Shell Game (36 page)

“Excellent.”

They drove back to the hotel, Adolfo careful on the night roads. The streets in Oaxaca City were mostly deserted, save for an occasional stray dog padding down the dark streets, searching out anything edible. Adolfo pulled in by the hotel and locked the Jeep. The desk clerk stopped them as they passed through the lobby and handed Taylor a message. She thanked him and headed to her room. Once inside her room and behind the locked door, she unfolded the paper and read the contents. It was a phone message from Ricardo.
Sorry, can't meet you as planned. Had to fly out to Puerto Vallarta. Talk to you soon
. Taylor set the message on the worn wooden table next to the bed and lay on her back on top of the sheets.

Everything was working. Kelly was at his computer in D.C., creating the screenplay for his actors. Somehow, he had crafted a story believable enough for Ricardo to get the invite to Puerto Vallarta. Adolfo was proving his worth, distracting the guards while she snuck into the cave and arranged the fake treasure. He had kept the guards focused to the south, so when she appeared on the northern edge of the plateau, she was only visible to him. Smart fellow. If that were any indication of his abilities, she was confident he would hold his own when finally under Brand's scrutiny.

She was in Oaxaca City, poised and ready. She liked her part in the game, coordinating everyone's movements—knowing every detail the moment it arose. She was more than ready to risk the treacherous mountainside and light the fire that would distract the guards. Anything to get the bastard.

Ricardo was on his way to meet with Edward Brand. That meeting was crucial. If Ricardo wasn't able to sell Brand on the deal, they were done. But if he could, Edward Brand would move into the trap. She stared at the ceiling, a lazy smile on her face.

Soon. Very soon.

C
HAPTER
F
IFTY-FIVE

They met at Bianco, a hip bar-restaurant on Calle Insurgentes in the southern section of the old city of Puerto Vallarta. Edward Brand was seated at a table along the back wall, quiet and private. The colors on the walls and the soft upholstery were muted cinnamon. A painting of a woman, sitting, from midway up her calves to just below her eyes, dominated the wall next to the table. Brand liked Bianco, liked this table, and always wondered why the artist had cut the painting off without showing the viewer the woman's eyes. It was one of those things without an answer. The five-star restaurant was almost empty, the hour too early for serious diners. That suited Edward Brand just fine.

Brand watched as two men entered the restaurant and stood by the long, curved glass bar. Carlos spotted him and started over. The man with him followed. Brand's gaze was focused on Ricardo. The Mexican was dressed simply, in jeans and a white shirt. He wore no jewelry, kept his hair well groomed and walked with confidence. They reached the table, and Carlos sat next to Brand. Ricardo took the seat opposite, facing the two men.

“I'm Edward,” he said simply. No offer to shake hands.

“Ricardo.”

Brand waved for the waiter and ordered Coronas for the table. “Carlos tells me you have an interesting proposition.” Brand's eyes were unwavering.

“I think so,” Ricardo said, meeting the stare, then looking about. The last thing he wanted to do was challenge Edward Brand by continuing to meet his gaze. Yet, not making eye contact was a mistake. Brand may think he was lying.

“Want to tell me about it?”

“I already told Carlos,” Ricardo said.

“I know. I want to hear it from you.” The beers arrived, and they waited while the server dropped coasters on the table, then set the beers in front of each man. When he had left, Brand said, “Just in case I misunderstood something.”

“Sure,” Ricardo said, sipping his beer. “A friend of mine, a very good friend of mine in fact, was visiting the ruins at Monte Alban about eight months ago. He was sitting against what he thought was a solid rock wall, staring at the view of the valley, when the rock behind him moved slightly. He pried at it and managed to pull it out. The opening was just large enough for him to crawl through. When he did, he found himself in a cave. He was inside for the better part of an hour, but what he found was quite amazing.”

“Really,” Brand said.

“The back portion of the cave was awash in treasure. Gold. More gold than he had ever seen in his life. He resealed the cave and returned the next day with a flashlight. What he had thought to be a good size cache of Zapotec treasure was more than that. It was the mother lode. Now he had a problem. Getting it out. The Mexican government is extremely protective of its heritage, especially when it comes to valuable artifacts at ancient ruins. He left it sitting for a bit while he tried to figure out what to do. It was about a month later when he mentioned it to me. We both went back and had a look. He was right. He needed help getting the stuff out of there. I had an idea.”

“What was that?” Brand asked.

“I knew a
gringo
who worked for the Central Intelligence Agency. His name was Brian. I met him in Mexico City when he was asking questions about illegal drugs in the neighborhood where I live. I don't like drugs or the men who sell them, so I agreed to help him. We got to know each other a bit. I asked him if he'd meet with my friend. He said yes. He traveled to Oaxaca City and listened to what my friend had to say. Brian said that the CIA wouldn't be able to help him. It was too risky, and there was no upside to the operation, as they would have to give the artifacts to the Mexican government. The meeting was a total failure. What was worse, someone must have overheard, because the next night my friend was found murdered just outside Oaxaca City. Whoever killed him tortured him first.”

“Whoever killed your friend never found the treasure?”

“No. It's still there.”

“What did this Brian fellow do?”

Ricardo looked puzzled. “I don't know. I haven't seen him since. Why?”

Brand studied the man intently. “He's dead.”

Ricardo swallowed. “I didn't know.”

Brand finished his beer and motioned to the waiter. When the man arrived, he ordered coffee. “Please continue.”

“I wanted to get at the treasure, but I had the same problem my friend did. Trying to get it out was difficult, but attempting to sell it afterward was next to impossible. The gold would be worth a lot if the pieces were melted down, but only a small fraction of what they would be worth intact. I needed someone in the government. Someone in a position of authority. A man who could pave the way for removing the treasure and then ensuring I could sell it. It took quite a while, but I finally found such a man.”

“Who is it?”

“His name is Manuel Sanchez. He's the Director of Antiquities in Mexico City. He agreed to help me get the treasure out by simply being there. If anything went wrong, he would take care of the guards. That would cost me five hundred thousand American dollars. Then he would take the list I gave him once I had cataloged the treasure and add that to the known inventory on the government's books. With the pieces already entered into inventory, I could resell them. That would cost me ten percent of whatever I managed to get on the open market.”

“A lucrative deal for Senor Sanchez.”

Ricardo shrugged. “Without him it was impossible. Even if I could get the treasure out of the cave, I'd have nowhere to sell it.”

“Okay, you had the guy on the hook. What happened?”

“I didn't have the half million. I needed a backer to front the money. I found one—an American who was ready to front the half million. Things looked good. Sanchez insisted the transfer of funds occur at the site.”

“At Monte Alban?” Brand asked.

“Yes. That's when this stupid asshole who had promised the up-front money backed out. He got scared. The thought of being on top of a Mexican mountain in the middle of the night with me and Sanchez was too much. He was worried for his health. The idiot. If we wanted to steal his money we certainly wouldn't do it on a remote mountain at night. God, I just got to wonder about the level of stupidity some people carry around with them.” He stopped, then said, “Sorry, I get a little pissed off when I think about it.”

“Why the rush?”

“Sanchez is running out of patience. He knows what he's doing is extremely risky and unless we get it done soon, he's going to announce the discovery and take credit for finding it.”

“Why would he do that?” Brand asked. “He's potentially giving up millions of dollars.”

“Perhaps. His position as Director of Antiquities would be secure for the rest of his life. He would get some sort of stipend from the government for his discovery. Senor Sanchez wouldn't be hurting too badly. He's in a win-win situation.”

“What's the deadline?”

“January second. January third, tops. He's not prepared to wait any longer.”

“That's only two or three days from now, counting today,” Brand said. He was quiet, thoughtful. “What is my role in all this, Ricardo?”

“You provide the money.”

“The five hundred thousand dollars.”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“By electronic transfer to Sanchez's bank account.”

“Where's his account?”

Ricardo shrugged. “I have no idea.”

Silence descended on the table. No one spoke as Edward Brand toyed with his coffee cup. Finally, he said, “What do you think would happen to you if you were trying to rip me off?”

Ricardo stared at Brand. “What? What do you mean?”

“What I mean is that if you're setting me up to steal a half million dollars of my money, then you had better think very seriously of leaving here while you still can.”

Ricardo's eyes flashed anger. “Are you calling me a thief?” he said. His voice had changed. It was curt, almost vicious.

Brand remained relaxed. “Just letting you know that I will kill you if you try to steal from me.”

“I am an honest man,” Ricardo said.

“Honest?” Brand laughed. “You're taking Mexican artifacts out of a tomb on a protected archeological site. I don't think you're quite as honest as you make out to be, Ricardo.”

Ricardo stared at Brand, his jaw firmly set. Then the edges of his lips curled slightly. He smiled. His voice returned to normal. “No, perhaps not. Please don't tell my mother.” He finished his coffee and set the cup on the table.

Brand returned the smile. “Okay, Ricardo. Just so long as you understand what will happen if you try something stupid.”

“You've made your point.”

“What's in it for me? What percentage do I take out of this?”

“Ten percent of whatever I can sell the treasure for.”

Brand laughed. He laughed out loud and Carlos snickered, although he wasn't sure why his boss had found the remark so amusing.

“No chance,” Brand said when he had stopped. “Fifty percent.”

“No fucking way,” Ricardo said. “Not a chance in hell. This is my deal. I'm the one who knows where this treasure is and I've got Sanchez in my back pocket. You expect to take half of everything by providing a little up-front money. No way.”

“Then make me an offer.”

“Twenty percent. Final offer. You want more, I let the deal go sideways.”

“Thirty.”

“You're not listening,” Ricardo said, leaning over the table. “Twenty is my top offer. Even that is too much.”

Brand grinned. He turned to Carlos. “I think I like this guy.” He looked back to Ricardo. “Twenty-five. That's my final offer.”

Ricardo and Brand stared into each other's eyes. This time Ricardo wasn't looking away. This time he was challenging the American. This was Mexico, and in Mexico machismo ruled. The weak died broke, and they usually died early. Neither man flinched for the better part of a minute.

“Twenty-five,” Ricardo hissed between his teeth. “You warned me not to steal from you. Now I'm warning you. Don't fuck with me.”

“Fair enough,” Brand said, extending his hand.

They shook.

C
HAPTER
F
IFTY-SIX

Taylor was in the secluded garden at the hotel when the call came through on her cell phone. It was Ricardo. He spoke quickly and kept his voice low. Although he didn't say it, she sensed he had little time to talk.

“We're on our way from Puerto Vallarta. Brand is chartering a Learjet for the flight. We'll be in Oaxaca City sometime tomorrow. New Year's Day.”

“You did it,” Taylor said excitedly. “Good work, Ricardo.”

“Thanks. He's a scary guy. Came right out and told me he'd kill me if I tried to rip him off.”

“That must have been a bit unsettling.”

“What was unsettling is that I believe him. I think he'd do it.”

“Don't give him a chance,” Taylor said. “I take it there was no sign of Alan.”

“None, thank God. But until we're out of Puerto Vallarta it could still happen. That's weighing on me as well. I've got to go. I'll call you again when we get to Oaxaca City. Just stay out of sight after tonight. Brand will recognize you from a block away just by seeing your hair. Not a lot of redheads in Mexico.”

“Okay.” She hung up.

One potential disaster was out of the way. Had Alan been present for the meeting, things would have gone very wrong, very quickly. Taylor could only imagine the scene—Ricardo feigning shock at seeing Alan, asking what
he
was doing there. Alan telling Brand that he knew Ricardo—and worse yet, that Ricardo knew Taylor. Brand taking the most obvious course of action. Breaking off the meeting and sending someone to take care of Ricardo. She put the thought out of her mind—it hadn't happened. Not yet at least.

The fact that Edward Brand was chartering a Lear wasn't the best news. Not unexpected, but worrisome. She knew the reason. On a domestic flight there was no chance of bringing a gun. On a Lear there was every chance of bringing one. Brand wanted to be armed. She didn't blame him. He had no idea what he was walking into. He probably would have balked if they had insisted the money transfer be in cash. And that worked well for them. They didn't want cash. The half million was nothing. It was the next transfer out of Brand's account that counted. She wondered how much he was sitting on. She was pretty sure it was substantial. Very substantial. Certainly worth all the work.