Time on the Wire (23 page)
Authors: Jay Giles
That same morning, Hanna and Miles met in the hotel’s lobby, took a cab to the police station in downtown Puerto Vallarta for a meeting with Chief Arturo Soto.
On the ride over, Hanna said, “I had two voicemails from the Bureau. One good, one not so good.”
Miles looked over at her. “Let’s hear the not so good.”
Hanna sank a little lower in the cab’s back seat. “Agent Casper is on his way to join us.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad.”
Hanna shot him a look, eyes flashed anger. “That means he’s been sent to take charge of the case. It’s not fair, Miles. I’ve done all the work. You watch, he’ll take all the credit.”
“I don’t—”
“The Bureau has done this to me before,” she said angrily.” I get treated like the girl, the men do the important stuff.”
Miles smiled. “Well, we’ll just have to make sure you wrap all this up before Casper has a chance to get his manly fingerprints on it.”
He seemed so confident, it took away a little of Hanna’s anger.
“What’s the good news?” He asked.
“Amy, my admin, says they’re not furious I brought you.”
“Really?”
“I justified it saying you were the only one who could identify both Silber and Albrecht.”
Miles smile grew. “Oh, and I thought it was because of my boyish charm.”
Hanna elbowed him in the ribs. “Stop it. We have work to do.”
“Ouch,” Miles said. “You hit hard—for a girl.”
The banter stopped as the cab pulled up in front of the police station. Miles paid the cabbie, he and Hanna entered the station, were taken to Chief Soto’s office.
Soto was a short, blocky man. He wore beige police uniform, had a deep-brown complexion, thinning black hair, bushy black moustache, ready smile. His office was small, cluttered, hot.
He stood to greet them, listened to the officer who had led them to his office say something in Spanish, nodded. “Please, make yourselves comfortable,” he said in English. He gazed at Hanna, “I am told you are with the American FBI.”
Hanna took out her badge, showed it to him. He nodded. She put it back. “Mr. Marin and I are looking for a German national we believe vacationed here for the past month.” She took the photo from her purse, placed it in front of Soto. “His name is Dieter Albrecht. We’d like to ask him a few questions.”
Soto pursed his lips, looked at the photo. “What crime has this man committed that makes the American FBI interested in him?”
“He’s a suspect in a kidnapping and murder. Does your department have any knowledge of Mr. Albrecht?”
Soto made a face, shook his head. “I am not aware that he has come to our attention for any reason. But if, as you say, he has been here a month, we can find him.” He nodded, indicating the photo. “It would help if I could distribute copies of this photo to my men.”
“By all means,” Hanna assured him.
He picked up a pencil, found a piece of paper. “Give me your hotel and room number, I will call you when I have information.”
Miles told him the name and number. Soto wrote them down, put the paper with the photo.
“When do you think we might hear from you?” Hanna asked.
“I am confident by tomorrow afternoon we will have located your Mr. Albrecht.” He stood, indicating the meeting was over. “I will call, you have my word on that. Until then, enjoy your stay in Puerto Vallarta,” he said and gave each of them his best Chamber of Commerce smile.
When they were in the cab, riding back to the hotel, Miles asked, “What do you think? Was that what you expected?”
“To be honest, I didn’t expect him to be that helpful.”
Miles had been impressed by Soto’s willingness to help, his confidence he could locate Albrecht, quickly. “Who knows, a big part of his job might be searching for missing vacationers, wayward spouses. Maybe this is no big deal for him.”
“He didn’t act like it was.” She shook her head. “But there’s a big difference between finding a missing vacationer and someone who’s stolen $50-million. If I’d been in his shoes, I wouldn’t have committed to locating Albrecht by tomorrow. He may have been grandstanding, trying to impress us.”
The cab pulled up to the entrance of the Fiesta, Miles paid the driver. The two of them got out, walked into the hotel’s open-air lobby. “So what do we do now?” Miles asked.
Hanna debated. Instinctively, she wanted to start right in, go hotel to hotel with Albrecht’s picture. Her hesitation was that it would be a time-intensive, inefficient search. Soto, on the other hand, had the resources and contacts to cast a wide net. Even if he didn’t turn-up Albrecht, if he could narrow their search to a specific area or focused direction, it would be worth the wait.
She watched a young couple in swimsuits walk down the path to the beach. Beyond them, the white sand and turquoise water looked so inviting. “You brought trunks didn’t you?”
“Sure,” Miles said, a little surprised. He gazed over at her, smiled. “That doesn’t sound like you’re thinking work.”
“Depending on what Chief Soto has for us tomorrow, we’ll be putting in some long hours. This may be our only chance to enjoy ourselves.”
Miles didn’t need any encouraging. “The beach looks awfully tempting.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” Hanna agreed.
They headed to their rooms, changed into swimsuits, went out to the beach, strolled down the sand at the water’s edge. Every now and then, a wave would run in, splash around their feet.
“This is the life,” Hanna said, wiggling her toes in the sand.
That made Miles laugh. “You live in Florida. You could do this every day if you wanted.”
Hanna’s gaze took in people from different cultures, sounds of Mexican music, brightly colored buildings, mountains jutting up beyond the strip of hotels. “This has a whole different feel. It’s more vibrant, more exciting.”
Miles watched a parachute rider ascend into the sky. “There’s something about getting away from the everyday world that makes you feel more alive.”
“That sounds like the adventurer in you.”
Miles laughed. “I guess it is,” he said, taking Hanna’s hand. “This is an adventure, too, you know. Us.”
Hanna glanced over at him. Saw the dazzling smile, the kind eyes, looked past the tattoos and scars.
“Who knows where this adventure will take us,” he said as they strolled hand-in-hand down the beach.
Us. Hanna liked the sound of that, of their adventure, unaware that in just 24 short hours their adventure was about to take a horrible turn.
The phone call had rattled Albrecht. As he replaced the receiver on the cradle, his hands trembled. He walked to the bar, poured himself a stiff Scotch, downed a big swallow.
He found Monique in the family room watching television. “Who was on the phone?” She asked breezily. Phone calls were still a rarity for them.
“It was your policeman.”
Alarmed, Monique sat up on the sofa, used the remote to switch off the TV. “Ruis?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?” She asked in a high, frightened voice.
Albrecht swallowed more Scotch, paced back and forth. “His cousin, the policeman in Puerto Vallarta, called him, said two FBI agents were looking for me.”
Monique’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, no.” She jumped up from the sofa, followed Albrecht around the room.
“Ruis has a plan. He says he and his cousin can get rid of these FBI agents.”
Albrecht added disgustedly. “For money.”
“How much?” Monique asked, her eyes wide.
“A hundred thousand dollars for each of them.”
“What did you say? That’s a lot of money for telling them they don’t know where you are.”
“You misunderstand me. The money is to kill them.”
“Oh,” Monique said, meekly.
“What could I tell him? It had to be yes, otherwise they would betray us.”
Monique stopped pacing, put her hands on her hips. Her face had regained its determined cast. “So the precautions we put in place are working. We pay Ruis to make the problem go away.”
Albrecht shook his head. “The problem won’t go away. If these agents disappear, they’ll send more agents to find them.”
Her gaze found Albrecht’s, she gave him a shrewd smile. “Not if it looks like they died in an accident and the accident is authenticated by an official police accident report.”
Miguel watched horrified as Marike took the knife from her purse. He was in his car’s passenger seat, his hands bound behind his back with wire. A frantic glance out the car windows told him, even if he screamed for help, no one would hear him. He began sobbing. “Don’t hurt me, please don’t hurt me.”
Marike brandished the knife in front of his face. “You lied to me once.” She ran the serrated edge of the knife lightly along the front of his throat. The cut began to bleed, turning the collar of his white golf shirt red. “Lie to me again, and I’ll slice your throat to the bone.”
Tears streamed down his cheeks.
“Which way to Albrecht’s?” Marike demanded.
“Take the highway,” Miguel said between sobs, “to Nuevo Vallarta.”
Marike put the car in gear, followed the signs to Nuevo Vallarta, a newer area, north of Puerto Vallarta.
“There. That is his house,” Miguel said some forty minutes later.
Marike pulled off the road, cast a quick look at a large yellow stucco villa, took the knife from her lap. “You’re sure,” she said and sliced the edge of Miguel’s ear.
He screamed in pain.
She cut him again.
“Yes, yes. I am sure. That is his house. Don’t hurt me any more.”
Marike saw a bearded man walk by a window. “That’s not Albrecht,” she said angrily.
Miguel cowered against the car door, anticipating being cut again. “It’s him,” he said quickly. “He lost weight, grew a beard. It’s him. I swear.”
Marike watched the window, waited for the man to walk past again. Instead, she saw a blond woman. “Who’s that?”
“I don’t know.”
The man walked by the window, again. Now that Marike knew how Albrecht had altered his appearance, she could tell it was him. She watched as he and the blond woman, engaged in heated discussion, appeared and disappeared at the window.
She wondered what it was about. Could it be about her? Could they know she was here?
No use worrying about that now Marike thought as she drove away from Albrecht’s house, dropped Miguel off.
Off a cliff.
She watched his body tumble in the air, smash on the rocks below. Satisfied it would be quite some time before the body was discovered, she drove back to her hotel, stopped in the lobby bar to have a drink, think about how to handle Albrecht and the woman.
It would be difficult to control them both without a weapon. A handgun would be best. She doubted it would be hard to purchase one. Tomorrow, she’d start looking in pawn and gun shops on the fringes of town. She was in no hurry. There was time to find a gun, sight it, wait for the right opportunity to capture Albrecht and the woman.
The ringing of the bedside phone woke Hanna. “Hello,” she answered groggily. Her wristwatch told her it was 9:00 a.m.
“Chief Soto calling, Señorita Chance. I have good news,” he told her in a chipper voice, “I have found your man for you.”
That perked Hanna up. “Wonderful,” she exclaimed. “So quickly, too. I’m impressed.”
“Honestly, I got lucky. My cousin Ruis is a police officer in Nuevo Vallarta. He knew this man.”
“So where is he? Where is Nuevo Vallarta?”
“Just north of here. It’s a newer area—newer resorts, newer houses.”
“Okay.”
“Here’s what I would suggest. Let me take you there, we can observe if he is the one. If we are correct, and I am certain we will be, Ruis will arrest him for you. This is acceptable with you?”
“Yes, I appreciate your assistance, Chief Soto.”
“No problem.” A smile came into his voice. “What we call professional courtesy, yes?”
“Yes. That’s right.”
“I will pick you up at your hotel at 10:30. Is that good?”
“Yes, that will work.”
“I suggest you look like tourists, wear swimsuits, cover-ups. That will make you less conspicuous.”
“Okay,” Hanna said a little hesitantly. “We can do that.”
“Good. I will see you in front of your hotel at 10:30.”
“Thank you, Chief,” Hanna said, pressed the receiver button, dialed Miles’ room. “Soto found him,” she said excitedly when Miles came on the phone.
“Wow, quick.”
“He said yesterday it would be, I didn’t believe him, but I’ll take it. He’s picking us up at 10:30. Oh, and we’re supposed to wear swimsuits.”
“Swimsuits? Why?”
“Soto wants us to look like tourists. Fit in.”
As they walked out of the hotel lobby to meet him, Miles thought they looked sufficiently touristy. Hanna wore a tank top, shorts over her suit, had a canvas carry bag looped over her shoulder. Miles wore a Tampa Bay Bucs tee-shirt, cargo shorts over his suit. Hanna had started to wear a pair of flip-flops, but Miles had her change into her running shoes. He had on a comfortable pair of trail shoes.
They spotted Soto standing in front of his car, a beige VW Jetta. He was wearing a straw hat, flowered shirt tails out, beige slacks, sandals. He definitely looked like a local. With him was a thin, wiry man with a wispy black moustache, black hair gelled back. He wore white pants and a green and brown bowling shirt. Soto introduced him as his cousin, Ruis Fernandez, of the Nuevo Vallarta police.
“Ruis doesn’t speak English good as me,” Soto said smiling. Ruis nodded in agreement. “So he’ll drive, I’ll talk.” Again, Ruis nodded.
Miles and Hanna got in the back seat. Ruis started the car, pulled into traffic. Soto put his arm on top of the seat, looked back to talk to them. “We’re going to drive to Nuevo harbor, maybe a thirty-minute trip.”
“To his house?” Hanna asked.
Soto smiled. “Ruis tells me he lives in a big yellow palazzo on top of the cliff. But no, that is not where we are going. We are on our way to the Marina where he keeps a boat. Most days, he works on the boat or takes it out fishing.”
“Red snapper,” Ruis said. He looked in the rear view mirror at them, grinned.
“A good eating fish,” Soto added, “plentiful right now.” He turned, faced forward in his seat.
They drove through the countryside. Miles watched out his window, taking in the people, houses, billboards. He knew they were near the water when he started seeing elaborate hotel entrances. He heard the clicking of the turn signal, the car slowed, Ruis turned left into a driveway, stopped at the gate. The guard came over to the car, Ruis said policia, showed his badge, the guard waved them on.
They drove slowly down a road lined with expensive houses. Ahead Miles could see sailboat masts poking up into the bright blue sky. Ruis parked. Soto turned in his seat to face them, his expression serious. “Does he know either of you by sight?”
“No,” Hanna answered.
“Good. Then we will all go, see if the boat is there.”
They walked through the parking lot to the wooden dock, a long affair, with branches at regular intervals on either side, Miles estimated the dock might have had as many as a hundred slips, half of which held boats. Ruis led them to the third branch on the right, pointed to an empty space.
Soto verbalized the obvious. “He’s out.”
“Now what?” Hanna asked.
“No problem,” Soto said easily, “we go by boat. Ruis knows where he fishes. You can look at him through glasses. That is acceptable, yes?”
Hanna didn’t see that she had any choice. “It’s going to have to be.”
They followed Ruis to a thirty-foot Cris-Craft sportfisher. “This is a boat Ruis seized from dope smugglers,” Soto explained as they got on. “Make yourself comfortable,” he said, “I must help Ruis get us underway.”
It didn’t take them long, however. In just ten minutes, the boat pulled away from the dock. In five, it was out of the no wake zone. The engine noise, wind increased as Ruis opened the throttles, headed out to sea. Hanna and Miles sat in captain’s chairs on the aft deck. Behind them, land grew more and more distant.
Soto came over, pointed further out to sea, shouted to be heard above the engine noise, “See that spec? That is a small island. That is where he will be fishing.”
Miles nodded. When they were closer to the island he could see it was uninhabited, little more than rock and scrub vegetation.
Ruis throttled down, the nose of the boat seemed to settle in the water.
Hanna got up from her seat. “Chief, I don’t see any his boat?”
“Neither do I,” Soto said as he drew a pistol from under the tail of his shirt and pointed it at Hanna.