The Argentine Triangle: A Craig Page Thriller (25 page)

Buenos Aires

“To the friendship of our two great nations,” President Garcia said as he raised a glass of sparkling Argentine wine.

Everyone else in the ornate first floor state room at the Alvear—all twenty-three of them—raised their glasses as well.

“To President Treadwell,” Garcia added.

Once people had sipped, Bryce lifted his glass, “And to our host President Garcia and the other leaders of the Republic of Argentina.”

“Hear, hear!” murmured the crowd.

Bryce touched his glass against Gina’s, who was standing next to him looking exquisite in a white Gucci suit with a black knit blouse, a perfect backdrop for her mother’s gold cross. Watching them, Craig could barely suppress a smile. Half an hour before the reception, while he was still in his suite, Gina had called him.

“Have you been enjoying Argentina?” she had asked.

“Immensely,” he told her. “It’s exactly the way you described it. I can’t thank you enough.”

“It was my pleasure. I enjoyed being with you in Washington.” She gave a short girlish laugh. “I’m sorry we couldn’t talk today, but it was awkward. I want to see you tonight.”

Go slow, he cautioned himself. Let her take the lead. The only reason she was here was because of her closeness to Estrada, the general’s efforts to manipulate Bryce, and perhaps because of Craig as well.

“I’ll be at the dinner,” Craig had told her on the phone.

“No. I mean alone. Later. This town has lots of good tango bars. Can you find one for us?”

“Of course,” he said, knowing that the concierge could supply the info and for a generous tip would keep his mouth shut. “But will you be able to get away?”

“I have my own room. I can do anything I want,” she said sounding suspicious. “Why did you ask that?”

He backpedaled fast to recover from his foolish comment. He wasn’t supposed to know about her relationship with Bryce. “In my experience, press people tend to hang out in packs on trips like this.”

“Oh that. You don’t have to worry. I don’t know the American reporters.”

He had satisfied her. “I’m in room 614,” she had said. “Later after the party breaks up, I’ll come back up here. You call me.”

Following the reception, they moved into the adjacent room for dinner. Three round tables of eight were set. Place cards were on the tables for each guest. Craig had no doubt that Estrada had arranged the tables. With a proper sense of political decorum, President Garcia and his wife were seated at table number one and joined there by West, the American ambassador to Argentina, and some top Argentine business leaders. Estrada was seated at table number two. On Estrada’s right was Bryce. On his left, Gina, with Craig on the other side of Gina. Then came Miranda, an Argentine general, and an American military officer. On Bryce’s other side was an attractive Argentine opera singer. Colonel Schiller was seated at the third table along with a mixture of American and Argentine military and civilian officials.

Once dinner began, Craig leaned toward Gina and talked with her about Buenos Aires and the sights he had seen. As he did, he was trying to eavesdrop on Estrada’s conversation with Bryce. What he heard Bryce say was, “Everything bears out your version of the facts.”

“Because that’s what happened,” Estrada said. “But I’m happy to hear you say it. There is still one thing I would like from your government.”

Gina was rattling on about the beauty of Iguazu Falls. “I know you couldn’t see much from where we were today. But you must go back and visit. The Falls are 269 feet high over an area of two and a half miles. The flow this time of year is fast with runoff from the winter snow. The best ways to appreciate the incredible sight are from a helicopter over the Falls or in a boat. At the bottom of the Falls, you can move up so close in the boat that the spray from the water soaks you.”

Craig strained to hear the discussion between Estrada and Bryce.

“Surely,” Bryce said, “You can’t want more arms or planes from us. After the surface-to-air missiles and rocket grenade launchers, your army should be loaded. We’ve even agreed to a reduced, deferred payment schedule with lots of aid to offset much of the bill.”

Estrada nodded. “No. You’ve been very generous. I couldn’t ask for any more in that sphere. What I want now is very easy for you to supply.”

“What’s that?” Bryce asked.

“And you also have to go to the far south,” Gina said to Craig, “to Patagonia and …”

“If Brazil attacks again,” Estrada was telling Bryce, “we intend to give them a powerful beating to deter their aggressive behavior once and for all. I’d like the commitment of your government to stay out of it and let us finish the job. That’s what I want.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Bryce responded. “I’m sure President Treadwell will agree to it. I’ll talk to him as soon as we get back.”

“Good and when you go to Brazil, you can deliver the message that we are prepared to defend ourselves.”

Craig heard Gina say, “Have you ever seen penguins?”

He shook his head.

“They’re amazing animals. They …”

“I won’t be going to Brazil,” Bryce told Estrada. “They refuse to meet with our delegation. They claim we’re too biased to be a mediator.”

That comment elicited a wry smile from Estrada. “I think there’s another explanation.”

“What’s that?” Bryce asked.

“They recognize how wise you are. That you’ll cut through their deceit in a minute. For my part, I’d like to take advantage of that wisdom. We seem to understand each other. I hope that you and I can open up a direct line of communication between the two of us for the future. Perhaps you’ll come and visit at my country house in January and provide some advice.”

Bryce swallowed Estrada’s blatant flattery. “I would be delighted to do that.”

Estrada then directed the conversation and Bryce’s attention to the singer on Bryce’s other side. “Our Melina,” he said, “has performed with opera companies all around the world.”

Craig turned back to Gina, who was telling him, “You haven’t touched your Argentine steak. It’s superb.”

A waiter came by and filled his wine glass. It was Miranda’s excellent 1990 malbec, he noticed.

He sipped the wine and leaned toward Miranda to tell him how good it was. When he turned the other way, Gina was locked in a whispered conversation with Estrada, too low for him to overhear. Through the corner of his eye, he watched them and tried to understand the nature of their obviously close relationship. It wasn’t romantic. More like a close father-daughter relationship, but with business components. A daughter working in a family business, where she did her father’s bidding. It was odd. Everything about this situation was bizarre.

Several different wines, all from Miranda’s winery, were freely poured during the multicourse dinner. As Gina drank more and more, she became demonstrably friendly toward Craig, not only giggling like a schoolgirl, but touching him from time to time. First, she placed her hand on his. He moved it away gracefully. But then she rested it on his arm. When he also moved that, she reached behind his chair and stroked the back of his neck.

“This is not smart,” he wanted to tell her, but he kept still. The alcohol had broken down her inhibitions and eroded her discretion. Through the corner of his eye, he noticed Bryce watching what was happening. The American lawyer was shooting green poison dart looks at both Craig and Gina.

This was not what Craig needed right now.

He was happy when she told him, “I have to go the little girls’ room to pee. You want to come and go to the little boys’?”

“I’m okay.” The last thing he wanted right now was for Bryce to see him leave the room with Gina.

He took a deep breath when she spun off the chair, touched his cheek, and cut across the room toward the entrance, which was being guarded by three armed soldiers.

Craig’s relief was short-lived. The minute Gina was gone, Bryce stood up, moved over, and sat down in her empty chair.

“We never really had a chance to talk today,” Bryce said to Craig. “I gather from General Estrada that you’re an investment banker from San Francisco down here looking for opportunities.”

“That pretty well describes it,” Craig said warily. He was altering his voice because Bryce had heard him speak as Craig Page in two meetings with Treadwell.

“Been here long?”

“Oh a week or so.”

“Where are you staying?”

“Here at the Alvear. In fairly modest digs.” He smiled, but Bryce, his face stone rigid, was in no mood for humor.

“I would think it’s a tough economy to make money in.” Bryce’s voice had a suspicious edge.

“In my experience, that’s the best time to invest. Find the opportunities before others do. When the storm is abating. Anybody can sail a boat in calm water.”

“Are you married, Mr. Gorman?”

“Please, it’s Barry.” He guessed that the jealous Bryce wanted to point out to Gina that her new friend was married as a way of pulling her back, but Craig was ready for him. Sticking with the Barry Gorman bio, he said, “I tried it once. It didn’t agree with me. What about you? I’ll bet you’re part of a forty year marriage. My parents had one of those.”

Bryce reddened slightly. Before he had a chance to respond, Gina returned. “Listen, honey,” Bryce told her, “go take my seat for a while. This is all guy talk. Business and boring stuff like that.”

Craig could tell that she was clearly pissed, but she did what Bryce said.

“What firm are you with?” Bryce asked.

“The Philoctetes Group.”

“I haven’t heard of that one.”

“It’s a private equity fund based in San Francisco. I specialize in international investments.”

“Really. How interesting. I’ve been looking for something like that for myself. I’m tired of having my own net worth repeatedly battered by the American stock market.”

Staring at Bryce, Craig said sternly, “We have a $10 million minimum.”

Bryce smiled. “I can handle that. Do you have a card?”

Play it natural, Craig cautioned himself. “Sure.” He pulled out his wallet and handed Bryce a card, which the American lawyer studied.

A waiter passed cigars. Craig took one and lit it up. Bryce declined.

“Do you have a cell phone number?” Bryce asked.

“All of my business calls go into the San Francisco office. The number’s on the card. They always find me.”

With the card still in his hand, Bryce stood up and said to Gina, who was in a pout, “You can have your chair back.” In a voice dripping with sarcasm, he added, “I’d say I warmed it up, but you’re so hot tonight that I probably cooled it down.”

She glared at him and moved over.

“What’d he want?” she asked Craig.

This is getting so dicey it’s almost funny, he thought. Back to his own voice. But softly, “Bryce wants to talk to me about investing some of his money.”

Any thought Craig had that the situation with Bryce was humorous dissipated rapidly. Through the corner of his eye, he watched Bryce, still with the Barry Gorman card in hand, walk over to Colonel Schiller, standing near the doorway puffing on a cigar and talking to one of the soldiers. Once he saw Bryce approach, Schiller moved forward to meet him.

Craig couldn’t hear what Bryce and Schiller said, but he saw Bryce hand the card to Schiller, which the colonel glanced at and returned. They chatted for a couple of minutes. Then Schiller reached into his pocket, took out a card of his own and handed it to Bryce.

At that point, Craig made a decision. Tomorrow morning he would fly back to the United States. The focus had shifted to Washington. The key now was whether Bryce could convince Treadwell to do what Estrada wanted. Besides, he had pushed his luck with Schiller as far as he possibly could. If he didn’t get out of the country damn fast, he’d end up like Dunn. He had no doubt that Schiller would make his death look like an accident in order to avoid Estrada’s wrath.

A few minutes later, the dinner was breaking up. As Gina stood and Craig held the chair for her, she whispered in his ear. “Remember room 614. I’ll be waiting for your call.”

“Absolutely,” he replied softly.

On her way to the door, Bryce cut her off. Pretending to say good night to Miranda, Craig moved close enough to hear Bryce say to her, “Let’s go out on the town. You’ve always told me that Buenos Aires starts at midnight. That’s ten minutes from now.”

Gina yawned. “Oh Edward, not tonight. I’m so tired.”

“But I thought you were a night person.”

“On last night’s flight I was in the press section of the plane. We didn’t have beds like you people. I’ll take a rain check.”

“Just for a little while.”

“Please. I’m too tired for anything.”

Bryce was visibly annoyed, but there was nothing to do about it. She wasn’t going.