Steve Martini - Guardian of Lies

“I remember,” says Herman. “Did the sale ever go through?”

“To tell you the truth, I’m not sure,” said Goudaz. “I take it you’re trying to track a container?”

“It’s possible,” I tell him. “We’re not sure.”

“From Colombia to Balboa?”

“Maybe.”

“I don’t want to butt in, but I know somebody who works at Puntarenas, the Pacific port facilities here in Costa Rica. If you want I’ll give him a call and see what I can find out.” Goudaz seems to know everybody everywhere. It’s the nature of his chosen line of work. I am hoping that he doesn’t trip over the news that there’s a warrant out for my arrest floating around Costa Rica.

“It could be a waste of time,” I say.

“That’s what I’m here for,” says Goudaz.

“You are so good,” says Maricela.

“Give me a few minutes.” He disappears back down the hall and into his study.

“How long do you think he was listening?” Maricela says it under her breath.

“I don’t know,” I tell her. “Long enough to know we were talking about a cargo container.” There are limits to the degree of trust Maricela places in Goudaz. It is one thing to seek shelter in his apartment in an emergency, another to tell him where her father is. Clearly they are both using each other to some degree. The price of friendship for Goudaz is information. The question is, what does he do with it all? The problem Herman and I have is that we cannot check into a hotel without being arrested. So all we can do is make the best of it, and thank Goudaz for his hospitality.

We look down the hall to make sure the door to his study is now closed.

“I don’t want to sound too optimistic,” Herman whispers, “but it is possible that your father’s part in whatever they’re doing down in Colombia is done. Maybe they’re just gonna let him go. It could be that’s the reason he’s going to Panama.”

“Why would they try to kill me and let my father go?” says Maricela.

“Yeah, well, you got a point,” says Herman.

“No. When my father is no longer necessary, they will kill him. If he is going to Panama it is because they are taking him there, and if they are taking him there, it is because they need him. It is how he forced them to let me go. He didn’t tell me, but I knew. If he finds out what they did to Katia and that they tried to kill me, I guarantee you he will no longer help them.”

“We can hold that in reserve,” says Herman. “In the meantime, what do you think it is?” He looks at me.

“What?”

“What it is that’s in the container.”

“All the pieces fit. The special National Security Court, a small group of no names from somewhere in the Middle East, a container that’s ready to move, the FBI throwing open the gate so they could track us through Central America; most of all, the look on Rhytag’s face when I mentioned the name Nitikin. I think we’ve known for a while, we just didn’t want to say it out loud.”

“Yes, but is it chemical, nuclear, or biological?” says Herman. “And is it for real or is it something some amateur cooked up in his kitchen last night?”

“It is painful,” says Maricela, “but still I am grateful, to both of you.”

“For what?” I ask.

“That finally someone else has said what I have been thinking for so long. What I have been afraid to say for so many years. It is like waking up from a nightmare. Do you understand?”

“So you knew?” I say.

“No. But I suspected. How do you share such thoughts with someone else, especially when they involve someone you love? As you have done, I went through all of the other possibilities. I thought maybe he stole a large amount of money. Maybe he killed someone. I thought about drugs. But none of them fit. When he started to work on this thing, when Alim and his men showed up, I think I knew. And to answer your question,” she looks at Herman, “I don’t think it is something, as you say, cooked up in a kitchen last night. I believe it is real, and that my father has had possession of it for many years. I believe it is the reason he has been hiding all this time.”

“What is it?” I say.

“I would only be guessing.”

“So give us your best guess,” says Herman.

“My mother has been dead for many years. She lived much of her life in Costa Rica. But she was born in Cuba. My father, as you know, is Russian.”

The second she says it, I realize that Harry and I had spent our time with Katia asking the wrong questions. We had concentrated our entire focus on her grandfather. We never asked about her grandmother, where she was from.

“When they were married he was already in trouble with his own government, hiding from them. That much I know,” she says.

“Where did they meet?” I ask.

“In Cuba.”

“Your father was with the Soviet military in Cuba?” I say.

“Yes.”

“When was this?”

“The early 1960s.”

The look on Herman’s face says it all. “We can cross off chemical and biological,” he says.

“Did Katia know this?” I ask.

“She doesn’t even know her grandfather is alive. I told her many years ago that he was dead. He wanted it that way.”

We sit there for several seconds in silence. Herman is looking at me. “You’re thinking about calling Rhytag, aren’t you, filling him in? Let’s you and me step outside for a second.” Herman tells Maricela to excuse us for a moment and he and I step out of the apartment to talk in the stairwell outside.

“We’re out of our league,” I tell him. “We’re not equipped to deal with this.”

“Fact is, nothing’s changed,” says Herman. “I’m bettin’ this is the part Rhytag already knows about. It’s what he’s holding back from us, Maricela’s pictures of her father. Give you three guesses as to why.”

“Because the government probably has a history on Nitikin. And you can bet it’s classified. They want to keep it under wraps, find him, find whatever it is he has, and make it all disappear.”

“Right,” says Herman. “That way people never find out how close they came to gettin’ their asses flamed.”

“And you’re thinking that if I call Rhytag and tell him what it is we think we know, he’s only going to be bored. Because all he wants to know is where it is.”

“That’s my guess. And when he finds out you don’t know where it is, he’s gonna arrest your ass and turn you over to Templeton. And if you try and tell a jury about any of this, the Dwarf’s gonna tell the judge it’s a fairy tale, that without hard evidence you can’t be allowed to even mention it. And he’s gonna be right, because that’s the way the screwed-up rules of evidence work.” This is coming out of Herman’s mouth, but he has been in court enough times to know that this is how the system works.

“Still, I can’t ask you to get involved in this,” I tell him.

“I shoulda’ left you in the smokehouse yesterday,” says Herman. “I’m already involved. Hear me out. You try to call Rhytag until we know more, I’ll beat you to death with the phone.”

“Right now I’m charged with only two counts of murder. We get in the way and a mushroom cloud goes up and they could end up adding a few more counts.”

“Yeah, but right now we got nothing,” says Herman. “Think about this. If the feds bag Nitikin, Alim, and his followers, say they catch ’em with the goods, unless we’re standing right there to witness it all, we still have nothing. They’ll stamp ‘classified’ on the bomb and throw the national security blanket over everything they find. They’ll cart it all up in boxes and bury it in some vault.

“That means if you and Katia end up getting strapped to gurneys for a ride to the death house, I wouldn’t be holdin’ my breath waiting for somebody in the federal government to step up and raise his hand just ’cause they got a Dumpster full of evidence showing somebody else did it. As far as the government’s concerned, their only downside is one less sheep to shear come tax time. Katia’s a foreign national. The prisons are full of people who didn’t do the crimes. Every time they do a new DNA test, they empty another cell block. It’s the problem we got, the justice system has absolutely nothin’ to do with justice.”