Angel Eyes (36 page)

He whirled, but he cut it a bit too fine, and the bull's outflung hoof caught him on the ankle. He staggered, fell into the dust. The bull snorted, so close that Russell could feel the damp heat on the back of his neck. The foam of madness overflowed its lips. The tip of its horn scored the wall just above him. The scent of the beast defined his world.

In the stands, Cruz and his sicarios were straining forward, fascinated, sensing that the dance of death was nearing its end. Even the guards posted high up in the arena were concentrating on the imminent death of the gringo. No one yelled "Ole!" now; they were rooting for the bull.

Tori leaned over, whispered in Estilo's ear. He nodded, as she knew he would. Estilo was as fearless as he was loyal. She counted silently to six, saw out of the corner of her eyes Estilo doing the same. Then she launched herself over the barrier in the stands, down into the corrida. At the same time, Estilo slipped the handgun from Cruz's holster, pressed the muzzle against me side of his head. "Don't move!" he shouted to the sicarios. "If you want to keep your leader alive, you'll just relax!"

In the corrida the bull had flung out one hoof. It was meant for Russell's head, but Russell had had the presence of mind to curl up, and the blow struck him on the shoulder instead.

He grunted, began to scramble away. That was a mistake. The bull charged after him, its head already down, its horns darting this way and that.

Tori landed on her feet and, reaching down, slid a knife from its sheath against her ankle. She leaped atop the bull's back and plunged the knife to the hilt in that spot she had seen the matador find for his killing thrust, between the massive muscles of the beast's shoulders and neck.

She was certain she heard the bull scream. It shuddered as a fountain of blood shot up, and its convulsions threw her off. She hit the wall, came down hard.

Then Russell had scooped her up, and the two of them were making for the doorway through which Russell had been shoved onto the floor of the corrida.

As they reached the door they heard the unmistakable sound of semiautomatic fire. Fearing for Estilo, Tori turned around and had a brief glimpse of the guards stationed high up in the stands, then Russell had pulled her through, from the intense sunlight of the corrida to the darkness beneath the stands. "Someone's shot Cruz's guards," she shouted at Russell. They raced around the semicircle, came up into brilliant sunlight, headed up the tiers of empty seats, but the gunfire had ceased. None of Cruz's people were left standing. Instead, Estilo and Cruz were surrounded by another set of men. The Orolas?

"It's all right," Estilo said as the men trained their weapons toward the oncoming figures, "they're friends."

"Are you all right?" Tori asked Estilo.

He smiled, jerking on Cruz's collar. "As you can see, torero. '' He was referring to her bravery in the bullring.

"What the hell is going on here?" Russell demanded.

Estilo said to one of his men, "Search them carefully, especially the woman. She is capable of many tricks." Then he turned his attention to Russell. "I took the liberty of ensuring the outcome of our little adventure. I radioed my people from the plane on our way back here.''

"Your people?" Russell said. "Who the hell are you, anyway?"

"I am Tori's friend," Estilo said. "That's all you need to know."

Tori came up to him. "Once, that was all I needed to know, Estilo. But now everything's changed."

"Are you certain, schatzie? Nothing has changed, not really, not for the two of us."

Tori saw the love in his eyes, but beneath that she could discern something foreign, and her stomach tightened in a kind of precognitive warning. Because it was the hint of fear she saw in Estilo, an emotion she had thought him incapable of feeling. She could already feel him slipping away from her, and she knew that neither of them would ever be the same.

Estilo nodded. "So be it. Finding the cocaine factory in the llano negro came as no surprise to me. Why would it? I own it."

"You?" The word came out and almost choked her. She could hardly think straight.

Estilo smiled. "Didn't you think it a bit too convenient, this Twin Otter refueling just as we had need of it?" He laughed heartily. "Just like in a James Bond movie."

"I don't believe it."

"But I do," Russell said. "The whole escape from the factory was so easy. I should have seen it."

Estilo ignored him. "Friendship does that to people, schatzie. I think in your heart of hearts you are not so surprised. You knew that some of my business was not altogether legitimate."

"But cocaine-"

"Only a sideline for me, schatzie," Estilo said. "The soft cell, remember? I never would have told you, but this pig, Cruz, stuck his nose in where it didn't belong. He took the hafnium pellets. I could not allow you to be killed over them."

"The hafnium comes from you," Russell said.

Estilo nodded. "Very astute, Senor Slade. The metal pellets are what I'm really exporting. The Japanese buy the hafnium from one of my concerns in West Germany. I transship the hafnium down here, and they oversee the soft cell, making sure it's stuffed into the coke.''

"But don't you know what the Japanese are doing with the coke?" Tori said. "They've made a supercocaine, one that kills in a matter of months.''

"So? Tori, you know me better than that," Estilo said. "I'm a businessman, pure and simple. I'm motivated by profit, not ideology or politics. I thought you understood that."

The real horror was that Tori did understand. She had known all along what Estilo was, and what he was capable of. They had become friends despite that knowledge. What did that say about her?

"Isn't hafnium used as some kind of damper in nuclear reactors?" Russell said.

"I sell hafnium," Estilo said. "I don't research it."

"Who are you selling it to?" Tori asked. "Which Japanese? Bastard, tell me."

"There's something else I 'd like to know,'' Russell said. ''Was it you who ordered the hit on Ariel Solares?"

"Ariel was a friend of mine," Estilo said stiffly. "I still mourn his passing." He sounded as if Russell had insulted him.

"If you didn't kill him," Russell said, "who did?"

''You know, I should kill you both,'' Estilo said. "That would be the smart move. The businessman in me says I should get rid of you two before you do me more damage man you've already done.'' He looked at Tori. ''But you are my schatzie, and I could never harm you."

"I don't understand," Tori said. "What you're doing is despicable: you'll sell anything for a profit with no thought of the consequences."

"Forgive me."

"Never."

"But I forgive you, schatzie." Estilo looked at her sadly. "That is the difference between us. I accept you, Tori, all of you. The good and the bad. I am the true friend you never had before, but of course you can't see that. Perhaps in time ..." He shrugged, said to one of his men, ''They have a personal jet waiting for them at the airport. See they get there, and that nothing happens to them at Immigration or Customs. See them off. And, Tori, when you get to Japan, which I've no doubt you'll do, go see your old Yakuza friend, Hitasura."

"What do you know of Hitasura?"

"Wrong question," Estilo told her. "It's what does Hitasura know?"

Tori stared at him a long time. So many emotions were running through her she did not know where to begin to comprehend them. She knew that Estilo had protected her and Russell; and he had, in a major way, helped them with their mission. Then why couldn't she forgive him for having a part in the supercocaine smuggling? Or was it simply that he had lied to her about his business dealings? Could her hurt stem from something so personal as that?

Estilo said, "Adios, Senor Slade. Auf wiedersehen, schatzie. I have much to do now. I must see that justice comes to this pig Cruz, and I will see that Sonia is given a proper burial." He took one last look at Tori. ''Perhaps you'll say a prayer for her.''

''For her,'' Tori said as she and Russell were led away. ''But not for you."

"Do you want to be alone?"

Tori looked up at Russell standing over her. The 727, at 35,000 feet, was whispering along. "Yes." But when he turned away, she reached out for him. "No. Sit with me."

She put her head back, sighed. It was good not to be alone, to put an end to the solitude-the isolation she had imposed on herself from the moment they had taken off from Machine-Gun City.

"Next stop, Tokyo." Russell looked at her. "I hope we haven't been sent by Scylla into the maw of Charybdis.''

"What do you mean?"

Russell shrugged. "If Estilo is any yardstick by which to judge your friends, this Yakuza oyabun of yours, Hitasura, might be waiting to blow our heads off.''

"If Estilo wanted that for us, he'd have done it himself."

"Speaking of Estilo, Tori, why'd he do it? From the moment you called him from my office, he must have known what you and I were looking for. He was it, or part of it, anyway. Why did he allow us to get so close, find out about his operation. And even more interesting, why did he get involved himself?"

"I don't pretend to have all the answers," Tori said wearily. "But Estilo knows me. He knew once I sunk my teeth in, I wasn't going to give up, and I think he wanted in some way to ensure my protection. He figured if he was along, he could do that. Also, Estilo was in a fundamental way lying to us when he said he's nothing more than a businessman. Underneath, he's the last of the adventurers. There are those who think the world's gotten too small for people like him. He gets a kick out of making fools of them by slipping through the international cracks they don't know still exist." She shrugged. "But maybe I'm wrong. He went with us, protected us, exposed his operation to us. But God knows, it's clear now that I never fully understood Estilo."

"On the contrary, I think you understand him all too well," Russell said. "Mainly, because you two are so much alike. You're wrong about only one thing. Tori. Estilo's not the last of the adventurers. You are.''

Tori turned her head, stared out the window at the colorlessness at 35,000 feet. She looked upward, past the intense blue of the shell of Earth's atmosphere, and thought. What did Greg see in the darkness up there? What did he think when he looked behind him and saw the totality of home?

"There's something else,'' Russell said, and she turned back, away from the home of the angels. "Why in hell did Estilo tell us about the hafnium? What sort of devilish game is he playing?"

"I don't know," Tori said. "But knowing Estilo as I do, he told us because he wants us to know."

"Perhaps he was lying. It could be the pellets are something other than hafnium."

"No. That isn't Estilo's way. He merely would have kept his mouth shut. Those pellets are hafnium, you can bet on it."

Russell opened his hand, smiled. In it, wrapped in a small plastic envelope, was a small dark metallic pellet. "I don't have to bet," he said. "I have my own private sample." He pocketed me evidence, frowned. "What if Estilo did order the hit on Solares?"

"He said he didn't."

"No. Think back. What he said was that Ariel was his friend, that he still grieves for him. He gave us no direct answer."

"With Estilo, it's the same thing," Tori said. "It's a matter of honor. Ariel was his friend; Estilo could not have ordered him murdered."

Russell grunted, but he did not argue with her. "Well, then, it's on to Japan," he said. "You'd better brief me. Who's this other friend of yours, Hitasura?"

"Hitasura is the youngest of the Tokyo Yakuza bosses," Tori said. "He made his bones by leading a bloodless coup against the old oyabun of his family. There was a scandal the old man was involved in, and Hitasura used his influence among the young bureaucrats of his acquaintance to hush it up. The elders of the family were grateful, so grateful, they installed him as the new oyabun. Since then he's expanded his family's influence threefold. His chief rival is an oyabun named Big Ezoe. A real sonuvabitch."

"This is the Yakuza we're talking about," Russell said. "They're all sons of bitches."

Tori nodded. "That's more or less true," she said. "It's the 'less' you need to concentrate on. Once you do, you find some fascinating personalities. Hitasura's one. Anyway, he's in my debt, so you don't have to worry about his loyalty."

Russell waited for her to tell him how Hitasura happened to be in her debt, but when she wasn't forthcoming, he asked her himself.

''It's none of your business, Russ,'' she said. ''You don't ask questions like that. They're too personal."

Russell could see that she was already reverting to her enigmatic Japanese personality, the one that drove him to distraction when he had first worked with her. He wasn't going to let that happen again. "This is different, it's business," he said. "It's my neck that's being put on the chopping block along with yours. Under me circumstances, don't you think I deserve an answer?''

"No," Tori said.

Russell leaned forward. "Look, Tori, do I have to point this out: if Hitasura is involved in the soft cell-"

"Russ ..."

He stared at her. "I don't care if he is in your debt, th? possibility remains that if Estilo didn't order Ariel's murder, then Hitasura did."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, shall we?"

Russell could see she was angry. He couldn't blame her. Both Estilo and Hitasura were her friends. One had already betrayed her. How much would it take for the other to betray her as well?

Tori stood up. "Excuse me. I've got to go to the bathroom."

Russell watched her go down the aisle. He wondered why he could never win an argument with her. Several minutes later it occurred to him that they hadn't had an argument, merely a conversation. Then he began to wonder why he saw their conversations as skirmishes, and, worse, why it was he found it necessary to win them all.

Something stirred inside him. He felt again the torn edges of the end of his life, blood covering his eyes, the stench of the great bull filling his nostrils, the corrida's red dust coating his mouth, the taste of death choking him. Russell had already given himself up for dead. He had been sucking the dust into his lungs, his vision clouded. There had been pain in his shoulder, his ankle. The bull was towering over him, ready to inflict its damage on his body. His mind could see it coming. his death. It was as if in that moment he had seen how out of focus his life had been up to that point.