The Argentine Triangle: A Craig Page Thriller (37 page)

Iguazu

A
t Iguazu Airport, Craig told Rodriguez to taxi to a deserted spot on the landing field and park. He borrowed a pair of night vision binoculars and a flashlight from the pilot and offered his pistol to Nicole, but she said she had brought her own.

“Good. Stay in the plane and watch Rodriguez,” he told her. “Keep your cell on. I’ll let you know when I’m coming back with Gina.”

In view of the hour, the airport was deserted. Craig set off in the direction of the terminal with the pistol in his pocket and Uzi in his hand.

Off in the distance, he heard loud blasts as the sounds of war filled the night air. In the deserted Hertz lot he selected a Toyota sports car that would give him speed, hotwired it, and blasted through the wooden exit gate from the lot.

Judging from what Nicole had said in the plane, he had about a twenty-five mile drive to the castle that served as Estrada’s headquarters. She had told him that the two-story castle stood on a small mound and backed up to the river flowing into the Iguazu Falls. It was set back from the highway, about a quarter of a mile. The gatehouse on the road was manned by armed guards. In both directions from the gatehouse, a high, barbed-wire-topped electrified fence paralleled the highway and encircled the property on all sides except in the back where the river ran. A narrow dirt road ran from the gatehouse to the castle. On both sides there was heavy vegetation, trees, high grass, and bushes—everything you would expect from near rain forest conditions. From the road, which was as close as Nicole had gotten, she hadn’t seen much in the way of guards around the castle. Her guess was that with the gatehouse, fence, and river behind the castle, Estrada felt he didn’t need much.

As Craig roared along the highway from the airport to the castle he saw very few vehicles. Not surprising, given that the Argentine army was already on the Brazilian side of the border. Civilians must have already fled westward to escape the war in case the Brazilians beat Estrada’s forces and moved into Argentina, or they were hunkered down hiding in safe places until the fighting was over.

He turned on the radio to get war news, but all he heard was music. Estrada was freezing the public out—at least for now.

As Craig drove, Estrada cursed. Reports were reaching him of American planes entering the fray. His own air force had until now been in complete command of the skies, but was being challenged. And they were no match for the high-tech American electronics or the crews using them.

Argentina had already lost ten planes, and some of their pilots were flying out of the fighting zone to avoid contact with the Americans. Even worse, the Americans were bombing the advancing Argentine troops.

Estrada was on the phone constantly rallying his forces. “You can handle the Americans as well as the Brazilians,” he shouted. “You just have to steel your courage for a tough battle. This doesn’t have to end like the Falklands. This time, we can prevail.”

A hundred yards from the gatehouse in front of Estrada’s headquarters, Craig pulled over to the side of the road in an area of thick vegetation. He opened the hood and trunk, then climbed out and walked around to the front of the car, pretending to examine the engine. Off in the distance where the battle raged, thunderous explosions kept blasting into his ears. The flash of bright lights filled the still dark sky. His guess was that daylight would be breaking in the next hour. He didn’t have much time.

He left the hood open and went around to the back of the car where he could look at the gatehouse through the binoculars without being seen. There were two soldiers inside. As he expected, one of them walked out of the gatehouse. Gripping a machine gun tightly, he walked along the road toward Craig’s car to find out what was going on.

Craig reached into the trunk and grabbed Rodriguez’s flashlight. Then he crossed back to the front of the car. When the sentry was in earshot, Craig began cursing. “Fucking carburetor. That mechanic screwed me over. The new carburetor’s no damn good.”

Cautiously, the sentry approached.

“You know anything about cars?” Craig called over his shoulder.

“A little bit,” the sentry said.

Craig kept his head down, so his face couldn’t be clearly seen in the event that his picture had been circulated. He was shining the flashlight into the engine.

“There’s the problem,” he said to the sentry, while focusing the beam of the flashlight on the carburetor.

When the sentry leaned in to look, Craig pulled his own head and body up. With a single, swift motion he swung his arm and smashed the plastic flashlight into the sentry’s skull with such force that the casing cracked along with the man’s bones. Before the sentry fell to the ground, Craig grabbed him around the waist and pulled him off to the side of the car where they wouldn’t be visible from the road.

In the heavy vegetation Craig stripped off his own clothes, then the sentry’s. In seconds, he put on the Argentine army uniform and cap. The man was four inches taller and ten pounds heavier. The clothes were baggy, but didn’t look ridiculous. The man’s army boots were much too large. Craig would have to cover a lot of ground. He decided to stick with his own shoes.

The sentry’s Uzi was similar to the one Craig had taken from the guard at the defense building, so he kept the one he had. He shoved his pistol into a jacket pocket and the knife in another one.

Then he set off on foot down the road toward the gatehouse. At a distance of twenty yards, the other soldier came out and stared at Craig. It was still dark. He was hoping the soldier couldn’t tell it wasn’t his comrade until Craig was much closer.

“It’s nothing,” he said in Spanish. ”Damn fool’s car broke down.”

There must have been something about his appearance or the sound of his voice, or perhaps the other soldier had sharp eyes. Without any warning, he went back into the gatehouse. Craig was convinced he was going for his weapon. The last thing Craig wanted right now was a burst of automatic fire that Schiller and Estrada might hear.

He raced across the road and dove into the bushes, grabbing for his knife as he ran. When the soldier came out of the gatehouse with his Uzi in hand, and looked around, he didn’t see the imposter. He turned toward the bushes on the same side of the road as the gatehouse and searched.

Craig now had a clear line on the man from behind, but he didn’t want to risk the sound of even a single shot from the pistol. So he snuck up behind the soldier, the knife in his right hand. Before the man could react, he looped his left arm around the man’s neck and plunged the knife into his chest with precision. He wanted a clean kill so his own uniform wouldn’t be bloody. The man’s head snapped back, but he had no strength to resist. Craig heard a gurgling noise from his mouth. He pulled the sentry into the bushes and left him there.

From inside the gatehouse he looked at the castle through the binoculars. There were no guards in front of the building. Lights were on in two first floor rooms. On the second floor, he saw three windows with bars. That must be where they’re holding Gina, he decided.

Before he moved, he reached for his cell phone and called Betty. “What’s happening with the battle?” he asked.

“The tide’s turned. Once we came in, Brazilian troops decided to fight. Our planes are blasting away at the Argentine ground forces. They’ve taken their planes out of the sky. What about you?”

He told her where he was and what he was doing. “We’re down to the short strokes now,” he said. “If our forces can spare a chopper, tell them to keep it ready. I may need help on the next part. Could get real dicey.”

“I’ll do my best to get you a chopper.”

He hung up and turned toward the castle. Though it would take longer, he rejected the dirt road and ran through the high, heavy grass and bushes. In spots, the ground was soft and muddy. It was slow going. The vegetation gave him good cover. He thought about Ted Dunn. He hoped that Schiller and Estrada didn’t have dogs.

Northern Virginia

A
s he drove to Dulles Airport in the darkness, Bryce was perspiring heavily behind the wheel of his car. He was dressed in a suit and tie, but his starched white shirt was soaked under the arms.

He turned on the car radio to an all-news station and heard: “This is a CBS newsflash: President Treadwell has had a heart attack. He is en route to Bethesda Naval Hospital but we do not have any word about his condition. In the meantime, Vice President Worth has assumed the presidency.”

Bryce’s whole body shook as the enormity of what he had done struck him. He steadied himself and continued listening to the radio. He didn’t hear anything about the war between Argentina and Brazil.

He was worrying needlessly, he told himself. Neither General Forbes nor Betty would be able to piece together what he had done. Even if they did, by that time the battle would be over and he’d be safely in Argentina. Estrada would never grant a United States request to extradite him. Not Edward Bryce, who had provided Estrada with the arms needed to defeat Brazil.

As for Amy, Bryce was convinced she would heed his warning. Speaking up would mean the end of her life as a practical matter. No one would risk seeing their picture on supermarket tabloids and being known as the president’s little whore.

No, he was safe. He should stop worrying and act calm.

At Dulles Airport, he parked in the short term lot. It didn’t matter. He had no intention of returning to the United States to pick up his car.

Without baggage, check-in was a cinch. At a kiosk, he got a boarding pass for his flight to Miami; then to Buenos Aires. By the time he reached the gate, boarding had begun.

Perfect.

He took his seat on the aisle in the second row of the first class cabin. The man on the window seat was engaged in a tense conversation about a business deal. Bryce would be glad to leave all that business stuff behind.

When a flight attendant asked Bryce if he wanted something to drink, he told her, “Scotch on the rocks.” That prompted her to raise her eyebrows. Bryce pointed to the sunrise through the window and said, “It’s almost daylight.”

She smiled. When she brought the drink, he took a sip, closed his eyes, and leaned back. He felt great. He was safe, getting out of Washington in the nick of time.

He felt a tap on his shoulder. Assuming it was the flight attendant picking up his drink, he said, “It’s all yours.”

He expected her to say, “Thank you.”

Instead, he heard a man’s booming voice, “Mr. Bryce, you’re under arrest.”

With a start, Bryce opened his eyes and shot forward in his seat. He saw two burly Virginia state troopers. One was holding handcuffs. He clamped them on Bryce’s wrists.

Iguazu

O
nce he reached the driveway in front of the castle, Craig stopped running. Dressed in his Argentine army uniform, he calmly walked inside the stone building. As he cut across the entrance foyer toward the highly polished wooden staircase leading to the second floor, he could hear the sound of men’s voices. It was Estrada and Schiller. They were having a loud, acrimonious discussion with Estrada doing most of the shouting. Betty was right, Craig decided. Things were not going well for the Argentine army.

Climbing the stairs, Craig walked softly, as a soldier might, his head held high.

At the top of the staircase, he quickly looked in both directions, trying to size up what he was facing. On the right side, halfway down the corridor, he saw a single soldier standing in the dim light in front of a cell. From behind the bars, he heard Gina softly singing a hymn.

As he turned in that direction, the soldier moved forward to cut him off. The man was gripping his gun hard.

“They sent me to relieve you,” Craig said.

“That’s good,” the man said. “Because she’s driving me crazy with her singing, but Estrada said ‘don’t lay a hand on her.’ So you can have the job.”

The soldier was so anxious to depart that he never bothered to study Craig’s face. He reached into his pocket and tossed Craig a set of keys. As he passed Craig on the way to the stairs, Craig suddenly lashed out and plastered one hand over the man’s mouth to keep him from screaming. With the other, he punched the man hard in the kidneys. He felt the soldier go limp.

Quickly, he pulled him toward an empty cell with an open door. Once he had the man inside, he laid him down on the floor. He peeled the sheets off the bed and cut them into strips with his knife. He bound the man’s hands and feet and tied some material over his mouth. Using the handle of the knife, he hit the soldier hard enough in the head to knock him out, but not kill him. Then he kicked his body under the bed—out of sight.

Before proceeding to Gina’s cell, he paused for a minute to look out of one of the windows facing the river in the back of the castle. Daylight was just beginning to break. They were about a mile upstream from the Falls that were on the left. Directly behind the castle was a dock with a sleek white motorboat. On the deck were half a dozen sailors. Estrada’s insurance policy, Craig decided. If the battle went badly and escape by land was difficult, Estrada could leave the area by boat. There was a second dock about fifty yards upstream from the motorboat to which two empty pontoon boats were tied.

He was sorely tempted to go downstairs, confront Estrada and Schiller, and kill them both. But he banished that thought. A firefight in the castle would bring the troops on the boat and perhaps others stationed nearby. Besides, it would be up to the Argentine government to deal out its own justice for Estrada and Schiller when this was all over.

On the toes of his feet with the keys in his hand, he walked down the corridor to Gina’s cell. He saw her before she spotted him. She was dressed in the same clothes she had been wearing when she had left Nicole’s house. She was lying on top of the prison cot looking up at the ceiling, singing a hymn.

Through the bars, he whispered, “Don’t make any noise. I’ve come for you.”

Her whole body gave a start as she sat upright on her bed. She opened her mouth to scream with joy, but his words must have sunk in. She didn’t say a thing. Instead, she climbed off the bed and ran to the door of the cell.

Craig found the right key on the third try.

“Oh, thank God,” she whispered as he unlocked and opened the door.

“Don’t thank me until it’s over,” he whispered back. “Now let’s get the hell out of here.”

With the Uzi in one hand, he raced toward the staircase. Gina was two steps behind. When they were halfway down the stairs, Gina, in her anxiety to get out of the building, lost her footing on the slick polished wood and fell down. She skidded past him on her back and rear end, landing at the bottom with a thud.

Uh-oh, he thought, Estrada and Schiller will hear us. But he didn’t wait to find out. Hoping she hadn’t broken anything, he grabbed her by the hand, pulled her up, and continued toward the exit. Fortunately she could still run.

His plan was to follow the same route through the vegetation to the gatehouse and then to his car.

Inside Estrada’s office the general was on the phone with one of his commanders who was apologizing because he couldn’t halt the retreat of his forces, when he and Schiller heard the thud from the bottom of the stairs. Estrada looked at the colonel with an alarmed expression. Without saying a word, Schiller pulled his gun out of the holster at his waist and ran in the direction of the noise.

Moments later, breathless, Schiller raced back into Estrada’s office and began cursing. Estrada hung up on the commander.

“She’s gone!” Schiller blurted out.

“Page must have gotten her out.”

Estrada picked up the phone and called the gatehouse. He’d stop them before they exited the property.

No answer.

At least one of those men had to be in the gatehouse at all times. So Craig must have taken care of them.

Damn Craig Page!

Estrada had another group of twelve soldiers in a barracks, a quarter of a mile away. He called the commander of the unit on the phone and barked orders. “Get your men down here on the double. Secure the gatehouse. Destroy any cars on the road and search the property inside the fence for intruders. Shoot to kill.”

Estrada walked over to an electrical panel on the wall. He threw a switch activating a piercing siren and floodlights in the vicinity of the castle.

He was confident he had closed off Craig Page’s escape with Gina.

Once Craig heard the siren and saw the lights, he realized what had happened. “Can you go faster?” he called to Gina. “We have to get through the gate and into our car before they catch us.”

“I’m okay. I’ll keep up.”

Over his shoulder he heard the firing of automatic weapons from the castle. His guess was that soldiers were spraying shots blindly hoping to hit them.

They’d lose a little time, but he swung their route wider to the left, plunging them into denser forest to avoid the reach of the floodlights. Close to the fence they could circle back to the gatehouse. He used the Uzi and his arms to push back the prickly branches, bamboos, and luxuriant palm trees in order to make a path for him and Gina, who was close on his heels.

She called, “Don’t worry. I’m keeping up.”

As he ran, he glanced at the area where he had parked the car. The sky was light enough to see. It was still there.

Seconds later, he watched in horror as a jeep approached his car. From the front seat, a soldier aimed a grenade launcher and scored a direct hit on the car. There was a loud explosion, with flames shooting high into the air. Estrada was tightening the noose.

The realization that his route of escape had been cut off paralyzed Craig for an instant. He stood frozen to the spot, Gina at his side, her whole body trembling.

There has to be another way out. Think, goddamn it. Think.

Gina was mumbling prayers.

He could call Nicole and order the pilot to come here for them. That was no answer. Schiller would blow up the plane before it even landed.

Think.

The river. A pontoon boat. That was it.

Then he thought about Nicole. He expected Estrada to send troops to the airport to capture anyone who came with him. He had to make sure Nicole got out while there was still time.

He whipped out his cell phone and called her. “I have Gina. You don’t have to worry about us. We have another way out. Save yourself. Have Rodriguez fly you home.”

“Are you sure you want me to leave?”

“Absolutely. And do it fast. Before they search the airport. Please—I want you to get back safely.”

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Next, he called Betty. “Send the chopper for us. If we make it, Gina and I will be in a pontoon boat on the river moving upstream from the castle. I’m wearing an Argentine army uniform.”

They didn’t have any more time to waste. He grabbed Gina’s arm and pulled her parallel to the river through even thicker grass and bushes. They trampled wild orchids and begonias. He’d have to make a guess at where the dock was that held the pontoon boats, then cut to the left.

Branches and sharp thorns scratched their faces and bodies. His arms ached from battling bushes and trees. Even in the early morning hours, the heat and humidity were stifling. Sweat poured down his face and mixed with blood from the scratches. He stumbled on a root, but kept running.

He didn’t know how badly Gina had been hurt in her fall down the stairs, but he had to hand it to her. She didn’t whine or complain, and she kept up the pace.

The pontoon boats
.

Their last chance. Their only chance.

From behind him, back at the gatehouse, he heard volleys of gunfire from automatic weapons. The noise terrified macaws, whose screams added an eerie note to their fight for survival.

The soldiers who had blown up his car had entered the property and were pursuing them. He hoped to hell the vegetation was too thick for the jeep. He desperately needed the extra time he would have with the men on foot.

It was almost full daylight now. The soldiers would have no trouble spotting their heads if they stuck up above the bushes. “Keep your body low,” he shouted over his shoulder to Gina.

The pontoon boats. Where the hell are the boats?

Here, he decided.

They had to make their cut to the left right now. He turned sharply and increased the pace. Gina was right behind him. The gunfire was growing louder.

They burst through the vegetation into a clearing that ran along the river. Their faces and arms were streaked with blood. Craig wiped the sweat from his eyes to focus on the river.

Fog and mist hung over the water. Straining his eyes to see through it, he spotted the dock only ten yards away on the right.

He heard the shouting of men, the firing of automatic weapons close by, following their route to the river. The soldiers were closing in on them.

He grabbed Gina by the arm and ran toward the dock. When they reached the first pontoon boat, he shouted, “Jump in.” He untied the rope securing it to the pier and followed her into the boat.

“The engine better be working,” he said as he revved it up. Immediately, it kicked over. “Hold on tight,” he shouted to Gina. They roared away from the dock, heading upstream, away from the Falls.

And just in time. Four of the soldiers who had been pursuing them from the gatehouse reached the edge of the river and began firing. The boat was barely outside their range.

They were free from Schiller and Estrada. They had made it.

He looked skyward through the morning mist, expecting to see the chopper any second. But he couldn’t see a damn thing.

Frantically, he took one hand from the wheel and called Betty. “We’re on the river in a pontoon boat. Where’s the fucking helicopter?”

“Should be there any minute,” she said. “I just spoke to Forbes. It’s a little dicey. They have to fly around the battle zone.”

Meanwhile, he had no choice but to keep pushing the boat as hard and fast as it could go—increasing their distance from the castle.