Don Pendleton - Dying Art

Sinclair’s head bobbed up and down. “That shouldn’t be a problem. But she’ll be subjected to extreme scrutiny.”

“Just see to it,” Don Fernando said. He shot a quick look toward Tragg. “We have assembled all of her proper documentation, and obtained a passport and visa for her. She will accompany you back to the United States tonight.”

Sinclair bit his lip. “All right. There is one other thing.”

Don Fernando took another drag on the cigar and raised an eyebrow.

Sinclair’s smile appeared more forced than genuine. “I’m a little bit concerned about how I’m to be paid.” He paused and took two shallow breaths. “You see, the Attorney General has filed a motion charging that any funds I receive must not have any ties to...any illegalities.”

“So, handle his case pro bono,” Don Fernando said. “That is the term you use, is it not?”

“Pro bono, yes, but...” The corners of Sinclair’s mouth pulled back. “You don’t quite understand. I don’t work that way. I have a large staff, associates... I can’t expect them to work for free.”

Don Fernando purposely kept his face blank as he stubbed out the cigar in a gold ashtray. He then jerked his head toward a briefcase that sat on the credenza next to them. Gordo stepped over and grabbed the briefcase, set it on the table between his boss and the lawyer and moved his sausage-like thumbs to push open the securing snaps. When he lifted the lid, the densely packed, rubber-banded bundles of hundred-dollar US bills were plainly visible.

“This should suffice for a down payment, no?” Don Fernando said. He took another cigar from a humidor and moistened the end with his mouth.

Sinclair’s eyes bulged in his corpulent face. He couldn’t take his eyes off the money as he spoke.

“Well, I do believe...that is very gener—sufficient.” He stopped and compressed his lips again. “However, I may have some trouble bringing that much money back with me when I reenter the United States.”

Don Fernando held the flame of the lighter to the tip of the cigar, rolling it as he spoke, glancing at Tragg.

“You need not worry of such things, señor . We have thought of everything.”

“We’ll move the briefcase across the border by our own special means,” Tragg said. “Once it’s safely and unofficially in the US, I’ll hand deliver it to your office in Chicago.”

Don Fernando could see it: Sinclair’s eyes betraying his avarice. This fat pig would do their bidding, no questions asked. It was time to end this meeting.

“Gordo,” Don Fernando said.

The giant stepped over and pulled the blindfold out of his pocket.

Sinclair winced. “Not that thing again.”

Don Fernando laughed and blew some smoke in the other man’s face. “I’m afraid it is once again necessary. But do not worry. I trust Gordo with my life, so I have no problem trusting him with yours, as well.”

Before Sinclair could reply, the giant was slapping the blindfold in place. After securing it, he lifted the lawyer out of the chair and walked him to the companionway. Instead of guiding the man up the steps, Gordo merely hoisted Sinclair off his feet and ascended the stairs himself, carrying the other man as if he were hauling a bag of groceries.

Don Fernando listened to their footsteps on the deck above, and then watched as they descended the gangplank to the pier and walked toward the waiting limousine.

A frown curled down the ends of Don Fernando’s mouth. He waved Tragg over to the table.

“After Sergio is free,” Don Fernando said, “kill that fat bastard.”

“What about the money?”

“I do not care about the money,” Don Fernando said. “I do not like loose ends.”

“Not a problem,” Tragg said.

“Where do we stand on this other matter? The woman? The daughter of the reporter.”

“We’ve got a lead on where she might be,” Tragg said. “I’ve got some of my men working on tracking her down now, but Cancun’s a big place.”

Don Fernando drew quickly on the cigar and then exhaled the smoke. “This is clumsiness. I do not like clumsiness.”

“She and her father were being protected by the marines. As you know, they’re not pushovers.”

“I pay you well to handle such problems,” Don Fernando says. “Do I not?”

“Yes, but—”

The cartel leader cut him off with a dismissive gesture, keeping the fire in his eyes. “I care nothing for excuses. Only for results. You are supposed to be professionals, no?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll see to it personally.”

Don Fernando considered that, then shook his head. “No, use no more than two of your men. I will send some of my men with them. They will mix in better with the locals. I want you to accompany Maria and that fat lawyer back to Chicago. Be certain your squad is totally prepared and ready. There must be no mistakes. And remember, Sergio is your main concern.” He pointed to a locked metal briefcase on the floor a few feet away. “And take that with you. You’ll need it to deal with the other American.”

Tragg glanced at the case. “I’ll take good care of it.”

“I care nothing for it. It is only a means to an end. But use it wisely. When dealing with the American, remember the parable about the grapes being so much sweeter when they were just out of reach.”

As Tragg stood and turned to leave, the drug boss stopped him. “Have your men find out what the woman knows first. And find that laptop. We must be certain that our plan is still in place.”

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