Freedom Does Matter (Mercenaries Book 2) (51 page)

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Connections
(Book Three) as well as Tony’s thanks.

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The first few thousand words of
Connections
(Book Three) follow. These are from a draft version, there were a few changes when the book was released.

1: New York

Murder

Jolene Rochambeau walked out of the Dag Hammarskjöld Library at the United Nations. She wrapped her scarf tight and pulled her coat together against the unseasonable mid-October wind as she hurried to the gate on 1
^st
Avenue.

New York spread out in all its nighttime glory. The wind cut through her coat and slacks; she shivered to gain some heat back. Traffic was still heavy, though rush hour had passed. With a snort of disgust, she eschewed the busses lined up along the avenue and walked west along 42
^nd
Street. She frequently did the mile walk to Times Square, though not usually when she could see her breath billowing before her.

She stopped in MacDonalds for a bag of dinner she could eat on the subway. Briskly she continued toward the subway station in Times Square, where she could catch the number one train back up to 116
^th
Street, to Columbia University.

She heard a scuffle and halted before walking into a pool of light from a streetlamp. She had almost reached a small park on the south side of the street. She looked around and saw no one. Most particularly, she saw no police.

Moving with an abundance of caution, she sidled up to the corner of the building and peered around it into the open space.

About fifteen feet away, two men were struggling beside a scrawny tree. For a moment, she watched them. Just as she decided to cross the street to avoid the unpleasantness, she saw a flash of light from one man’s hand. By the time she’d recognized the knife, it had fallen three, four, five times.

Transfixed, she watched the wounded man fall to lean against the tree. The attacker knelt beside him and began to rifle his pockets. The light gave her a good view of his face and the black rose tattoo on his neck. Her paralysis faded, though not her panic, and she looked around, hoping to see someone, anyone.

Thank God! she thought as one of New York’s normally ubiquitous blue and white police cars drifted toward her. As quickly as she could while remaining silent, she ran into the street, to the side of the cruiser. The officer stopped short, and was out of the car in an instant. Unable to talk, she just pointed to the man lying against the tree.

The attacker had noticed the activity and was running. The officer told her, “Stay here!” He and his partner screamed “Stop, Police!” as they took off.

Jolene collapsed against the side of the car, clutching the door frame. While it seemed like days, it was two minutes before the first back-up unit arrived. In another minute, there were five units, and then ten. A policewoman ran up to begin the questioning.

“Am I the only one who saw this?”

“I think you are, honey. Tell me what happened.”

Piero’s trip

So ends the easiest part of this trip, Piero Salvadore, Deputy Minister of the Interior of Peru, had thought earlier that week as he followed his fellow Newark-bound passengers down the jetway into the terminal. Now to find Tupa.

Tupa Capac, the Minister of the Interior and Piero’s superior, greeted him at baggage claim as they had arranged. Piero had no idea why Capac had invited him to participate in the conference at the United Nations.

During the limo ride into New York City to their hotel, the mystery both lightened and deepened. Neither eased Piero’s mind. Away from prying Peruvian ears, Capac told Piero that a gangster, Donato Talos, had acquired video recordings that showed their political associate, Nayra Mamani, in a bad light; she badly wanted to see them destroyed.

Talos had suggested an exchange might be possible; to that end, Capac had brought with him gold bullion in the amount Talos had proposed.

“So,” Piero said, “this is not so much for the conf—”

“True. I need your assistance making the exchanges. I believe there will be no risk.” He turned in the seat to face Piero. “I must return the  videos to Nayra.”

Piero smiled in mock agreement; he doubted that that would be the best use of the material. In addition, he expected the video would damage him as much as Mamani. And that is why Capac asked
me
to assist.

As Piero followed Capac to the bar for their meeting, he noticed the late night traffic—taxis and police cars, mostly—the leafless trees along the curb, and then the dark wood facing of the bar, silvered letters proudly announcing its name. When they entered, an tired barmaid listened to Capac’s name, and pointed to a table to the rear. Two men were already seated at the oblong table, glasses in front of them. A large pitcher stood in the center. With a wave, the shorter of the two invited them to join them.

“First names will do,” the man said. “Call me Donny.”

“I am Tupa, and my… friend is Piero,” Capac said as he sat across the table from the short man.

“Thank you. A pleasure, I’m sure.” 

Piero nodded. Both of the men impressed him. No, he admitted, the second man impressed him. Donny terrified him. Donny’s eyes were cold; he showed no emotion. The other man was fit but hints of feeling flitted across his countenance.

Capac began directly: “The recordings? When may I see them?” Looking at Donny, Piero cringed inwardly, wondering about the wisdom of starting with a demand. 

“In good time, señor, in good time. Perhaps señor Piero can deliver the payment tomorrow morning to León?” He inclined his head toward the second man. “Then after the weight has been validated, you and I can meet tomorrow evening for the transfer.”

“But how will I be sure that—”

“You doubt my word? Come, señor. You have seen the copy; how would I make it without the original? And what in the Virgin’s good name would I do with them if not turn them over to you? They have no value outside your tiny world.”

Piero wasn’t at all sure about that. At the very least, they could trigger a bidding war. Or worse.
¡Dios!
I might be in that war myself!

However, Capac had instructed him to observe. He looked once again at Donny and shivered. Silence would serve him well.

Capac had continued his protest, but to no avail. Piero saw the futility of argument before half of his drink was gone; he again focused on Donny.

The man was calm, still without emotion, but definite in his position. He sipped from a wine glass, but Piero wasn’t sure it held wine and not water. A sign: as Donny repeated himself, a small smile crossed his face. An emotion: he does enjoy this.

Capac tapped his shoulder, and the two men rose. As Capac made their regrets, Piero gave León a look.

“At my hotel?” Piero said. He glanced at Capac to see a brief acknowledgement.

“Si. Your room?”

“Fifteen thirty-two. Ten o’clock?”

León nodded.

At the appointed hour, Piero had the gold ready. It had been packaged in a wooden crate stenciled “Machine Tools.” By his watch, the knock was a minute late, but since Capac had said, “Be ready. I’ll see you at the U.N. at twelve-thirty,” he felt no pressure.

He opened the door and fell back as a short, black-haired girl stumbled into his arms. In reflex, he caught her and held her up as he realized first, she was nearly nude, and second, that Donny and León had followed her in.

León tossed the wrap the girl must have worn aside; Donny strolled around the room’s perimeter to the chair at the desk. He waved at the girl in Piero’s arms. “Enjoy. She’s a distraction for you while we validate the package.”

Piero couldn’t speak. He stammered, but the protest was unintelligible. He held the girl away, observing, before she hugged herself to him again. “But…” She was attractive, perhaps twenty or a year older. Her breasts were not large; they quivered minutely as she moved. He wondered for a second if she was Andean; her color and facial structure argued that she might be.

She reached to place her lips against his ear. “Please, do not refuse,” she whispered. “We will both suffer, believe me.”

He pushed her back but she fought him to crush her lips against his mouth, cutting off his questions but also, he shamefully admitted, causing a reaction that she recognized and took advantage of, grinding her hips against him. After almost a minute of the vertical foreplay, she released his mouth and took his hand. With a smile, she pulled him out of the suite’s sitting room into the bedroom.

“Wait,” Donny said with a smile. “The package?”

Before he kicked the door closed, Piero pointed to the wooden crate.

Behind the door, Piero asked only why they would both suffer. “I for not being attractive to you,” she said. “You for paying attention to what Jefe does, rather than me.”

“And the penalty?” Surely he wouldn’t—

“For you, I guess it would depend on what the box contains and his expectation. For me, at least a beating, perhaps worse.”

“I must be at the U.N. by noon.”

She glanced behind her at the clock. “Jefe said he needed less than an hour, so…”

“So?”

“So, not much foreplay!”

She laughed as she drew him to the bed; she fell on her back, dragging him down atop her.

Piero didn’t have his pants on when Donny threw open the door. “Camila, out.” After the girl scampered through the door, Donny pushed it closed. Piero swallowed, or tried to. His throat was suddenly dry and constricted. He gasped, trying to breathe. Donny didn’t seem to notice. Maybe he has that effect on everyone.

“Everything is fine,” Donny said. “We’ll take care of the package.”

A single nod was all Piero could manage.

Donny smiled and went to the armchair by the window. “I hope to meet someone. Perhaps someone like yourself, who might bring me an advantage in some dealings I plan.”

Piero managed to force two words from his tight throat. “Dealings, señor?”

Donny laughed as he turned the chair and dropped into it. “Relax, señor Salvadore. Piero. Breathe. Pull your pants up. I will not kill or even injure one whose help I wish to cultivate.” He paused just long enough to worry Piero. “I have a need for a reliable source of cocaine in bulk.”

That night, Capac met with Talos in the small park off 42
^nd
Street. The meeting had ended badly for Capac: Talos killed him prior to—or instead of, Piero never asked which—turning the recordings over to Capac.

Talos had been seen killing him; a woman would testify against him. She would be no problem, Talos’ lawyer, Samuel Goldfarb, had assured both he and Camila. After looking at the lawyer, obese, in his fifty’s and unlike Piero, due for a heart attack, Piero had no confidence the man would survive until the trial. However, with Talos in jail, Goldfarb confirmed Talos’ offer, and detailed the rewards and the risks. Goldfarb also explained that Talos alone could deliver the video cassettes or return the gold; since he was incarcerated, action was at a standstill.

Smuggling cocaine out of Peru met one of Piero’s personal goals; every kilo shipped into the northern hemisphere was a kilo not distributed in Peru. Besides, while he loved his family, at fifty, Piero accepted that Camila had awakened his mid-life crisis.

As he landed in Lima, Piero believed the loss of the video recordings merely represented a missed blackmail opportunity.

On his return, Piero was promoted to Minister.

2: Piero’s visit to Goldfarb

Nearly two years later, in the middle of August, Piero and Camila discussed a new directive she had delivered from the lawyer Goldfarb. Piero was to personally acquire and deliver to New York counterfeit $100 bills in the amount of two and a half million dollars.

He considered refusing. While the quality and availability of counterfeit dollars made Peru an excellent source for Goldfarb, Piero said, “Why should
I
take this chance? Goldfarb would have me documented as a smuggler. What could he then force me to do?” While the payments from facilitating the smuggling operations were generous, and he surely enjoyed fondling Camila, were they worth the risk?

“Oof!” The next night, Piero stretched out face down on the dry grass behind his Arequipa
finca
. Laughing, he watched watching the soccer ball roll into the makeshift goal. His son had just made a scoring shot under Piero’s outstretched arm, and he and his sister, both excellent junior soccer players, were making the most of their victory.

“You three! Inside now, for dinner!” Sara, his wife and their mother, called from the back door.