Locked and Loaded (16 page)

“It’s all right. These men have checked out.” Roberto opened his arms for her and she filled them, burying her face against his neck. He kissed the crown of her head fiercely with complete ownership and stroked her back. “You’re safe now. I will make this all right.”

For a moment, Anthony just stared at the food-laden table, unable to watch the ruse without emotion. But within seconds he’d recalibrated his expression. Any brief eye contact between them was processed by Salazar as her suspicion. His subsequently lowered gaze was seen as respect.

“Do you now see what I have at risk, Juan?” Roberto said to Anthony while caressing Sage’s body. “This could have been taken from me today, but Rico has also earned himself a place at my table forever for this. I am rebuilding now from the ashes. You and Rico have separated yourselves out from average men. Therefore, you stay in this house until our business is finished and you travel with her as her escort at
all
times,
comprende
?”

*   *   *

Her hands trembled as she slipped off her dirty clothes and stepped into the shower. Hot water pummeled her body as she washed off the filth of battle. A pair of jeans, a T-shirt, panties, and tourist’s sneakers had been hastily purchased for her on Bourbon Street by one of Roberto’s men. Eye signals that bordered on telepathy let her know that as soon as Alvarez cleared the building, he’d inform Hank Wilson and the DEA team that she was alive, and they’d communicate that to DELTA.

But nothing in the world could have prepared her for coming face-to-face with Anthony in Salazar’s dining room. It had felt like the bottom had dropped out of her stomach, the same feeling one experiences when an elevator descends too rapidly.

When the bathroom door opened, she jumped and almost screamed. Roberto moved toward her and for a second she covered her breasts and pubic area with her hands.

“I cannot imagine what you’ve been through,” he murmured, opening the glass shower door.

He waited for her to come to him and she eventually did, chewing her lip. But she shook her head, hugging herself; she couldn’t submit to whatever he had on his mind. An earnest sob broke through her façade, and rather than infuriate him, it made him draw her out of the spray and into his arms.

“I just want to hold you,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “To let you know that it would have cut my heart out if they’d gotten you today.” He lifted her chin with a finger and then allowed his gaze to travel down her body. “Look at what they have done to my
tesoro
 … the bruises … they’ve beaten you … tell me what else did they do!”

“They threw me in a trunk,” she said, practically hiccup crying as the truth and the lies became muddled in her mind. Her tears seemed to suddenly wash all of that free. “They put a bag over my head, Roberto … tied me up with plastic handcuffs … then, then the car or van, I couldn’t tell which, had an accident. It rolled over, there was smoke and shooting and—”

“And they didn’t rape you,” he said, releasing a long breath of relief briefly closing his eyes. “Or beat you with their fists … or splash battery acid on your gorgeous face.”

He held her as she cried harder, stroking her wet, naked back, hips, and buttocks, never understanding why she was really sobbing..

“I’m so scared,” she whispered thickly against his neck. “What’s happening? Why are they doing this? Who are these terrible people?”

Inner knowing told her that this was the only way to avoid him. It was the same effective reverse logic that Cape fur seals used on great white sharks—one had to get close to the predator and swim alongside it long enough to break away fast so that the shark couldn’t maneuver to turn around and bite you.

She knew that now more than ever before, she had to seem totally clueless about his enterprises and sufficiently freaked out to have a plausible reason for why she just couldn’t flip a switch and make love to him on demand for a couple of days.

After a moment to collect his thoughts, his voice took on a frighteningly calm tone as he produced a knot of cash from his pocket and pressed it into her hand. “Those people are business competitors of mine who couldn’t do business the honorable way, and decided to try to terrorize my household to make me comply. This is why I have always told you, stay with Bruno,
sí
?”

She nodded and wiped at her tears.

“When you do international business, sometimes things get very aggressive, Camille … this is why the wealthy have armored cars and security. This is why they keep the identities of their wives and children secret, and put locator chips in their bodies … because there are terrorists out there who would kidnap those they love. But that is under control now.”

He drew back from her and held her face. “I want you to be my wife, Camille. The mother of my children. I was going to wait until I’d completed my business here in New Orleans before I asked for your hand … the jeweler is making your ring now as we speak. But after what just happened, I couldn’t wait.”

Kissing her gently, he enfolded her in his arms. Every nerve fiber within her screamed dissent as her conscience flogged her. She knew he was a monster, but he was also a man. She knew what he’d done and was still capable of doing was despicable, evil, horrific … but he was still a human being who bled red blood. Revenge never tasted so bitter. This betrayal would be something she’d have to live with for the rest of her life, and not because she feared for her life, but because she feared for her soul. Her grandmother was right—“vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord.”

When he broke the kiss, tears of remorse shimmered in her eyes. The lines had been blurred and some fragile, indefinable element of humanity had been breached in the battle of good guys versus bad guys. She touched his face knowing that she’d never be able to apologize to him for the transgression. That he was now processing her tears and touch incorrectly, leaving her helpless to set the record straight, made her weep for her enemy. Her family had died at his hand, but at least it had been quick. This man was being tortured to death, and she was many things, but she’d never thought herself cruel.

Wiping her silent tears, he smiled. “I’ll accept that as a beautiful yes … So I want you to take this money and go with Juan while Rico gets stitched up, to get some decent clothes. But be quick and stay nearby, all right? Can you do that?”

“Okay,” she said softly, touching the side of his face. “I didn’t understand before, but I understand now. I’m sorry.”

“Bueno,”
he murmured, and then took her mouth slowly.

*   *   *

Arturo Guzman made a tent with his fingers in front of his mouth and listened to the report his trusted inside man gave him. Sitting in the semidarkness of his expansive office, he allowed the brandy-tipped, hand-rolled cigar to burn down in the ashtray, enjoying the aroma as tendrils of smoke wafted past his senses.

Roberto Salazar blew up his own house, yacht, and cars? Not possible. Sniper fire had not only taken out some of his men, but also had hit some of Salazar’s men as well. And since when would a woman, a marrying kind of innocent, take out one of his hit men, jump into a Mercedes, and drive like a she-devil toward sure danger?

This stunk to high heaven, and he strained to understand the words coming across his desk in a thick Russian accent.

“Dimitri,” he finally said, and then took up his cigar to puff it a bit before inhaling a long drag from it. “We have done business now for how many decades?”

The elegant, silver-haired gentlemen stared at each other with knowing smiles.

“Too long to count, Arturo. At least since the end of the cold war.” Dimitri cut the end off his expensive cigar and lit it slowly with a gold-plated Zippo lighter from Guzman’s desk.

“Does this sound like a young punk who is prepared for battle … or a third party?”

“Al Qaeda doesn’t give a damn about Roberto’s business ambitions, they merely want weapons to fight the Americans … which we will supply them, as the more stressed the Americans are, the more their economy suffers, the more of your product they demand. Very simple. Very efficient. The balance of power is maintained in the world. So I do not think they are your third party, and as weapons dealers and mercenaries, we have no advantage in aiding Roberto against you. He could not do this alone, I do not believe.”

“You being involved never crossed my mind, Dimitri. That is not what I was signifying at all. And, I also agree. I cannot see Al Qaeda siding with a rogue drug dealer bent on profit alone and with no ideological link to their cause—not once they have extracted what they wanted from him—immediate cash for arms. But they are problematic, if they are now selling into my territories behind my back with very cheap product.”

Dimitri chuckled. “Do not worry yourself. This pipeline to the US is unsustainable and they do not want to engage the stable cartel families in war. This will correct itself shortly, I assure you. We will help them understand there are better markets in Europe … by giving up a few of their cells for this transgression.”

“Please encourage them quickly,” Guzman muttered.

“As always.” Dimitri released a long sigh and smiled at Guzman. “My friend, we old generals are familiar with the Afghans in a way that still eludes the young Americans. Remember how long Mother Russia was at war there before others came. The Taliban and Al Qaeda have absolutely no desire to pick a fight with you, and will fight for something intangible and worth more than money, according to their code—their version of honor.”

When Guzman nodded, Dimitri took a long drag on his cigar and rolled it between his fat thumb and forefinger.

“Whether we agree that their cause is insane or not is immaterial, Arturo. What is interesting to me always is that they cannot be negotiated with as
individuals
for mere capital. But their chain of command understands that order within chaos is mandatory. That is what our young Roberto does not yet understand any more than the young government that fights them. The rebel Afghans are fighting something within their own society that has gone on for centuries. Understanding this requires cultural maturity that Roberto doesn’t own.”

“Impatience is what has led Roberto to break my heart,” Guzman said, taking two quick angry puffs. “But you have a point. The people he did his deals with gain nothing by going to war with us here.”

“No. That is why I would not think they set these explosives. Their only aim in this relationship with Roberto is that they are very desperate for arms and have very disjointed infrastructure, which is what allowed them to actually patronize their competitor’s arms business … yours, without knowing it. They knew they could not bring you excess product. Why would you give them cash for what you already produce? This makes no sense. So they look around and look around until they find someone who will buy what they have to sell in the large quantity they need to move.”

“No one else would touch it. Anyone with that much cash is a competitor already linked into very old and very solid networks, Dimitri.”

“Correct. This is how they wind up stealing a young, cocky customer of yours, Roberto, and then pay you back by purchasing your weapons—while young Roberto has no idea that you and I, as old friends, have long been in business together. It is a shame, actually. He has been in America too long … where a house divided cannot stand.”

“What did you sell this Assad?” Arturo Guzman temporarily set down his cigar again and considered his old friend.

“It has been over a year since the American Nuclear Arms Treaty lapsed. A new spirit of dissention has fallen over the US. The new president has tried to get this
trust and verify
treaty ratified so that there can be inspections and enforcement … ahhh … but jealous opponents have become so factious that they think of only themselves and not their country as a whole. So, during this time of great debate and contentious behavior within the American government, the UN was secretly moving eleven tons of enriched uranium and three tons of plutonium, by rail in reinforced stainless steel casks, across eighteen hundred miles of open land in Kazakhstan—from the Aqtau nuclear site, very close to Chechnya across the Caspian Sea. That is enough to make eight hundred nuclear bombs … and all we needed was thirty-nine pounds of material to make one.”

Guzman chuckled. “The old Americans were like us once, unified. Parties came together to fight a common cause. I have watched these debates. Obstructionists are more concerned with being individually right than ensuring the good of the whole. They throw the baby out with the bathwater. There is no compromise, but in a family, there must be compromises. This is what Roberto has done. He is thinking of himself, not the whole, and has won short-term gains … but this will not last.”

“And we must embrace change. Not all change is bad.” Dimitri chuckled. “We can now vote with our dollars in American elections. Ironic that their so-called Citizens United Supreme Court case allows us to
donate
as foreigners … so now, we can have their officials in our hip pockets to sway treaties as we like. We are virtually untouchable as power coalesces, my friend. Stay positive.”

“Sí,”
Guzman said, dragging on his cigar again. He stared into the air pensively. “I feel that Roberto has been infiltrated by another source.”

Dimitri nodded. “This is high probability because he is young and impulsive and wants too much too fast. This allows for miscalculation. Whoever set those charges knew how to do it to eviscerate everything on that property.”

“Military?”

“Possibly US military … since they are chasing Assad, I am sure. Or drug enforcement, perhaps CIA.”

“Can your forces on the ground sweep the car the woman was driving? Roberto was like a son to me … I taught him much of what I know, and if he has fought so hard to have this woman returned to him, then I am pretty sure I know what he has done.”