Morgan's Rescue (3 page)

     
Pilar moved to the leather wing chair that Hector was gesturing for her to make herself comfortable in, her low-heeled shoes making no sound on the thick maroon carpeting. How long had it been? She mused as she sat, crossing her legs beneath the skirt of her pale pink business suit. Ten years ago, she had stood in this same office, a young woman whom everyone said belonged back in her native village with her family, not in the governmental halls of power.

     
Pilar studied her old friend and mentor. Hector had been like a father shadowing her life then, protective of her youth and naïveté as the daughter of the Spanish ambassador—a Castilian nobleman—and a Quechua Indian housemaid. Unlike most of Peruvian Society, Hector had held no prejudice against her as a mestiza. Instead, he had treated her with unfailing kindness despite her mixed-blood ancestry, and for that she would be forever grateful.

     
Now, she noted, perspiration shone on Hector's wrinkled brow. Though he was short and fat, Hector possessed a certain vanity about his appearance. He liked jewelry, and several heavy gold and diamond rings studded his stubby fingers. His suits were of the finest fabrics and craftmanship yet they managed to hang on him poorly despite every effort by his tailors to correct their fit. His shoulders were simply too round and slumped, no matter how much padding the tailors added. He looked a little as if he were wearing football pads, Pilar thought with a secret smile.

     
"It has been a long time," she agreed softly, smoothing her skirt's silk fabric across her thighs. She took the white leather purse from her shoulder and placed it in her lap, draping her fingers across it, as she smiled at Hector over the expanse of his desk. The huge mahogany piece dwarfed him, but Pilar knew that the rule in Peruvian business—and even more so here in the halls of the country's government—was that the importance of the person was related directly to the size of the office and the desk within it. As if for extra insurance, a gold pen set shone conspicuously from its place on the gleaming desk top. Behind Hector framed color photos of his family, ten in
all,
lined a shelf. Many diplomas and certificates of accomplishments adorned the rich mahogany walls, and the windows overlooking
Lima
provided an appropriately impressive backdrop, framed by wine damask drapes. Everything about Hector's office testified to his power.

     
"Too long," Hector agreed,
then
nodded at the approach of his secretary. "Ah, here is Manuela Gomez. She brings us good, rich coffee and some cookies."

     
Pilar turned slightly to see Hector's secretary, now in her fifties, enter the sumptuous office, a silver tray in her hands. Manuela was tall and thin, her black-and-gray hair drawn back severely into the chignon at the base of her neck that Pilar recalled from years ago. Ever conservative, she wore a dull gray business suit with tasteful pearl earrings and a simple choker of pearls. The secretary studiously avoided Pilar's steady gaze as she carefully placed the silver tray on Hector's desk.

     
"Thank you, Manuela," Hector said with a smile as he lifted his steaming cup. "Come, Pilar, have a taste.
The finest coffee in
Peru
."

     
Hector seemed unaware of Manuela's cold, fleeting look as Pilar reached for the bone-china cup, but Pilar didn't miss the implied judgment in the other woman's eyes. Evidently the passing years hadn't softened Manuela's feelings about a mere mestiza being treated royally in her boss's office. The secretary made an about-face, much like a well-schooled military officer, and left as quietly as she had come. Forcing herself to shift focus, Pilar settled the saucer in her left palm and picked up the delicate cup, savoring the black coffee's fragrance. She took a small sip.

     
"There is nothing like a good cup of coffee," Hector said happily, reaching for a chocolate-covered cookie. "Here, Pilar, help yourself to some of these. You're as thin as a rail. I think you take after your mother."

     
She smiled a little at Hector's flattering reference to her beautiful mother, thankful again for his lack of disdain toward her heritage. Instead, Hector treated Pilar with the warmth and respect due any old friend. "Thank you, but I have just had lunch."

     
"So," Hector said with a sigh, leaning back against the tan leather behind him, "after your husband Fernando died, you are the manager of the finest Paso Fino breeding farm in
Peru
? I hear your horses take the blue ribbons no matter where you show them. That is quite a compliment to you as a trainer."

     
She bowed her head slightly. "Working with horses suits me well, Hector."

     
"It's your Incan blood," he said, waving the cookie expansively in the air. "You were always quiet and gentle—like a deer, I thought when we first met. I have heard at some of the embassy parties about your taming of that rogue stallion, El Diablo—and that you are the only one who can ride or handle him. He's earned quite a reputation in the horse circles. I was with the Sepulvedas the other night at a dinner for our president, and they were complaining loudly how you swept the championships, gathering all the major awards with that black devil."

     
"Perhaps the Sepulveda family, with their wonderful Paso Fino breeding stock, has gotten too used to winning everything?"

     
Chuckling indulgently, Hector lifted the cookie toward her in a salute,
then
popped it into his mouth. "Mmm, this chocolate is the best. These are my favorite cookies. Are you sure you won't have any?"

     
Laughing lightly, Pilar said, "Hector, if I ate those, I would not fit into my riding clothes!"

     
He grinned affably and leaned forward for another cookie. "Very well, I will eat one for you, then."

     
Despite his cheerful banter, Pilar felt the tension building in her. It wasn't anything obvious, just the familiar tightening sensation that had so often served as a red flag to warn her of danger. But Hector was not dangerous. No, if anything, he'd saved her life a number of times in the past and acted as something of a paternal figure. She'd not seen him in several years, since her most-recent service to her country, but because of the horse circle she was in, she'd heard news of him at the parties she was forced to attend from time to time. Of course, Hector never forgot her birthday, in late May, and she never forgot his mid-December one. They always exchanged cards and gifts. And Pilar would always love him fiercely for his unflinching loyalty to her—despite her blood.

     
"Well…" Hector sighed, eyeing the last cookie on the silver tray. "I must say no to the last one. I'm trying to lose some weight. My doctor says my cholesterol level is too high, and I must cut out fat. Did you know that chocolate, the rich gift of the cocoa bean, is very high in cholesterol?"

     
"That's why I don't eat much of it," Pilar said, quirking her eyebrows at him.

     
With another sigh, Hector sipped his coffee and set it aside. "Even my wife, Carmellita, is making the chef produce low-fat meals for me." He wrinkled his nose. "Of course, we are invited to so many embassy parties that there is still good food to eat."

     
Her mouth stretched into a full smile. "Hector, you always find a way to get what you want."

     
Looking pleased, he laced his fingers across his protruding belly. "Yes, I do, Pilar."

     
"One of your skills."

     
He nodded. "I'll take that as a compliment." He paused, his face turning suddenly serious. "But now we must talk of business."

     
Pilar's stomach tightened another notch. "Yes," she murmured.

     
"You were a part-time undercover agent for us off and on for many years, Pilar, and your work
was
always above reproach. I considered you my best female agent."

     
Heat rose from Pilar's neck to her face at the glow in Hector's dark brown eyes. She knew he would never make such a statement lightly. "Thank you," she said.

     
"You gave us three years of superior service. When your father died, it was hard on you—as it was for all of us who wept at his loss. And of course I know there were, ah…let us say, extenuating circumstances for your leaving government employ." He frowned and looked up at the ceiling. "I was pleased when you agreed to help us three years ago, when Enrique Ramirez captured two of Morgan Trayhern's men." He rolled his head to the left and pinned her with a dark gaze. "Without you to help lead Jake Randolph and our special team into Ramirez's fortress, their rescue could have been a disaster, Pilar.

     
"Maybe," he continued, waving his hand in the air, "there are people here who would dispute that, but I don't. You were the reason for the success of that mission. You know the jungle, and you know Ramirez, because your village exists in his shadow. You knew Ramirez's trails and activities and were able to identify his thugs. Some may hold up their noses at your Incan blood, Pilar, but I never have. You have the sixth sense that good agents must possess. I think your mother's blood running through you has contributed as much as your father's to your becoming one of our finest agents. I do not take lightly what you bring to our table, Pilar."

     
"Thank you, Hector." It was unlike him to be so lavish with compliments. Instead, like her mother's people, he tended to believe actions spoke louder than any words could. Pilar realized he must have a great favor, indeed, to ask of her.

     
"You came out of retirement, and your job as manager of the Paso Fino farm to help us then, and I was greatly relieved when you said you would."

     
"Only because of you, Hector, and you know that."

     
"Yes, yes," he murmured, offering her a fatherly smile. "And I appreciated your loyalty to me. Our government has worked with Morgan Trayhern quite often over the problems of cocaine from the coca fields in the mountains sent north to the
United States
."

     
"Yes, I know." Her mother's village, which made its living by agriculture, had nearly been coerced by Ramirez's thugs to turn away from their usual crops and grow coca for the express purpose of producing cocaine. Had it not been for the elders, including her influential grandmother, Aurelia, the village might have fallen for Ramirez's cajoling and trinkets. Instead, it was one of the few communities in the mountainous region that had not been gobbled up by the man.

     
Hector took out a linen handkerchief and mopped his perspiring brow. "Pilar, you are like my own daughter, you know that?"

     
Her stomach tightened even more. "Hector, you said the same thing to me three years ago when Morgan Trayhern's men were captured by Ramirez." She placed the cup and saucer back on the silver tray.

     
"Yes, yes, I did." He carefully refolded the handkerchief and placed it in his back pocket. "What I tell you now is to be held in total confidence. Do you understand that?"

     
"Of course," Pilar murmured. She clasped her hands on top of her purse. Hector's expression had become pained.
"What is going on, Hector?
I don't think you looked this worried when Trayhern's men were captured. It must be very bad."

     
"It is, it is, Pilar." He stood up and lumbered around the desk, his gaze never leaving hers. "You are like a daughter to me, Pilar," he repeated, "and God in Heaven knows—" he raised his hand in testimony "—I don't want to ask this of you. You have always been so loyal and honest. You are young and beautiful, with a lifetime stretching before you. I hate to even talk of this incident, but I must. I fear you are the only one who can help us."

     
He leaned against the edge of his desk, very near her chair, his voice lowering with feeling. "You know that our government interfaces on all levels with the
United States
. We have worked with their FBI, their CIA,
DEA
and so on, over the years. Now we have military specialists from the army and Marine Corps down here helping our troops wipe out the cocaine connections. And you know that Morgan Trayhern's people were asked to participate in the defending of certain villages near Ramirez's mountain fortresses." He looked at her intently. "You remember meeting Morgan?"