Buzzard Bay (47 page)

Henekie nodded. “I know the score,” he whispered.

“You’ll be taken to our doctors’ clinic in Poland for your operations and then put on a freighter with our tractor parts to Argentina. That will give you time to heal up. From there, you’ll end up in charge of our Nassau shop. Or is time a factor here?” Krugman wanted to know.

Henekie laid back totally exhausted. “Don’t worry, the longer we wait, the more money there’ll be.”

TWENTY-SIX

J
ON SMYSKIN SAT
in his father’s office wondering what he was doing there. He’d spent four years at Harvard and was about to graduate with a business degree when his mother phoned him in a panic. “We think something has happened to your father, Jon. There’s no money for you or us either, you must come home and straighten out his affairs.”

His dreams of sitting in a plush office overlooking Manhattan were dashed. His father’s office consisted of a small room overlooking some kind of boat building yard which had been obsolete for years. His father had an obsession with boats, and this yard had been a cover for his real business, Jon supposed. He’d arrived home expecting to take over or at least salvage something, but there was nothing here.

The office had been vandalized leaving no records if there ever had been. His father had run his business with an iron hand keeping track of everything in his head. Jon knew all this, yet he expected there would be something left of his father’s business; after all, when he’d left Bogotá, his father was called El Presidente, and the family was treated like royalty. Now the whole organization that his father had spent years setting up was gone, and his mother survived, shacked up with a man who sold body parts for a living.

Jon asked his mother why his younger brother Julio hadn’t taken over, but she told him that her Julio was a young sensitive boy who had tried to protect his father’s reputation, but everyone had turned against him. Jon knew Julio to be a big strapping boy, and upon further investigation found out he liked girls and drugs, and that was about it.

Julio had treated everyone like shit, and as long as he had his father’s protection, he was king of the shit hill. Now he was scared to walk in the streets and never left the house. Jon also learned that his father had lost interest in his mother years ago, basically giving her money to stay away. He condoned the fact that she had a man living with her, and that she had developed a devouring appetite for young men and money. It was Julio who told Jon the stark truth about their mother.

“She’s crazy, just like the man who lives with her. He can’t get it up until he butchers someone then they go at it for hours,” he told Jon. “She gets these young guys to come to the house and make love to her, and when she’s tired of them, they kill them for the body parts, and I have to help get rid of what’s left of the body.”

Jon wasn’t sure he believed Julio, but on talking to some of his old friends, he found out that indeed the so-called doctor his mother lived with made his living selling body parts. He also found out that when rival families found out that El Presidente was dead, they considered his properties up for grabs. The only reason his mother and Julio survived was because of this doctor.

One of the families had attempted a raid on the main house where Julio and his mother lived. From then on, the home became known as the house of the devil, and they left it alone. Jon was sick of all this; there was no business and no money to start one. His family members were all crazy, and all he wanted to do was get the hell out of there and back to the States. He’d gotten a call from a man who said it would be very beneficial for them to meet that afternoon; otherwise, he’d have been out of there. “Stupid of me to be sitting here.” He thought of what this man could possibly have that would be of benefit to him.

“I guess I’m about to find out,” as he saw a man walk in the door.

The man walked over to him and held out his hand, “Hello, they call me the Referee. You must be Jon Smyskin, El Presidente’s son.”

Jon shook his hand as the man calling himself the Referee looked around. “You’re rather a brave young man, aren’t you, no security of any kind?”

Jon laughed, “There’s nothing in here worth stealing.”

“Except you, young man, you’re very valuable.”

“Well,” Jon gestured, “this building is the extent of my wealth. Take it for what it’s worth.”

“You know, that’s exactly what I thought the first time I met your father here. There was no way a man who ran the biggest drug cartel in Colombia would have an office like this. I guess it fooled a lot of other people too because the authorities left him alone until the last few years.”

The Referee sat down on the edge of Jon’s desk. “We had a very tight organization. Your father supplied the product, my people delivered it to the marketing people in the States and Europe, and they sold it. We sold only the best product to high-end users and even had an agreement with the U.S. government that we would stay within a quota set every year. In return, we allowed a certain amount of high-profile arrests and confiscations. This lasted for a while, but as usual people got greedy, and suppliers found they could make more money cutting the product and dumping it into Mexico. We had no intention in getting mixed up in that fiasco, so our shipments were less and less into the States and more oriented toward Europe and new markets in the Middle East. That pissed off the DEA man who was looking after the enforcement of their quota in our area because his cut was getting smaller. He decided to get rid of your father and get someone here he could control. Your father had no choice. He had to go after him to show who was boss. We’re not entirely sure what happened, but they killed each other off. That’s why we want you to take over here, Jon. We’ve done some background on you, and we think you can handle the job.”

“So you want me to go to work for you?” Jon concluded.

“Oh no, Jon, this is your business. Of course if you can’t supply our needs, we will not be pleased, but that goes for any company. Now here’s what you don’t know, Jon, you are half owner of a multibillion-dollar company, but you need us to get control.”

Jon’s eyes got very big. “I don’t follow you.”

“This company was set up by your father to primarily launder his money. We have no idea why, but he gave half of the company to a woman named Lena. She was a former high-class call girl who got caught up in some kind of trouble in Germany and ended up in your father’s house in Nassau. Maybe he knew what she was capable of. Anyway, she’s turned the business into a holding company that controls a number of umbrella companies, but mainly she launders most of the dirty money roaming around the world, and believe me, it’s substantial.”

“How do you know all this?” Jon wanted to know.

“That’s part of my job,” the Referee told him. “You have to know what’s going on in this business. Now the proper succession of this company would be that it goes to your mother, but you know what would happen if she got a hold of it. We have people in the right places that can legally have this company put in your name. Lena will certainly work with you. She knows it was only a matter of time before someone came forward to claim their half of the company, and I have seen the books, everything that belongs to you is there down to the penny. “So,” the referee went on, “it’s up to you. You can go back to New York broke or become a wealthy man and start a new empire here.”

Jon scratched his head, “Wait till my friends hear I’ve become a drug pusher. That should get the old water cooler buzzing.”

“For God’s sake, Jon, don’t be so naive. Your so-called friends will end up crooks and thieves using the stock market to take money from little old ladies. A license to steal money is what we laughingly call a Harvard business degree. Their motto is ‘Do anyone you can and the easy ones twice.’ There aren’t any of them that will end up doing anything better or worse than you, and I might add that most of them will be envious of you. If you’re smart, your good businesses will cover up the bad ones.”

“Any suggestions where I start?” Jon asked.

“Yes, get some security. I can imagine how you feel about the man living with your mother, but I think he might be very beneficial in bringing your suppliers around.” The Referee walked around the desk; Jon stood up and shook his hand. “You have all the money you need now, Jon, you now have the power to get what you want. Don’t be scared to use it. We need product, and we need it now, but it must be the best, don’t settle for anything less. Here is the code to call me if you need to. I can get you in touch with anyone or anything you need. There is one more thing. I plan to retire soon. The Bahamas will become too small for an operation like yours. I think you should build your own bank and operate the business from here. Remember, the worst thing you can think from now on is small.” The Referee turned and left the way he came in.

Jon sat reflecting on what had just happened; he squared his shoulders. “This is what you always wanted,” he thought, “now let’s see how you handle it.”

He went to his mother’s house and asked to see the doctor. Jon didn’t find him quite so intimidating anymore. They called him the thin man; now Jon could see why. He stood well over six feet tall and was as thin as a rail, but it was his penetrating blue eyes that caught Jon’s attention.

“I need you to do some work for me,” Jon told him.

“That takes money, my dear man.”

“Just name your price, and from now on I’ll be looking after Mother financially.”

“Your ship come in?” the thin man asked.

“For all of us, as long as we give the pope his cut,” Jon held his gaze; he watched as the blue in the thin man’s eyes turned warm.

“I’m sure we can work something out.”

It was two years later that Jon met with the President of Colombia. He had absolutely no problem getting an appointment. “I’m going to move my company headquarters from Nassau to Bogotá, and start my own bank, this will require that I build the tallest building in the downtown area. We will employ well over a thousand people and bring in millions of dollars into the Colombian economy. In return, I need the best location, the best communications systems, and no taxes,” Jon told him.

“They told me you didn’t waste time with formalities,” the president smiled. “Now may we sit down and get to know each other better?”

Jon’s face was flushed, “I’m sorry, I guess I’m not much of a conversationalist.”

“That’s okay, I like to talk,” the president told him. “We’ve watched you operate the last two years, and we like what we see. You’ve settled down the turf wars out in the countryside, and a lot less addicts are getting poisoned on the streets.” He stopped to take a puff from his cigar then looked directly at Jon.

“We all have skeletons in our closets, but I’ve never heard a whiff of scandal or wrongdoing about you. You do an excellent job of keeping everyone in line except for one. Families are the hardest to keep in line. It seems they think they can throw their weight around just because they’re related. Your brother’s been causing some problems for the police, but we’ve condoned it till now.” The president stopped and took another drag on his cigar. “Two nights ago, he assaulted a U.S. diplomat’s daughter. Her parents want blood. I would appreciate you making your brother disappear. It is better you handle this situation yourself because if we have to deal with him, it will be very difficult to keep your name out of this.”

Jon’s eyes wandered off into the distance. “I’m embarrassed that you, of all people, are the one to come to me with this. Of course, this matter will be rectified immediately. Whatever costs or remediation required is available with my deepest appreciation to you, your government, and the police force.”

“See! Who said you weren’t a good conversationalist, Jon? I will arrange a meeting between you and the diplomat in question,” the president told him. “If this matter is handled discreetly and without incident, I will say yes to all your demands. We are honored to have you with us, Jon. Colombia needs more young people like you.” Jon took his cue, standing up and shaking hands with the president. He was a lot less cocky leaving than he was going in, he also had a lot more respect for the president.

Jon didn’t go anywhere without bodyguards anymore. He knew they would protect him with their lives and would do anything he asked of them, but there was a little thing called respect. This meant he would have to deal with Julio himself. Jon knew a bullet to the head was the best solution, but as he neared his mother’s home, his resolve weakened. His mother was waiting for him. She knew why he was here and began to rant at how it couldn’t be her baby’s fault.

“If you kill him, you kill me,” she screamed.

The thin man came to Jon’s rescue. “We both know what should be done here, Jon. I’d do it for you, but maybe under the circumstances we should look at alternatives.” So it was decided that Julio would be sent to the Bahamas.

Jon then had a little chat with Julio. “We have property there, and a lady by the name of Lena who runs a very important part of our business also lives on this property. She supplies security for the property. Now we want you to take that over. As soon as we have our building ready, we plan on moving that part of our business here, so maybe you can put that big cock of yours to good use and convince Lena that she should move with us.”

Julio didn’t want to leave, but he didn’t like the alternative either. As far as the woman was concerned, this was no problem; all the women loved him, especially the older ones. Once their legs were in the air, they all begged for more. “You never ask a woman what she wants, you tell her,” was Julio’s motto.

TWENTY-SEVEN

W
ILBUR SMITH’S LIFE
was a mess. In the last year, he’d had an affair, his wife had divorced him, his kids hated him, and now he’d been called into the head office in Houston. His job as a special agent for the CIA was coming to an end three years before retirement. What the hell; the last few years he’d been shuffled back and forth between the CIA and The FBI doing odd jobs .

Perhaps that’s why he had the affair he reflected, boredom. It had started innocent enough; his neighbor had run his lawnmower into the fence dividing their property. The lady next door came to see him saying they would pay for the repairs. She was a very attractive lady, and something about her piqued his interest. He told her he would repair the fence himself.

He and his wife had been drifting apart without really noticing it. Once the kids were gone, there was really no glue left. She painted and worked in the garden; he went to work and spent his time with the guys, so it really hadn’t taken much to seduce him. When he went to repair her side of the fence, she met him at the door in her bikini. “It’s so hot out, have a drink by the pool with me before you start your work.” After three drinks, he was on top of her on the lounge chair fucking her with a hard-on he hadn’t been able to obtain in years. The fence never did get fixed properly; he left the bottom of the boards unnailed so he could swing them aside and sneak over to see his neighbor whenever he wanted.

Maybe it was because he had a spring in his step and a new outlook on life that led his wife and family to find out about his affair. Deep down, Wilbur knew it was bound to happen, and he guessed that deep down he didn’t care. What really hurt him was the next day when he went through the fence, he found the house empty; his neighbor had left him to fend for himself. Since then, his life had been in a downward spiral and his work had suffered, so he wasn’t really surprised to be in his boss’s office this morning.

“Good morning, Wilbur.” His boss sounded cordial. Wilbur shook his hand.

“Jeez, couldn’t he be a little more condescending?” Wilbur thought as he sat down across from him bracing for what was to come.

“You worked for Ansly down in Miami for a few years before he went over to the DEA, didn’t you, Wilbur?”

“Aha!” Wilbur thought; “the rogue agent Ansly, they’re going to hold that against me too.”

“Yes, I spent quite a few years with him down there,” Wilbur answered.

“We’re looking for someone to take over that area, someone who knows the lay of the land so to speak. We have a young man in charge there right now, but he’s a little too gung ho. Everything’s black and white, good guy bad guy, and as you know, Wilbur, in this business, there is a lot of gray areas.”

His boss went on, “That area has been one of our most successful programs. We were able to set quotas. It’s all high-end product, so you don’t have hop heads on every corner. In other words, we had a controlled substance being handled by sensible people, not like this fiasco happening on the Mexican border. I don’t know what you thought of Ansly and I know most of the CIA community thinks he was a rogue agent, but a few of us know what he was up to.”

His boss got from behind his desk and began to pace. “You are aware of who El Presidente was, aren’t you?”

Wilbur nodded, wondering where this was leading.

“El Presidente was losing control of the Colombian market. Our people on this end knew this and figured if they could replace him with someone more powerful, then we could maintain some kind of control at the source. This in turn would help control what was going into Mexico. Ansly accomplished getting rid of El Presidente but unfortunately got rid of himself in the process. However, Ansly isn’t the only man we had in that area. There is a man there called the Referee. His job is to keep all the parties working together and to settle any disputes that crop up. He has successfully installed El Presidente’s son into Colombia and has made big inroads toward controlling things there. The only component missing is someone to represent us. We’d like you to be that component.”

The adrenaline level in Wilbur’s veins was surging. “Guess I have to ask, why me?”

“Well, that wasn’t just my decision. The Referee requested you. According to him, you have experience, and both he and you will retire about the same time. He thinks by then both of you will be redundant in that area as everything is getting bigger and faster. The Bahamas area will simply be passed over. I have to warn you, Wilbur, this is a dangerous place to be in. If anything goes wrong, we don’t know you. The young man you are replacing is going to be breathing down your neck every step of the way, and the people you are going to be working with are ruthless, which means you have to be too. You’re three years from retirement, Wilbur, you can walk away, and I will understand.”

“That’s exactly why I have to do this,” Wilbur said, shaking his boss’s hand. “I’m not dead yet.”

“Okay, Wilbur, get yourself down to Miami. The first thing you’ll have to do is meet the Referee. Very few of us know who he is. Once you meet him, there’s no turning back.”

Wilbur walked into a café off a busy Nassau street and looked for the second table in. “You,” was all he could say.

“Yes, me,” the Referee answered, shaking hands with Wilbur. “Perfect, isn’t it? People expect we will meet from time to time just as we are now.” The two men sat down at the table.

“I know we know each other,” Wilbur told him, “but why me?”

“You are a good man, Wilbur. I know Ansly wouldn’t give you a piece of the action and sent you elsewhere. However, we’re both about to retire, so I think that should be incentive for both of us to get things done here. By the way, there’s someone I’d like you to meet, and here she comes now.”

Wilbur looked up to see his neighbor standing beside the table. “Hello, Wilbur. I hope you’re not angry at me,” she said softly.

The Referee answered the question on Wilbur’s face. “She works for us, Wilbur. We knew you wouldn’t have been any good to us under your old circumstances. We put this girl onto you to get you the hell out of there and to find out if you still had it.” The Referee looked at the woman. “She says you still do.”

Wilbur spread his hands. “I’ve been fucked, sucked, and seduced to get me here, so it’s my turn to dick you around. What’s in it for me?”

“That’s the old Wilbur I wanted to see,” the Referee told him. “Ansly left very suddenly with a lot of money in his account. In case of death, that account reverts back to us and ironically to you, if you’re successful the next few years.”

“How much are we talking here?” Wilbur wanted to know.

“Millions. I don’t know the exact amount,” was the answer.

“And what’s required of me?”

“That young agent, Ted Heath’s his name, is not very happy you’re being sent here. You’ll soon make it plain to him that he has run of the place. You are just here to finish out your pension and don’t want to shake the boat. We have inside knowledge of everything that is coming out of Colombia, so anything we don’t sanction Ted will get a shot at. We’ll give him enough to make him look really good, but once in a while he’ll get his nose into something he shouldn’t, and you’ll have to diffuse it. Don’t get the wrong idea here, Wilbur. You, me, and Jon Smyskin are running this show.”

The woman who had been his neighbor smiled, “I work in your office, Wilbur.” He smiled back; she was there to watch him, but what the hell.

Herr Krugman had been right; the pain in having Henekie’s face redone had at least taken some of the pain away from his dick. Both had healed on the long boat ride from Poland to Argentina where he spent two months learning about the machinery parts business and getting his papers in order. Henekie no longer recognized himself when he looked in the mirror which was good. He’d still been apprehensive upon entering the Bahamas where a couple of years ago he’d been the most wanted man there, but there’d been no problems.

He took over as manager of the parts depot which consisted of a small front office with counter space and a shop and storage room in the back. Some of the training he’d taken in Argentina was business oriented, but most of it was how to dismantle and assemble the many castings and parts going through the Nassau depot. Each piece was loaded on the inside with as much contraband as possible, mostly cocaine for consumption in the local domestic market, but the animal parts were the most fascinating to Henekie.

The Asian market was huge; there was great demand in China and Korea where these parts were considered to be an aphrodisiac for male consumption and brought big prices. Everything going out of Argentina was checked for exotic animal parts except for machinery headed for the Bahamas. There were no animals in the Bahamas that fit this description, so shipping was easy from here. Most of his customers ordered parts by phone, leaving Henekie time alone to clean out the parts and ship everything as required. Of course that was not the main reason he was here, as Herr Krugman was constantly pointing out.

Henekie had to remind him there was work to do here before they made their move.“You have a fair idea who we are taking this money from and the consequences if we don’t do it right.”

“Don’t forget who’s been financing you and who you owe your life to,” was Krugman’s reply.

Henekie had by no means been idle, but experience had taught him the hard way not to rush into projects. Many of the characters were the same. Horatio Norton now headed the police force, and Sir Harry Chamberlain still had his nose stuck in everything. The new part of the equation was that one of El Presidente’s sons was living with Lena in the guesthouse and the other was running the show in Colombia. So he concentrated a lot of his time on researching these men whose money they would be stealing.

He still heard rumors about a man El Presidente had called the Referee, but Henekie could get nothing concrete on him, and this bothered him. He didn’t like unknowns. “I’m sure this robbery we are about to pull off will smoke him out, but how big a problem would that create?” Henekie wondered.

His most important character was Lena, and she got all his spare time. He didn’t recognize any of her guards, so he couldn’t get any insider information there. She didn’t go out much, but when she did, Henekie followed her. This time she went to the Atlantis with her driver, a big strapping young man, the kind Lena liked to bed once in a while. Only this driver acted a little strange. As soon as she left him, he was be on his phone then he followed her, appearing to be reporting her every move. Herr Krugman had made it plain he wanted things to move along, so Henekie decided it was time he tipped his hand.

Henekie stood up on the high breaker wall that protected the Atlantis complex from the wind and sea. Down below he watched Lena’s driver take a place leaning on the rail of one of the many bridges crossing the channel that floated people on rubber dinghies around the property. Henekie made his way down to the bridge and in behind the driver, who was supposed to be watching Lena, but was much more engrossed in watching the bikinis floating down the channel.

He waited till no one was coming then stepped up behind the driver and paralyzed him with a punch to the kidneys, and almost instantaneously he pulled the driver’s jacket down, turning it into a straitjacket, taking his hat, keys, wallet then flipped him over the railing, the whole procedure taking no more than five seconds. He heard the splash, and then a commotion erupted among the floaters below as he walked away giving the driver a 25 percent chance of surviving.

Lena was sitting close by at one of the outdoor tables talking to a man whom Henekie recognized as a government official. The man began looking over at the commotion and decided to go have a look for himself leaving Lena alone.

As Henekie approached, he took the man’s place. “Hello, Lena.”

“Who in hell are you?” Lena was indignant.

“It’s Henekie.”

“Henekie?” She looked at him intently now.

He removed his sunglasses. “This is the new Henekie, but I think you recognize the voice.”

“My god, Henekie, what are you doing here?”

“Oh, some people owe me money here,” he answered vaguely. “I hear you have a new partner in Colombia.”

Lena flicked her cigarette at the ashtray. “What have you heard?” she asked.

“I hear Jon Smyskin’s brother is living in the guesthouse, and I see you’ve changed your security guards. He must be looking after you very well.”

Now it was Lena’s turn to take of her sunglasses, showing Henekie a black eye.

“I see, we’d better go somewhere and talk before your friend comes back,” he told her. They got up and walked toward one of the inside bars.

“He’s really not a friend,” she told him. I’m trying to find someone in the government with enough balls to get Julio Smyskin deported, but none of them seem to have the guts to stand up to him.” They sat down and ordered a drink.

“You know it’s funny, but there’s someone pulling strings here in the islands. I have my fingers into everything, but I’ll be damned if I can find out who it is,” Lena lamented.

“So this Julio is the one who did this to you?” Henekie asked.

“Yes, perhaps some of it is my fault. He’s a good-looking boy, and you know I have a soft spot for them, so I invited him to my bed, but as always it’s on my terms. He told me his terms were he could have me when and wherever he wanted to. Of course I refused and he beat me, and still does, but that’s not the worst of it, Henekie.” For the first time, he saw tears in Lena’s eyes. “He killed Quinn.”

“What?” was all Henekie could say.

“Julio was slapping me around, and he came to help me. Julio hit him, and he died,” Lena said through her tears.

Henekie couldn’t believe it. “He must be crazy, Quinn was El Presidente’s right-hand man. He kept things going.”

Lena pulled herself together. “I’m sorry, Quinn was like the father I never had.”

“Have you talked to anyone about this?” Henekie wanted to know.

“They kept me locked up in my bedroom for a week,” Lena told him. “Then Julio raped and beat the shit out of me, telling me to keep my mouth shut.” Henekie noticed Lena shake as she lit her cigarette.