “I like it here, and it would be nice if we didn’t have to leave.”

“I know you do, sweetheart, and I’ll do everything I can to see that we stay here.”

She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. “That’s good enough for me,” she said.

Barbara slept late and had breakfast in bed. She felt wonderful, having had a good dinner and a fine roll in the hay with Charles Grosvenor the evening before, but something was nagging at the edges of her brain, something she couldn’t put a finger on. She didn’t feel safe.

Mexico, she decided. At some point Pedro Alvarez was going to screw up. It was in his nature, and sooner or later someone above his pay grade was going to find out that she had flown that particular coop. She put aside her breakfast tray, picked up her new lawyer’s card, called his number and was immediately connected to him.

“Good morning, Mrs. Keeler,” Waters said. “I hope you’re feeling well today.”

“I am, Ralph,” she replied, “but I have a question for you.”

“Anything I can do,” he said.

“Who would be the best lawyer, besides yourself, to fight an extradition to Mexico?”

“For whom?”

“For me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Is this conversation covered by attorney-client privilege?” she asked.

“Of course.”

“Some months ago I was falsely accused of a crime in Mexico, and after a sham trial I was sent to a women’s prison there. I managed to get out and back to this country, but eventually they may come after me. Now, please answer my question.”

“We have a partner in this firm who would be ideal to handle that,” Waters said.

“If you were in my position, would you choose him above all others?”

“I would, most certainly,” Waters replied.

“What is his name?”

“Raoul Estevez. He was born in Mexico and has been a naturalized citizen for more than thirty years, and he has the advantage of the Spanish language, which can be helpful in these matters. He also has a number of contacts in the Mexican government.”

“Would you ask him to come and see me this afternoon?”

“At what hour?”

“Four o’clock would be convenient.”

“I will see that he is there,” Waters replied. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“This is less urgent, but I have reason to believe that someone in this country wishes to charge me with a crime. I hope that won’t happen, but if it does, then I will need the best criminal lawyer in this city.”

“I believe Raoul Estevez would fill that bill as well.”

“Good. I’ll see him at four.” She went to Walter’s computer and fired it up, and in a very few minutes she had opened an online brokerage account. She wrote the account number on a card and tucked it into her purse.

She picked up the phone and called her bank. “This is Mrs. Walter Keeler,” she said. “Who is the president of the bank?”

“That would be Mr. Evan Hills, Mrs. Keeler,” the operator said. “May I connect you?”

“Thank you. Yes.”

There was a click. “Mr. Hills’s office,” a woman said.

“This is Mrs. Walter Keeler. I would like an appointment to see Mr. Hills at the earliest possible time.”

“One moment, please.”

Within a satisfyingly short time a male voice said, “Mrs. Keeler? This is Evan Hills.” They exchanged brief pleasantries, then Hills said, “May I offer you lunch today in my private dining room?”

“That would be lovely,” Barbara said.

BARBARA ARRIVED at her bank in the Bentley, chauffeured by the trusty Willard. He gave her a card with his cell phone number. “I’ll be in the bank’s garage,” he said. “Please call if you need me.” He held the door for her.

Barbara swept into the bank and was immediately greeted by a man who appeared to be in his mid-thirties.

“Good day, Mrs. Keeler,” he said, “My name is Morton Johns. May I take you up to Mr. Hills’s office?”

“Thank you,” she replied. She was whisked into a private elevator. They emerged on a high floor and walked past two secretaries and into the office of the bank’s president.

Hills leapt to his feet and shook her hand warmly. “I’m so sorry for your loss of Mr. Keeler,” he said, “and I was delighted to read in this morning’s paper that you had successfully solved your problems with Walter’s estate. I know he would be pleased to see his wishes honored.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hills.”

“I’ve asked Mr. Johns to join us, since he is the senior vice president who will oversee the day-to-day work on your account and who will be available to you twenty-four hours a day.”

“I’m pleased to hear that,” Barbara said, accepting Johns’s card.

“Would you like to go straight in to lunch?”

“Thank you, but first I’d like to do a little business.”

Hills offered her a chair and went behind his desk. Johns took a seat next to her. “What may we do for you?” Hills asked.

“You should have received a wire transfer into my account this morning,” she said.

“Yes, Mrs. Keeler, we have had a deposit of one hundred million dollars from the executor of Mr. Keeler’s estate.”

“You will be receiving a great deal more in the course of events,” Barbara said, “and we will discuss over lunch how investments are to be handled. Right now, though, I would like you to wire twenty million dollars to this brokerage account.” She handed Johns the card with the account number on it.

“Of course, Mrs. Keeler,” Hills replied. “Morton will be happy to do that at once.”

“And I would like a cashier’s check, payable to me, for twenty million dollars,” Barbara said.

Hills appeared to gulp. “Of course,” he finally managed to say. “Morton, will you attend to those two transactions immediately, then join us for lunch?”

“Certainly,” Johns said. “Mrs. Keeler, are there any other transactions you would like to make at this time?”

“Well, I wrote a check yesterday for three hundred and seventy-seven thousand dollars to the Bentley people. You might see that it is paid upon presentation.”

“Of course. I’ll be back shortly.” Johns vanished, as if in a cloud of smoke.

HILLS AND BARBARA were already seated at a beautifully set table in the next room with a fabulous view of San Francisco Bay and the Golden Gate Bridge. Hills said, “I’d like you to know that Mort Johns is the brightest and most capable man at this bank, and I do not exclude myself from comparison. He is destined to have my job when I go, and I think you will be very pleased with him.”

“I’m sure I shall be,” Barbara replied.