Time on the Wire (26 page)
Authors: Jay Giles
Casper had Carla drive him by the ‘multi-millionaire foreign couple’s’ house, found it to be a yellow stucco, two-story, Mediterranean style McMansion. It had a red tile roof, two car garage, large paver courtyard. A Mercedes sedan was parked by the front door. The Mercedes clinched it. Casper was certain this was Albrecht’s hiding hole.
“Do you want to stop in, say Hola?” Carla asked.
Casper stared out the car window. They looked home. But this wasn’t the time to confront them. “No, I hate it when people drop in out of the blue. I’ll call first.” He looked over at Carla. “I’m getting kind of hungry. How about having dinner with me?”
She looked pleased by his invitation, put her hand on his arm. “How nice of you. I know just the place we can go.”
She drove Casper back to Puerto Vallarta, past the Hard Rock Café and Señor Frog’s to a small café that overlooked the water. Inside, it was intimate, just a dozen or so small tables, a few booths, large wood bar.
Carla opted for a booth. Casper slid in opposite her.
“Do you like wine, Dennis? I know a local one. Very good.”
Casper debated whether he should. Something could break on the Albrecht/Silber matter and he’d need a clear head. His gaze met Carla’s, his resolve melted. “Sounds great,” he heard himself say.
Carla told their waitress, a Mexican girl in a bikini top and beige short shorts, what she wanted. In a minute, the waitress was back, showed Carla the bottle, uncorked it, poured two glasses.
Casper raised his. “To homes and happiness.”
Carla’s glass joined his. “To new friends and new futures.”
They clinked. Tasted. Casper approved. “Good.”
Carla set her glass on the wood tabletop. “You liked the houses you saw today?”
“Absolutely. I loved the second house—the view, the terrace, the wall of glass. My only concern is that it is too big. What did that house have? Four bedrooms?”
“Five actually.”
“What do I need with five bedrooms?”
The ends of Carla’s lips turned up in a smile. “After dinner, if you like, I will show you two other houses. One has the ocean view, terrace, but is smaller. Not so many bedrooms, and quite reasonably priced at $800,000.”
Casper swallowed a sip of wine. “Sounds great. And the second?’
“My house,” she said, holding his gaze with those smoldering eyes. “I thought we’d end our evening there.”
Miles’ gaze frantically scanned the area below the pyramid, saw only water and rocks. Seconds turned into minutes. Terrified he was too late, his heart beat wildly. He kept searching, finally caught a glimpse of something thirty feet to the south, ran for a closer look, saw the top of Hanna’s head bobbing in the water.
“There she is,” he shouted to Rey, pointing with his hand. “Move the truck over here.”
The young man drove the truck into position, its front end just inches from the edge. Miles slid under the truck, tied the rope to the front axle. When he was sure it was secure, he slid out from under, dropped the rope over the cliff, was pleased to see the end splash into the water.
“When I wave my arms,” he told Rey, “slowly start backing up the truck. It’ll help me walk up the wall.”
The young man nodded once, his face grim.
Miles put on the gloves, wrapped the rope around his waist, positioned himself in a way that he could walk his way down the cliff. He let out a little rope, took his first step down, let out more rope, took another step. When he was close to the water, Miles began shouting to Hanna over the sound of the surf. He saw her head turn his way, relief replace terror on her face.
Miles stopped his descent when the water reached his waist, tied the rope around him so that it would no longer slide. He saw Hanna fighting her way over to him, gave her a big smile of encouragement. When she got closer, he could see she was crying.
“It got so high,” she sobbed. “I couldn’t touch—”
Miles hugged her. “It’s going to be all right,” he said soothingly. “I’m going to get you out of here. Wrap your legs around my waist, your arms around my neck. Can you do that?”
Still sobbing, Hanna nodded. She reached out, put her arms on his shoulders, lifted her legs and wrapped them around his waist.
Miles felt her weight on his back, her heart beating wildly. “Hold on tight,” He looked up, waved his arms at Rey.
There was a delay while the Mexican got in the truck, put it in gear, but Miles quickly felt the upward pull of the rope. He made sure his legs were braced properly, began walking them out of the water.
The first ten steps went well. He paced himself to the truck’s speed, keep his legs in the correct position. At step eleven, his shoe slipped, causing them to swing hard into the cliff wall. Miles fielded the blow on his shoulder. Used his arm to push off, give him alignment to regain his footing. This miscue caused his heart to race, Hanna to start crying again.
“It’s okay, we’re fine,” Miles assured her when they’d straightened out. He took two steps, felt a jolt. One of the ropes in the braid went limp.
Casper stood on the villa’s terrace, gazing at the ocean, while he did the math. The asking price was $800,000, he’d offer ten percent less, they’d compromise at five percent, he’d get the villa for $760,000. He loved the house, the view—and at that price—he could even almost afford it.
Behind him, he heard Carla ask, “Are you ready to see the next place?”
Casper turned, found her right behind him. He took her in his arms, kissed the side of her neck. Her lips found his, they kissed long and hard.
Casper pulled away, said, “There’s one thing I have to check and then I’m all yours.” He took out his Blackberry, dialed the Fiesta American, got a desk attendant. “This is Mr. Casper in 314, are there any messages for me?”
“No, señor.”
“How about voicemail? Any calls to the room?”
“No, señor, none.”
“Thank you.” He rang off, surprised Chance hadn’t responded to his calls. He thought about calling her again.
Carla reached over, took his Blackberry, dropped it in her purse. “No more business,” she said seductively and led him away.
In his study, Albrecht sat ramrod straight, his gaze focused on the paper in front of him. He’d documented his options, created a list of pros and cons. He studied them intently, as if willing something to jump out at him, suddenly make his problems go away.
From the bedroom, he heard Monique crying.
Distracted, Albrecht allowed himself a sigh of disappointment. He had expected more of Monique. Earlier, he had tried to discuss their options with her. Neither of them believed Ruis and Soto would leave them alone. Both knew there would be continuing demands for more money. After that, their views had diverged. Albrecht had argued they should leave that night for Costa Rica. Monique had refused. The mere thought of leaving her house made her distraught. Discussion had only succeeded in driving her deeper into an abyss of fright and negative thought. Her equilibrium unraveling, she’d stormed off to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
Albrecht grimaced. He’d listened to more than enough crying. It was getting on his nerves. He opened a drawer in the credenza, stroked his beard as he scanned the selection of CDs. He settled on Beethoven, took out the CD, placed it in machine. Soothing music replaced the sobbing.
Albrecht’s attention returned his options. He picked up a ballpoint, began adding possible outcomes. None were positive.
Unless.
He let his mind race, realized there was something he could do to turn the tables on Ruis and Soto.
Miles couldn’t tell whether one of his knots had given way or one of the braids had snapped. Didn’t matter. The integrity, the strength of his lifeline was questionable.
“What’s wrong?” Hanna wanted to know.
“Nothing,” Miles lied. “Don’t be frightened. I’m going to do some shouting.” He took a deep breath, yelled at the top of his lungs. “Rey, go faster.” When there was no reaction, he tried again. “Rey. Faster. Go faster.”
Just the opposite happened. Their upward movement stopped.
Miles gauged the distance to the top. They had twenty feet to go.
Rey’s head appeared over the side of the cliff. Miles could see his skinny arms waving, heard him yell. “Stalled. Won’t start.”
“Miles—” Hanna said.
“I heard. Looks like we’ll have to go the rest of the way on our own,” he said resolutely. Hand over hand, he began pulling them up. Their combined weight strained Miles’ shoulders. He could feel his muscles protesting. His hands ached from gripping the rope. He ignored the pain. Kept fighting. Moving higher one pull at a time.
Ten feet to go.
Seven feet.
Five.
Three.
Miles, chest heaving, arms and shoulders straining, only had a foot to go when he felt it.
The remaining two strands of rope snapped.
“Monique,” Albrecht said, rapping his knuckles on the bedroom door. “Open the door. I have an idea.” He listened. Heard the slap of sandals on the tile floor, the metallic click of the lock being loosened. The door swung open.
“What?” Monique’s eyes were red, her hair rumpled.
“We’ll film the police accepting the bribe money,” he began excitedly. Her brow furrowed as he talked, other than that, she didn’t react, didn’t interrupt. “What do you think?” He asked when he’d finished.
She took a cleansing breath, nodded her head ever so slightly. “It might work,” she answered, emphasizing the word might.
Albrecht was crestfallen. Might wasn’t good enough.
“Filming the policemen is a good idea.” She fixed him in her gaze. “But what will we be capturing?”
Unsure of where she was headed, he cocked his head, gave a slight shrug. “The blackmail, I should think.”
She raised a finger in the air. “We will see them take the money, yes. That’s good.
But not foolproof. They can deny the money was blackmail, say it was payment for services rendered, say it—”
Albrecht snorted. “Half a million dollars, I don’t think so.”
“Dieter,” Monique said sternly, “their word will be taken over ours. This is their country. They are the police. We must make this irrefutable.”
Albrecht’s shoulders sagged. “Irrefutable, I don’t see—”
“I know how,” Monique assured him, her eyes ablaze. “We will tell them we won’t pay them until they show us the bodies of the dead FBI agents.”
Albrecht’s mouth dropped opened.
“They’ll have to transport the bodies in the trunk of their car. We’ll put the camera on the roof, where we can see everything that happens in the courtyard. When they open the trunk to show us the bodies, the camera will record it. Who knows, they may even brag how easily they killed these people, Dieter. We might be able to get that, too. What do you think?”
Albrecht was a little stunned at the audacity of what Monique has suggested. “They won’t do it. They won’t bring those bodies here,” he sputtered. “There’s no way we can make them do that.”
“Oh, yes, there is. No bodies, no money.”
Miles lunged as the rope broke, got his outstretched left arm up to his shoulder over the edge, hung there in a one-armed iron cross. “Pull her up, hurry,” he yelled, sucking in air, trying to maintain the rigidity in his arm and shoulder. Miles knew if his muscles relaxed even a little bit, they’d fall to their deaths.
Rey rushed over, got down on the ground, put his hands under Hanna’s armpits, tried to lift her up. Couldn’t. He wasn’t strong enough.
As he lifted though, it eased the weight on Miles and he was able to grab the end of the rope tied to the bumper with his right hand. He gulped more air. “Okay, lift.”
The Mexican lifted. Miles, now able to use both arms, pulled up, too. Between them they were able to raise Hanna high enough for her to rest her upper body on the ledge.
“Grab the rope, Hanna. Pull yourself forward,” Miles instructed.
Hanna reached out, grabbed the rope just above Miles hand, pulled herself away from the edge.
With Hanna safe, Miles began inching his left arm along the ground toward to the rope. He knew he faced a moment of truth. Would his right grip be strong enough to hold him when he reached for the rope with his left?
He took a deep breath, went for it. Fell a nerve wracking six inches before his left hand tightened enough on the rope that he was able to halt the slide.
Miles let out the breath he’d been holding. Swung his right leg over the edge. Rey grabbed Miles’ right arm, helped haul him away from the edge.
On flat ground, able to let loose of the rope, Miles felt tremendous relief. When he was able to get to his feet, Hanna rushed over, hugged him. “You are so amazing,” she gushed. “I never thought we’d make it.” Her mouth found his. The kiss was a surprise. A thank you, yes, but it felt like more.
Miles savored the moment. He’d cheated death, maybe won the girl. All and all, a pretty good day. He was still riding that high, an hour and a half later when Rey dropped them at their hotel.
“Chief Soto still worries me,” Hanna said standing on the curb in front of the lobby. “It would be smart to stay together.”
Miles, who’d started into the hotel, stopped. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m the one from the FBI. If he finds we’ve escaped and checks the hotel, I think he’ll check on me. Let the hotel think I’m still gone. You go in, get your key. I’ll meet you at your room.”
Miles wasn’t sure that made sense, but he was running on fumes, too tired to argue. He got a keycard from the desk clerk, walked to the room. Hanna was already there waiting for him. He used the keycard to open the door. But instead of entering, Hanna took the keycard, said, “I’ll be right back.”
Miles went in, fell on the bed exhausted. Before he fell asleep, he was aware of two things. Hanna had returned with a suitcase. The message light was blinking.