Authors: James Patterson,Andrew Gross
DOMINIC CAVELLO’S WEDNESDAY had turned to shit.
He always looked forward to Wednesdays. By then he usually couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t take feeling locked up on the remote farm like a prisoner in his own house.
Wednesday was the day he rocked the daylight out of Rita, the hot little tamale who worked at the Bar Ideal. But Rita wasn’t around today. The bitch was up in Buenos Aires, at some spic family thing.
So Cavello just sat there in Bar Ideal, nursing a warm beer and sausages, horny and frustrated as hell. For years he never, ever ate alone. He was always surrounded by his men, his business partners, dozens of them if he wanted, plus an assortment of pretty bodies. All he’d have to do was snap his fingers. Now he ate alone all the time.
He might as well
be
in a federal prison. Well, maybe not.
Cavello was thinking how he missed that sweet little thing he’d had back at the ranch. Mariella. What a shame that was. He thought of her satiny smooth ass, her baby tits.
At least
—and he chuckled aloud—
I was the only one to do her!
Soon the snow would start, and it wouldn’t stop for months. It would be even harder to find distractions here then. He took another swig of shitty Argentine beer. He felt so trapped and bottled up, he wanted to kick over the table. Times like this, back home, he’d snap his fingers and he could have all the women he wanted. Any age. Or put a gun in someone’s mouth and hear him beg for his life.
Yes, he’d done that just for fun!
He could do anything back home. He was Dominic Cavello. The Electrician.
These Incas had no idea who he was.
Cavello got up and tossed a few crumpled bills on the table. He went outside and nodded to Lucha and Juan, who were in the Range Rover across the street. He started to head up the hill in his black leather topcoat, his shoulders hunched against the stiffening wind.
Fuck. This. Shit.
With his bodyguards trailing, Dominic Cavello turned up the hill away from the port and headed toward Magellanes. Two dogs were barking, tearing at strips of meat from a tipped-over garbage can. Pretty soon, they would be fighting each other for the scraps.
That
was his amusement now. He pulled out his gun—shot one of the dogs. Felt better.
Then he turned on Magellanes. What else was there to do today except smoke a fat Cohiba and then go home?
ANDIE’S CELL PHONE buzzed. She didn’t answer. She knew what it meant.
She turned to the short, mustached clerk in the cigar shop who barely spoke English. “These are the best, you say? They’re Cuban, right?”
“Sí, Señora, the best in the world. At any price.”
Andie nervously held out the two cigar boxes. Montecristos and Cohibas. She waited for the sound she knew would be coming, the little bell tinkling behind her—
Cavello entering the store.
A tingle of nerves danced down her spine.
This isn’t some stupid play,
she said to herself.
You’re not on stage here. You have to calm yourself and do this right. You have to be perfect.
Finally, she heard the bell, then the whine of the door opening. Andie tensed but never looked behind. She knew who it was.
“But which is the best?” she kept asking. “It’s a gift for my husband, and they’re expensive. I’m not making myself clear, am I?”
“Señora, they are
both
the best,” the tobacconist pleaded. “It is a matter of taste.”
She looked at the two boxes. “Please.”
“You won’t go wrong with either of those,” she heard the voice behind her say. “But for my money, Cohiba is the best.”
Andie sucked in a shooting breath, almost afraid to turn and face him. Finally, she did. She saw a man in a dark black leather topcoat and a tweed cap. Cavello looked a little older than she remembered, his face more haggard. But it was still the same man she hated.
“It is like a choice between a Brunello and a great Burgundy. I go with the Brunello, in this case the Cohiba. But Frederico’s right, it’s a matter of taste.”
The tobacco clerk nodded. “Sí, Señor Celletini.”
Celletini,
Andie noted. She handed the clerk the Cohibas. “I’ll go with these.” She turned back to Cavello. “Thanks for rescuing me.”
“No rescue. Even a connoisseur would find it a difficult choice.” He moved closer to her. “Business or studies?”
“Sorry?” Andie said.
“It’s unusual to find an American accent down here this time of year. Most of the tourists have gone home.”
Andie smiled. “Business, I guess. I’m taking a job on an expedition to Antarctica next month.”
“An
explorer.
” Cavello made a show of seeming impressed.
“Not quite. A chef, actually. Maybe more of an escapist than anything else.”
“No shame in that.” Cavello smiled. “Down here, most everybody is.”
Andie slowly lifted her sunglasses. She let him see her face. “So what are
you
escaping?” she asked, wetting her lips.
“At this moment, sheep. I have a ranch, twenty minutes out of town.”
“Sheep, huh?” She cocked her head coyly. “That’s all?”
“All right, you caught me.” Cavello raised his hands as if surrendering. “I’m actually in the Witness Protection Program. I made a wrong turn at Phoenix and headed south. This is where I ended up.”
“A man with a very bad sense of direction.” Andie laughed, and hoped it seemed genuine. “But don’t worry, Mr. Celletini, your secret’s safe with me.”
“Frank,” Cavello said. Now his look bore in a little closer. The crafty killer, the psycho. The Electrician.
“Alicia.” Andie lied as well. “Alicia Bennett.”
“Nice to meet you, Alicia Bennett.” Cavello put out his hand. “Explorer.”
They shook hands. His touch was rough and scaly to her. Andie tried not to flinch. She fished in her wallet for money.
“And what about you?” Cavello smiled, keeping up the banter. “What are
you
escaping?”
“Me, I’m a desperate housewife.” Andie chuckled.
“You must be very desperate, if you’re
here.
But you don’t look it.”
“I saw this ad.” Andie shrugged. “It promised the end of the world. I figured it meant here in Ushuaia, but if I’m buying Cuban cigars and talking to an American about TV, I guess I haven’t found it yet. So I’m heading farther south.”
“Your husband must be quite a confident man to let you come down here by yourself, Alicia. Or maybe it’s
him
you are escaping?”
Andie sighed, a little embarrassed. “Actually, I lied. I’m not married. I was trying to pretend not to be some dumb woman for the store clerk here. The cigars are for the ship.”
“Buying them so early?” Cavello looked at her. “You certainly are a prepared little girl.”
Shit.
Andie flinched.
The first mistake.
The proprietor handed her the package. Andie took her change.
“You’ve made a wise choice to go with the Cohibas, Alicia. And as far as the end of the world, I think that’s something I could show you. And you may not have to go as far as you think.”
“Is that so? What do you mean?”
“My ranch. That’s what it’s called. This must be fate, Alicia.”
“I don’t believe in fate,” Andie said, smiling once again. She put her package under her arm and slipped past him as he held the door. “But I believe in lunch.”
Andie’s heart started to quicken.
Stay cool,
she said to herself.
Just a few seconds more. You have him—don’t lose him.
Cavello followed her out to the sidewalk. Down the street, Andie noticed two bodyguards milling around, not paying too much attention.
Sloppy,
just as Nick said.
“I have lunch Saturdays at the Bar Ideal,” Cavello said. “It’s down by the port. If you care to join me.”
“It all depends,” Andie called, backing down the street. She could see the gleam in his eye. She had him hooked.
“On what?” Cavello followed her a few steps.
“On what you did to get yourself in the Witness Protection Program, Mr. Celletini. I only go out with a certain kind of man.”
“Oh,
that.
” Cavello grinned, taking one more step after her. “Mafia boss. Does that qualify?”
SATURDAY CAME.
Andie was already sitting in the café when Cavello arrived. The two black Range Rovers pulled up down the square, and the door to the lead one opened. Cavello got out looking full of himself as always.
This was no game, no role, she knew. This man would gladly kill her given the chance. But she had to do this, she told herself. She had to stay calm. She had to act!
Cavello looked pleased and maybe even a little surprised as he stepped up to her table. He was wearing the same black leather topcoat and dark sunglasses, the tweed cap. “I’m very happy to see you, Alicia. I see my past occupation didn’t scare you off.”
“Gee, and I thought we were only playing with each other.” Andie looked at him over her own sunglasses. “Should I be scared?”
She had let down her hair this time, and was wearing an orange T-shirt that read B
ALL
B
USTER
in small type under her waist-length denim jacket. Cavello read the lettering on her shirt. “Maybe it’s me who ought to be scared, Alicia. May I sit down?”
“Sure. Unless you like to eat standing up.”
He sat down and took off his hat. Cavello’s hair was slightly grayer. His face had barely changed from the one she had stared at with hatred in the courtroom, the day of the new trial.
“You don’t seem too sinister to me,” she said. “Anyway, how could anyone who farms sheep be so bad?”
Cavello laughed, and she knew that he could be charming when he wanted to. “You know, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell the Justice Department for years.”
Andie laughed. They both did.
A waiter came up. He seemed to recognize Cavello.
“The empanadas are like rocks here. But the margaritas are the best north of Antarctica,” said Cavello.
“Margarita,” Andie said, not even opening the menu. Cavello asked for an Absolut on the rocks.
“So why
are
you here?” She tilted her chair. “They have sheep all over, don’t they? You don’t seem like much of a farmer, Frank.”
“The weather.” Cavello smiled, then went on. “Let’s just say it suits me here. Desolate. Lonely. Isolated. And those are the good points.”
“You know, I’m actually starting to believe that Witness Protection thing.” She eyed him with a coy smile.
The waiter brought their drinks. Andie lifted her margarita. Cavello, his vodka.
“To the end of the world,” he said, “and whatever hopes and expectations go along with it.”
Andie met his eyes. They clinked glasses. “Sounds like a plan.”
She took a sip and looked past him into the square. Somewhere out there Nick was watching. That gave her strength, and God she needed it right now.
“So, what sort of hopes and expectations do you have, Frank?” she asked, peering over her sunglasses.
“Actually, I was thinking of you.”
“Me?” Andie, nervous again, put down her glass. “What do you know about me?”
“I know people don’t come this far because they’re happy. I know you’re very attractive, and apparently open to new things. I know you’re here.”
“You’re quite the psychologist.”
“I guess I just like people. How their minds work.”
He asked about her, and Andie went through the story that she and Nick had fabricated. About how her first marriage had crashed, and how some Boston restaurant where she was a sous-chef had failed, how it was time for a change in her life—new adventures. So here she was.
A couple of times she touched his arm. Cavello responded by leaning closer. She knew how the game was played. Andie just prayed he hadn’t already seen through her act.
Finally Cavello locked his hands in front of his face. “You know, Alicia, I’m not the kind of person who beats around the bush.”
“No, Frank.” She took a sip of her drink.
“
No, Frank?
” He paused, disappointed.
Andie smiled at him. “No, Frank, I never got the impression that you were.”
Cavello grinned, too. Under the table she shifted her leg so that it brushed against his.
Cavello sat there staring at her. This was so pathetic—and nauseating.
“You might like to see my ranch. It’s not too far away. The vistas are some of the best anywhere.”
“That would be nice. I’d love it. When were you thinking?”
“Why not this afternoon? After we eat.”
“We could do that.” Andie shrugged. “I have another idea, though. My hotel is just a few blocks away. Frank, I’m pretty sure I can give you an equally stunning view.”
I WAS WATCHING the two of them from the cover of the Land Cruiser parked across the square. As Andie and Cavello rose from the table and started toward the hotel, I felt my heart begin to pound. She had done her job. They were heading to her hotel room.
Cavello nodded toward someone in the lead Range Rover, which I was praying meant,
Take the rest of the afternoon off.
It didn’t.
Two men stepped out immediately. One was squat with a shaved head and a mustache, the other tall with long black hair, wearing an Adidas warm-up top. The bodyguards fell in twenty yards behind. This wasn’t good.
For the first time since Andie and I planned this, reality smashed me in the face. I knew that just the feel of Cavello’s hand must be agony for her. His putting his hands all over her would be sickening, and maybe too much for her to take. And now there was the issue of the bodyguards. They were obviously accompanying Cavello to the hotel.
I touched the grip of my Glock, loaded and ready in my jacket. Then I stepped out of the Land Cruiser.
The question exploding in my brain—did I try to take them out now?