Authors: Jay Giles
Time on the Wire (25 page)
Miles swam on his side, right hand cupped under Hanna’s chin. After she’d slipped into unconsciousness, this was the only way he knew to keep them moving forward and make sure her face stayed above water. His arm ached from the effort of holding her head above the waves. He forced himself to do another frog kick, pull with his left arm. Only dogged determination kept him going. He focused on his goal: the cliffs.
Casper stopped at the front desk, asked to speak to the manager. In a moment, a tall, distinguished, silver-haired man in an impeccably tailored black sport coat, gray slacks approached him. “Señor, I am Luis Gutierrez, the manager. How may I be of assistance?”
Casper shook Gutierrez’s hand. “Dennis Casper. I’m impressed with Puerto Vallarta and was thinking about retiring here. Could you recommend a real estate agent who could show me around town?”
Gutierrez, hands clasped behind his back, gave a small nod. “Certainly, señor. What type of property do you seek? Condo? Villa?”
“A villa, I think,” Casper said reflectively. “Something upscale, perhaps with a view.”
Gutierrez’s eyebrows rose up. “These villas, señor, they can be expensive.”
“Understood. I’m probably not going to be interested in anything costing less than a million, million and a half U.S.”
Gutierrez withdrew his right hand from behind his back, indicated a door to the right of the check-in desk. “In that case, step into my office. It will be my honor to introduce you to one of Puerto Vallarta’s leading real estate agents, Carla Rodriguez.”
Gutierrez held the door, Casper entered the small but well-furnished office. From a large rolodex, Gutierrez dialed a number, spoke rapidly in Spanish. To Casper, he said: “You are in luck, Carla is at her office. Would you like for me to make an appointment for you?”
“I wonder—if she’s in the office—could she meet with me now?”
“Let me ask.” Gutierrez relayed the request, listened for a moment, put his hand over the receiver, said to Casper. “She could see you in one hour. Will that work?”
“Perfect,” Casper said.
Gutierrez relayed that the time was good, hung up, wrote her address on a piece of paper, handed it to Casper. “It is a ten minute cab ride from the hotel.”
An hour later, Casper’s cab pulled to the curb in front of the Versace boutique in the city’s trendy shopping area. “I don’t think this is it,” Casper said to the cabby.
The cabby pointed up, over the shop.
“Got ‘cha, thanks,” Casper said, paying him and adding a generous tip. He exited the cab, found the door on the side of the storefront, climbed the flight of stairs to the second level, found himself in a small waiting room. A round-faced, dark-haired Mexican woman seated behind a carved antique desk greeted him, said Señorita Rodriguez was just finishing a phone call.
Casper took a seat, glanced around. The room was tastefully furnished in a mix of contemporary and antique pieces that bespoke expensive decorator. He only had a minute to size-up the room. A door opened and Carla Rodriguez stepped out to greet him.
Casper felt as if he’d been hit by an electric charge.
A mouthful of seawater brought Miles back to consciousness. He choked, coughed. Sucked in another mouthful of water. Fought to get a breath. Disoriented, he panicked. How long had he dozed off? Had he let go? His eyes burned from the saltwater, his sight was blurry. He pulled Hanna to him, felt her body press against his. Reassured, he tried to swim, found his legs heavy, unresponsive. A wave washed over him. He spat out more water. Felt his heel drag on something. The next wave rolled over him, knocked him down, his rear end hit something hard. His hand felt mud and rocks.
Miles knew they’d gotten lucky. They’d come ashore on a small patch of flat mud at the base of the cliffs. He pulled Hanna out of the water, got her situated on dry land, rubbed her arms, tried to revive her. “Hanna. Hanna, wake up.”
She groaned, moved her head slightly.
Miles rubbed her arms and legs more vigorously. “Hanna, c’mon, wake up.”
Her eyes fluttered open, closed.
“Atta, girl,” Miles said encouragingly. “Keep those eyes open.”
Slowly, Hanna seemed to gather herself. Her eyes stayed open, her gaze darted to the cliff wall behind them.
Miles grinned. “Yeah, we made it.”
She hugged him. “You did it. All I did was swallow half the ocean.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, you did great,” he told her and began untying the shoes from around his neck. He handed Hanna hers, put his on. “Let’s talk about our next adventure. How are you at climbing?”
Hanna’s face told him all he needed to know.
Miles turned his gaze to the cliff wall. “That’s okay. I’ll get up this thing, get help, get back.”
He read the concern in Hanna’s eyes. “You can’t—”
“I’ve free climbed tougher walls,” he said as he walked along the cliff base, tried to decide where to begin his ascent. He had a good hundred and twenty feet to climb. “There isn’t any time to waste.”
Hanna looked at him questioningly.
Miles pointed to a mark on the cliff wall over their heads. “That’s the high tide mark. I figure I’ve got less than four hours to get you out of here.”
Had Dennis Casper asked Luis Gutierrez to give him a description of Carla Rodriguez, he might have been prepared for her.
He hadn’t. He wasn’t.
She was tall, just slightly shorter than his six two, trim—but with all the right curves in all the right places. She had a oval face with high cheekbones, dark smoldering eyes, sensual mouth. Her hair had been pulled back in a French curl. She wore a simple black dress, single gold chain necklace, thin gold bracelets on her left wrist, no wedding ring.
But it was the look in her eyes, the way her body moved that had Casper mesmerized. He recovered enough to stand, hold out his hand. “Dennis Casper. Thanks for seeing me.”
The touch of her hand was magic. “My pleasure.” Her voice was melodious, her English perfect. “Please, come into my office and we’ll talk.” When they were seated, she said, “Tell me about yourself and what you require in a villa.”
On the cab ride over, Casper had concocted a story about being a dot-com millionaire, looking for a place to occupy his time. Looking at Carla, he scraped it. “I’m in government work,” he told her, “and I’d like to retire someplace far from the ice and snow we get in Washington, D.C.”
Carla smiled, displaying perfect white teeth. “Your wife, she shares your desire to retire here in Mexico?”
“Divorced, long ago. Government service and marriage don’t get along, I’m afraid.”
“So the villa will be for one? No children, Señor Casper?”
“No children. And please, it’s Dennis.”
She seemed pleased with his answer, give him another of those dazzling smiles. “And you must call me Carla.”
“My pleasure.”
“Dennis, it would help me to have an idea of your price range. Some of these villas can be expensive.”
Casper met her gaze, held it. “I’m fairly well-to-do,” he said easily, “so don’t hold back. Let’s look at your most exclusive properties.”
Carla swiveled her chair to face her computer. “Let me print out a couple of villas for your review.” She paused, looked over at him. “Perhaps we could discuss them over Margaritas. There is a wonderful little café two doors down.”
At the café, Casper couldn’t believe his good fortune. Here he was having drinks with a woman who excited him. Better still, he sensed she felt the same way about him. He took a sip from the straw sticking out of his Margarita, watched as Carla spread out two listings with photos and details on the table between them.
“These are going to be best for you,” she said. “This one was renovated by an American couple. They put in a pool, gourmet kitchen, master suite. Quite exceptional at $1.5-million U.S. dollars. The other one is more expensive, $2.5-million U.S., but it overlooks the ocean. The builder just sold a similar house to a foreign couple.”
Control of Casper’s attention shifted from his crotch to his brain. “Americans?”
“No.” Carla gave a little shake of her head. “Europeans.”
Casper felt an adrenaline surge. This was what he’d hope to learn from this real estate ploy. He tried not to show his excitement. “You don’t happen to know what country they’re from, do you?”
“I do not. I do not understand the language they speak.”
“How long ago did they lease this place?”
She looked at him quizzically. “Why are you so interested in them?”
“I might know them. Woman’s a blond, right?” He asked, thinking of Silber.
Carla nodded. “How is it you know these people?”
“I’m in government work. It’s my business to know people,” Casper said, smiling, convinced he’d located Albrecht. “After we take a look at these houses, be great if you could show me where their place is located so I can stop by, say hello.”
Miles had worked his way up forty feet. He stuck the toe of his left shoe in a small crevice, pushed off, found a hold, pulled himself up. Just climbing that far had him tired, struggling. His muscles trembled from the exertion. He wedged his right toe into a space, shifted his weight. The flakey limestone under his foot gave way. Startled, he frantically reached for anything to break his descent. His fingers found a small ridge. The hold bought precious seconds to plant his feet. His slide halted, Miles tried to regain his composure. His heart raced, pounding from the adrenaline rush of near disaster.
Use it, he told himself, and began climbing again.
The last twenty feet proved to be excruciating. The rock face seemed smooth, polished by the weather. Miles struggled to move even six inches. He fought for every toehold, had to force every handhold, physically haul himself up. His fingers were raw, bleeding. When his arm reached over the top, felt flat ground, he wanted to cry. He pulled himself over the edge, scrapping his stomach and knees. He didn’t care. He’d made it.
Miles rolled away from the edge, stood on wobbly legs. His gaze saw only dirt and scrub brush. He saw no houses, no roads.
Wearily he began gathering rocks, building them into a pyramid. As desolate as the area was, he knew he’d never be able to find Hanna again without some sort of marker. He stacked rock after rock. When the pyramid was taller than the low scrub, he stopped, confident he’d be able to spot it at a distance.
Miles had started his runner’s watch at the base of the cliff, he checked it now, found an hour and eighteen minutes had elapsed.
He started running. With each stride he mentally repeated: You can do this.
He had no idea whether the direction he chosen was the right or how far he’d have to go to find help. The only thing he knew for certain was that he was in a race against time.
The first house Carla showed Casper was the $1.5-million renovation. Whoever had done the work had done a beautiful job. The home’s only problem was the lot. It was small, had houses tucked up against it on three sides. They moved on to the $2.5 million house.
This one wowed Casper. It reminded him of the upscale Mediterranean revival houses being built in Florida. It had large rooms, extra-high ceilings, tile floors, and that slight textured stucco feeling to the walls. The back of the house was all glass. Casper stood in the great room looking out the wall of windows. His gaze took in the infinity pool, beyond that the Pacific.
“I could see myself in this place,” he said in an awed voice.
Carla had watched him go from room to room in the unoccupied house, opening doors, touching things, inspecting the fixtures. “I could see you in it, too, Señor Casper.”
Casper turned to face her. “Please, I told you, call me Dennis.”
She smiled graciously. “It is a very big house for one person, Dennis.”
Casper liked how her lips formed his name. “One person would rattle around in a place like this. I might have to find myself some companionship.”
Her smile turned mischievous. “I shouldn’t think that would be too hard.”
Hanna’s little patch of sandy dry land had been gobbled up by the incoming tide. She now stood in waist-deep water, her body buffeted by long rolling waves that threatened to smash her against the cliff wall. At her feet, she could feel a pull that might be the start of a rip current.
The water had risen with surprising quickness. Hanna knew Miles would be back for her. What she didn’t know was if she could hold out that long.
Miles had run for forty minutes. Despite being tired, his stride was loose, his breathing easy, his eyes watchful.
He’d picked up a dirt road and was following it toward a grouping of three small houses. As he got closer, he could see the houses had mud walls, corrugated steel or thatched roofs. Behind one, a clothesline aired shirts, pants, dresses. Two had low fenced areas with barnyard animals, mostly chickens.
The middle house had a covered area at the front. A tiny, gray-haired older woman sat in the shade on a broken sofa, smoking a corncob pipe.
Miles ran to the porch, stopped, asked, “Do you speak English?”
She shook her head, pointed to the house to her right.
Miles jogged over, found the front door open. He stood outside, called in. “Hello, anybody home?”
“Si.” A man appeared out of the interior darkness. He was young, perhaps 25, wiry, his dark hair short. He was barefoot, wearing only a pair of faded jeans, and wiping his hands with a blue and white striped towel.
“I need your help,” Miles said. “There’s been a boating accident. My friend is at the base of the cliff.”
The man’s face remained guarded.
“She’s stranded. The tide’s coming in. Can you help me? I have to get back to her.”
“Si, I have a truck. I will take you to the police.”
That was the last thing Miles needed. “There’s no time. Do you have a rope we can lower down to her?”
He shook his head, made a face.
Miles pulled off his right trail boot, took out the innersole. Under it were five $20 bills—his emergency stash. He unfolded the bills, held them out. “I’ll buy the rope. This is for you.” He handed him the money. “We have to hurry.”
The young man took the money, folded in several times into a small square, shoved it down the pocket of his jeans. “Si, follow me.” He led Miles around the back of the house, where an ancient Chevy pick-up was parked. It had once been dark green, but most of the color was gone, the hood and roof showing bare metal.
Miles climbed in the passenger side of the cab. The young man got in, had to slam his door three times to get it to close. He fiddled with the key in the ignition. The truck started with a wheeze. He put it in gear, they lurched forward. It was a bumpy, jarring ride. The truck’s shocks had died year’s ago. The radio, however, still worked, pumping out a steady stream of salsa music. As he tapped the steering wheel to the beat, the young man told Miles his name was Rey.
They rode for fifteen minutes on the dirt rode, turned onto a two-lane paved road, drove five more minutes before stopping at a low cinderblock building. Other older vehicles were parked in front, the young Mexican pulled the pick-up next to them, turned off the engine. It coughed twice, shuddered, stopped.
Rey looked over at him, pointed at the doorway. “Buy rope here.”
Miles got out, went inside, found it to be a small variety store with groceries, sundries, farm tools. He asked the attendant for rope, followed him to an aisle with hardware items.
The rope they had was quarter-inch, thinner than Miles wanted, not as long as he needed. He bought six coils and a pair of work gloves.
Back in the truck, Miles started braiding three strands of the rope together. By the time they reached the stone pyramid, Miles had the braiding finished, the two sets of rope knotted in the middle.
He looked at his running watch. Three hours, twenty five minutes had elapsed. He looked over the edge, searching for Hanna. Didn’t see her anywhere.
