The Argentine Triangle: A Craig Page Thriller (24 page)

Craig decided he had better stop right there about Gina. She’d be upset if she later found out he’d been using Gina even though he hadn’t slept with her.

He changed the subject. “In the morning, Estrada’s taking us up north to the battle site. In the evening, there’s a dinner at the Alvear. Since I’ll be with Estrada, Schiller will have to keep his thugs under control.”

When they finished eating, she said, “The doctor suggested you take a long soak in a warm bath. I’ve got a large Jacuzzi off my bedroom. I’ll fill it up, dump in some bath salts, and let you do your thing for about half an hour. How does that sound?”

“Great.”

The warm water with soapsuds felt good against his bruised body. He was sitting in the center of the tub so water from the jets wouldn’t strike his body directly. Immersed to his shoulders, he closed his eyes and felt his strength returning.

He was convinced that Colonel Schiller had sent those men to beat him. Craig vowed to get even with Schiller. It might take time, but eventually he’d have Schiller pleading for mercy.

Behind him, he heard the door open and a rustling noise. “How are you doing?” Nicole called over his shoulder.

“Great,” he said, without turning around. “Thanks so much.”

With the jets running, he never heard her walk across the room. But he did hear her climb into the tub behind him. And he felt her arms around his chest ever so gently and her breasts pressing against his back.

She planted little kisses on the back of his neck. “I hope I’m not hurting you,” she said.

“Never.” He loved the feel of her body.

She reached her right hand down and wrapped it around his soft, flaccid member. “And I’m not hurting you now am I?”

He laughed. “That’s pure pleasure, but they beat me a lot … I don’t know.”

He was stiffening in her hand.

“My, my,” she said. “You underestimate your powers of recuperation.”

“And obviously your powers of stimulation. Looks like the painkillers I took didn’t have any debilitating effect.”

“You don’t have to worry about that. I asked the doctor to prescribe something that wouldn’t be a problem that way.”

“Sounds to me like you knew what you had in mind.”

She laughed. “Actually, I wanted it last evening, but you had to leave quickly.”

She reached her other hand around and played with his balls.

“Oh God, that feels so good.”

“When I’m with a man I like, I become a sexual predator. How’s that strike you?”

“I’m used to calling the shots.”

“Then it’ll be a first for you. Now, why don’t you keep quiet, listen to me, and enjoy yourself.”

After several minutes of kisses on his neck and gentle stroking, he thought his rock hard penis would explode, but she sensed that and knew how to squeeze tightly at the base to pull him back from the brink.

“Can we go to bed?” he murmured.

“You’re not in charge. Remember.”

She pulled away, and moved around him. Facing him, she lowered herself on to his rigid cock, careful not to press against his chest. The jets in the tub were going full blast.

She wrapped her hands around the back of his neck and kissed him hard, letting her tongue dart into his mouth. At the same time she began moving, sliding up and down on him, magnifying the pleasure for herself. Looking into his eyes, she must have sensed that he couldn’t hold back any longer. She drove herself faster and faster until she came with him.

“Oh God!” he cried out.

She smiled warmly, slid off, turned off the jets and positioned them both with their backs against the wall of the tub side by side.

He was falling asleep. After a few minutes, she woke him, helped him out of the tub, dried him, and led him back to bed.

What woke Craig was Nicole’s warm, wet mouth moving up and down his erect cock. At first, he thought he was having an erotic dream in which he was on his back and she was stretched over his body with her legs straddling his head and her feet against the headboard. But then she took him completely into her mouth while pressing her soft, moist, folds of skin against his face. It was the wonderful aroma of her that made him realize it was no dream.

Wild sensations were rippling through his body. He spread her open with his hands and used his tongue on her clitoris. She was moving herself up and down against his mouth, while driving him wild, pushing him further and further to the edge. Suddenly, she stopped.

Totally in control, she spun around and sat on him, sliding him inside of her. Once he reached up and cupped a breast in each hand, she arched her back and anchored her hands against the mattress. In that position she began thrusting herself up and down, slow at first and then faster and faster. Drops of perspiration fell from her forehead onto his chest. “Oh yes,” she moaned with pleasure, “oh yes.”

Through his own lust and passion, he looked at her face, contorted with joy. Her driving desire and animal-like emotions made her look even more beautiful than any other time. He watched her bite down hard on her lower lip, throw her head back and scream, “You too. Now. Oh God, now,” loud enough to be heard back at the Alvear.

“Yes,” he shouted back and exploded inside her.

When he softened, she rolled off and cuddled up next to him. The sun was streaming in through a crack in the white curtains of a window facing the garden in the back of the house.

She leaned over and kissed him on the lips. “You have a tough day coming up with Estrada. I wanted to get you off to a good start.”

Craig thought about the time he would be spending with Gina today. Though he tried to resist it, comparisons came into his mind. Nicole was a mature adult, a savvy partner, not only in bed, but in his mission in Argentina. Nicole understood the stakes involved in Estrada’s power grab. She was willing to take risks to stop him. In contrast, Gina was a naive schoolgirl, who had been manipulated by Estrada into Bryce’s bed to advance Estrada’s agenda.

He turned back to Nicole. “From this point, it’ll be downhill the rest of the day.”

Buenos Aires

C
raig was standing close to Estrada when the American delegation arrived at an Air Force base outside of Buenos Aires. Introductions were made on the tarmac, while photographers snapped away and television cameras were running. The American delegation was small—Bryce, West, Major Thomas, an Air Force officer from the staff of General Forbes, the Assistant Secretary of Defense, and an Army captain assigned to the Pentagon for military intelligence matters. For the Argentines, it was Estrada, Schiller, and two military aides. Estrada introduced Barry Gorman as an American investor and an informal advisor of his for economic matters.

The three reporters who came with the delegation—Gina and two Americans—were joined by an Argentine television crew.

Craig wondered how Gina would greet him in this crowd. She had to know she was under Bryce’s jealous and watchful eye. Craig was relieved that she gave him a perfunctory nod as if they were meeting for the first time.

During the introductions, Craig was worried that Bryce might recognize him. But the presidential advisor was focused on Gina. Though Craig breathed a sigh of relief, he realized that his fears were unjustified. The Swiss plastic surgeon had done such a good job. There was no way that Bryce could recognize him.

Estrada motioned to Colonel Schiller, who herded the group onto a military aircraft for the flight north. Once they were airborne, one of the colonel’s aides distributed a kit of materials to everyone on the plane that included a set of pictures of the dead Brazilian soldiers and their Chinese weapons.

Then Schiller moved to the front of the cabin. Utilizing blow-ups of the photos on an easel, he presented the Argentine version of what occurred. It was a smooth and well-rehearsed presentation. “The facts are very simple. Under cover of darkness, a gray van driven by a Brazilian civilian with six Brazilian soldiers in the rear crossed the border into Argentina. They drove up to one of our army outposts where the six climbed out of the back. Without any warning, they opened fire on our position with automatic weapons and grenade launchers, all manufactured in China. The surprise attack left our side with three dead and four wounded before the six were finally neutralized. Five were killed immediately. One was wounded seriously. We tried to save him with emergency medical treatment, but he died.”

Bryce broke in. “Did you have an opportunity to question the one who was wounded?”

“We did. He said that Argentina had stolen the territory from Brazil and that they were the vanguard of a larger force to retake what belonged to Brazil. We immediately moved more troops into the area. We are now prepared for a further attack.”

“What happened to the bodies of the Brazilian soldiers?” West asked.

“All were returned to Brazil for humanitarian reasons. We kept their weapons. You will have a chance to inspect them. You will also have a chance to talk to some of our soldiers who fought against the Brazilians. And to inspect the damage they did to our outpost.”

Listening to Schiller, Craig became convinced that the colonel’s presentation was too slick, too pat to be a rendition of reality. Left out were some nagging issues such as precisely how the Brazilian unit slipped into Argentina with the state of readiness that existed along the border and the point of capturing a single Argentine outpost. He kept those concerns to himself, wondering if he’d find answers in the north.

Northern Argentina

A
s the plane came in for a landing, Craig looked out of the window. The area was characterized by thick vegetation that one would expect from the heavy rainfall. Even in October, temperatures were into the nineties with high humidity. Rain was falling lightly when they walked down the stairs to the tarmac of the military base.

Craig had no doubt they were in an area on the verge of becoming a war zone. At the military base where they landed, row after row of spanking new American-built fighter jets and bombers, F-18s and F-16s, sat poised and ready to go. Riding in the back of one of the air-conditioned vans with Bryce, West, Estrada, and Schiller, Craig saw scores of Argentine troops on foot on their way toward the border, and he also saw trucks carrying heavy guns and Abrams tanks. Uniforms were fresh. The men looked eager for battle. This was no ragtag army, but a well-oiled fighting machine.

They pulled up to a heavily fortified stone tower about eight stories high.

The vans stopped and everyone climbed out. Estrada pointed to the pockmarks in the stone structure. Pieces of concrete were missing at several points.

“The Brazilians snuck through the woods and tried to take this position,” Estrada said. “Here’s where the battle was fought.”

“Can we climb up in the tower?” West asked.

“Yes.” Estrada looked at the reporters. “There is no elevator.”

None of them was concerned.

When they reached the platform at the top, sweating profusely and breathing hard, Craig took a pair of binoculars out of his pocket. From an opening in a gun position, he looked toward the east, through rain falling in sheets. The Brazilians had a large number of troops and armored units on their side of the border. Off in the distance he saw a Brazilian airbase with French planes close to the runway. Through the corner of his eye, he saw Schiller glaring at him.

He worked his way around the platform until he had a view of the Falls shrouded in the mist. He couldn’t see clearly, but what was visible was breathtaking in its grandeur. Gina had been right. Niagara couldn’t hold a candle to Iguazu. Not just in the size of the drop, but the breadth of the Falls. Miles, it seemed to him. He’d never seen anything like it.

Glancing across the platform, he watched Gina, looking very serious and professional with her hair tied back tightly in a bun and a pair of glasses halfway down her nose. In one hand she held a steno pad; in the other she had a pen for making notes. From time to time she looked in his direction.

Colonel Schiller turned to one of the soldiers manning a lookout post. “Were you on duty two nights ago, Lieutenant?” Schiller asked.

“Yes, sir. I was.”

“Can you speak English?”

“A leetle bit.”

“Tell our visitors in English what happened.”

“They sneak across. So many Brazilian soldiers. When it’s dark. Then they begin shooting. Some get into the tower. We shoot back.”

“Why didn’t they blow up the tower?” one of the American reporters asked.

Schiller responded. “The wounded man died before we had a chance to ask. Our guess is that they wanted to occupy the tower, which they would then fortify. Let’s go back down. You can see the weapons we captured.”

It had stopped raining by the time they reached the ground.

Schiller led the entourage to a shed about ten yards behind the tower. The doors were thrown open and two soldiers wheeled out a metal bin filled with weapons—pistols, rifles with bayonets, automatics, grenade launchers, hand grenades.

“These are the arms the Brazilians brought with them,” Estrada said.

He reached into the bucket, pulled out an automatic weapon and held it up. “All made in China,” he said. “You’re welcome to inspect them.”

Craig had to admit that everything they had seen today was consistent with the story Estrada had told on the television. It was a well-orchestrated presentation. Estrada had designated Schiller to be the conductor, and the colonel had handled the baton with incredible acumen. Too much for Craig’s comprehension. He hoped his hatred for the colonel wasn’t coloring his perception.