Steve Martini - Guardian of Lies

He passed crewmen going about their chores but Nitikin didn’t recognize any of them. The men glanced at him. None of them seemed particularly concerned by the fact that the man walking behind Yakov was carrying an automatic weapon. Since the crewmen weren’t being guarded themselves, Nitikin had to assume that somehow the ship’s company had been bought off or co-opted by Alim.

As they approached the superstructure at the front of the ship, the guard pushed Yakov with his rifle toward a set of stairs. They climbed up four decks and arrived on the wing of the bridge, where the guard pushed him toward an open door and the wheelhouse.

Inside, Alim and his interpreter were talking to another man. They were studying the screen of a small monitor mounted on the console next to the ship’s wheel. Another crew member was steering the ship.

Nitikin couldn’t understand what Alim was saying. But as the translator repeated it in Spanish, Yakov realized that the men were trying to fix the precise position of the ship on the vessel’s GPS navigational system.

The captain was a Latino, but from the Spanish vernacular he used, Yakov could tell he was not Colombian or Costa Rican. He couldn’t quite place the accent, but he might be Mexican.

The answer to Nitikin’s burning question, the distance from Panama, came a second later when the captain looked at the screen and told the interpreter that they were less than twenty-four hours from their destination.

When he heard it, this seemed to please Alim. Afundi then turned his attention to Yakov. He asked him how he was feeling. Yakov said he would feel much better if his men stopped pointing their guns at him. Except for that, he was fine, although he was hungry.

Alim said something to the interpreter, who told the captain to contact the galley to prepare some food and something to drink for Yakov.

Afundi turned back to the Russian, said something to the interpreter, who asked Nitikin whether he’d had a chance to check the bomb. Though Yakov had no recollection of it, according to Alim the container had been handled very roughly as it was loaded onto the ship. The fact that Alim was willing to talk openly about the cargo in front of the captain and the other crew member told Yakov all he needed to know about the ship’s company. No doubt they had been well paid.

“How could I possibly check the device? I’ve been locked up all night.”

Alim told him to check it and to report back if there was any problem.

“How long before we arrive in Panama?” asked Nitikin.

As soon as it was translated, Alim looked at him through snake eyes, then offered a sinister smile and spoke.

“He wants to know why you think we’re going to Panama.”

“Tell him I am informed by intuition because of my Gypsy blood,” said Yakov.

Alim laughed.

Apparently the Russian still had a sense of humor.

But that wasn’t why Afundi was laughing. Nitikin didn’t know it but thanks to the extended fuel tanks on the helicopter and the fact that Yakov had been maintained in an unconscious state in his cabin for almost four days, they were now nearly three thousand miles north of Panama City, a few hundred miles beyond Cabo San Lucas and just forty-two miles off the coast of Mexico’s Baja peninsula. By midafternoon tomorrow they would be tied up at the dock of the international cargo terminal at Ensenada, Mexico, just sixty miles south of the U.S. border.

“Tell him to check the bomb. If there is no damage, I want him to arm the device now, everything except the cordite charge, which I will load, and timer, which I will set myself. The device should be safe from here on out.” He wanted Yakov to remove the safety.

Nitikin waited for the interpretation and then replied, “Not until I know the target.”

“The target is not your concern.” Alim was getting angry.

“It is if you wish to deliver the bomb in one piece. Tell me, do you intend to transport it beyond the ship?”

Following the translation, Alim looked at him with a stern expression, but didn’t answer.

“Tell him I will not arm it until I know how it is being transported and where,” Yakov said.

Afundi ignored him for the moment and talked to the interpreter in Farsi. “What time do we expect the phone call?”

The interpreter checked his watch. “Any minute now. In fact, he is late.”

“I don’t want him on the bridge.” Alim dismissed Yakov with his eyes. “Tell him to go check the device to make sure there is no damage. And I want a report back.” Alim turned to his man with the assault rifle. “Watch him closely. And when he’s finished, lock him back in his cabin. I am holding you personally responsible.”

As he said it the satellite phone lying on top of the console rang. “Get him out of here.”

Larry Goudaz huddled over the desktop computer in his apartment as he cradled the phone against his shoulder and spoke into the mouthpiece.

“That’s right, he failed both times. If I were you, I’d get my money back, unless you haven’t paid him yet.”

Goudaz waited for the reply.

“Ah, your man is smarter than I thought,” Goudaz said. “How do I know? Because I had lunch yesterday afternoon with the mother, Maricela, the one who blew up and burned in her house the day before. She was here with the lawyer for her daughter-that would be Katia, Nitikin’s granddaughter, the woman he missed at Pike’s house and killed on the bus. She’s in the hospital in San Diego and recovering nicely, thank you. Listen, when this is all over, tell him I’ll send him a DVD. It’s a Road Runner cartoon. There’s a character in it you’ll recognize, he’s called Wile E. Coyote. I think he’s related to the Mexican you hired.

“Yeah, never mind, you’d have to see it to appreciate it.

“Listen, don’t…no, don’t worry, you can tell him that I took care of everything. Right now I have them running errands. And when they come back, I’m going to give them some urgent news and send them off on a vacation to Panama for a few days. How much time do you need?”

He waited and listened.

“No problem. I can give you more if you need it. Yeah, let me get paper and a pencil. I don’t want to put that kind of stuff in my computer. Just a second.”

He stepped away for a moment.” The interpreter looked at Alim as he held the satellite phone away from his ear.

“Are you still in contact with the Mexican?” said Alim, talking about Liquida.

“Yes, by e-mail, to different addresses each time.”

“Good. Then send him an e-mail and tell him that if he wants his money, he’s going to have to meet us in Tijuana, just south of the American border. That’s his home. He should feel safe there. Tell him we are going to pay him in gold and narcotics, which will explain why we are not wiring the funds. Because it is not in cash, we will be giving him a significant increase over the market value of these commodities. Tell him you are surprised because we have never offered this to anyone before. Give him the location of the warehouse and say the meeting will be tomorrow afternoon. We are scheduled to arrive in the port about noon, so tell him we will meet at four o’clock sharp. Tell him not to be late.”

“He’s back.” The interpreter put the phone to his ear again. “Okay, here’s the deal,” he said to the person at the other end. “We are sending a fax from the bridge in just a few minutes. We have the fax number for your cargo-container broker at Puntarenas. You have arranged everything with him, correct?” The interpreter waited.

“Good. Then in our fax we will give him the name of the ship, the registered number on the cargo container, and our estimated time of arrival at Ensenada. The contents of the container will be listed as machine parts. The broker will prepare the necessary customs documents and transmit them to Mexican customs at Ensenada. Here’s the information. Write it down. We want you to have it so you can follow up. And make sure he does it today. Immediately. It is critical.” The interpreter read the information over the phone and waited while it was read back to him.