Julio nodded, but before walking away he shared, “The Italian called to say he was on his way and should arrive in the next fifteen minutes.”
Durand dismissed Julio and headed to his office. This meeting would determine if he and Vestavia would remain partners. He’d settled into the leather chair behind his burled-pecan desk and had finished making a call when heavy footsteps approached.
“My associates aren’t happy.” The stocky Italian entered his office on a sweep of anger. A few inches taller than Durand, Vestavia was not a huge man, but he was thick like a bull.
“I expect better manners in my home,” Durand warned. Few people were even allowed to step on his land in central Venezuela. Even fewer were invited inside the compound.
“You want better manners? Give me better results.” Vestavia shoved an uncompromising gaze back across the desk. The black-rimmed glasses he wore belonged on an accountant, not that bulked-up body covered with a tailored suit designed for boardrooms in New York. The rough-cut, dirt-brown hair reminded Durand of American cowboys.
“Please.” Durand pointed at the inlaid-wood humidor on his desk, silently inviting his guest to choose one of the ten most exquisite cigars made in the world.
Instead of answering, Vestavia withdrew an OpusX cigar, ran the premium blend below his nose with the intimacy of smelling a lover. He used Durand’s engraved snipper from the desk, lit the cigar, and took a seat in one of the two liver-colored leather side chairs.
While his guest settled, Durand twirled a stiletto between his fingers. Vestavia should respect his elders. Vestavia could be no more than late thirties. The respect was due.
“We both suffered losses.” Durand pulled his lips tight in a grim smile. This man Vestavia had shared little about the mysterious group he represented. But the money and underworld connections he brought to the table were too substantial to dismiss. “You think I am pleased to have lost fine men?”
“You assured me you could do this project,” Vestavia countered.
“And you assured me you could locate Mirage.”
Vestavia quieted, his lips not moving until he blew out a stream of smoke. “We did find the informant. We-”
“-may have located the informant, but you do not have him. Excuse me for interrupting, but I believe I know more about the outcome than you do.” Durand placed the stiletto on the desk and selected a custom-rolled cigar from the humidor for himself.
That drew a brief flicker of concern into Vestavia’s gaze that dissipated just as quickly. He puffed, watching Durand with the eyes of a predatory bird patiently waiting for the perfect moment to attack. “Go on.”
“As I understand it, Baby Face found a connection, which I assume was due to some help you must have given him since all my people claimed Mirage could not be found without access to supercomputers.” Durand paused until Vestavia gave a slight nod of his head in agreement. “I have men looking for this informant as well. Everyone with a computer and a weapon on both sides of the law is after Mirage. Baby Face was brilliant, but his ego became a liability. He bragged online about, as he put it, ‘hitting the mother lode’ or some such. This allowed Turga to catch scent of the deal and cost Baby Face his life.”
“Who is Turga?”
“An old associate who will unfortunately not see his next birthday. He is what you would call a poacher, who shows up to snatch a prize at the last moment, then auction it to the highest bidder. I understand he was very hard to kill, but he is also dead. His helicopter pilot was the last one to see everyone alive. He told my people that Turga caught a man and woman who escaped Baby Face. This pilot is on his way to meet with me. By tomorrow, I will have an artist’s sketch of the man and woman from his description.”
Vestavia’s face never changed, eyes as flat and cold as the first time Durand had met him. But this man’s vision for the future-or his organization’s vision-was exceptional, a world where the Anguis family would thrive and rule in Venezuela, then all of South America.
If he and Vestavia could reach a point of trust.
“So we have both been disappointed, no?” Durand continued. “As for Mandy, my men did their job. She was delivered to the chalet on time, but a black-ops team ambushed my men. I will find who was behind the attack.”
“Going to be hard to do that with all your men dead.”
“No really. I never send my men in on a new operation without surveillance.”
“What do you mean?”
“I sent Julio, my most trusted soldier, ahead of the team. No one knew he was inside the house. He entered before they arrived and used lipstick cameras that fed to a terminal in the basement where he stayed the entire time.”
Vestavia sat forward, tense. “Why did you send a spy?”
“I am a cautious man.”
“No.” Vestavia moved his head slowly from side to side. “I think you don’t trust me, which I find insulting.”
Durand smiled. “Trust is the question between us, yes? I have not known you long. What kind of leader would I be if I do not assure of a way to make someone pay for ambushing my men?” Durand drew on his cigar and exhaled, sending wavy circles into the air. “Using Julio keeps my men sharp. I tell them things about their missions they think I cannot possibly know. They respect that. You see, respect is like trust, it must be earned.”
Vestavia was one of those men who exuded power in silence.
Durand would not be intimidated, not even by a man whose money, contacts, and powerful organization could help him bring the Salvatore family to their knees. He would soon have the throat of that squealing Mirage pig in one fist and Dominic Salvatore’s cojones in his other fist.
But in the meantime, Durand did not want to create an enemy of this Vestavia.
“I provided projects to make you high profile for Mirage,” Vestavia offered in a conciliatory tone Durand knew better than to believe. “Kidnapping Mandy was moved up just to give you more exposure to Mirage since the informant seems to take a particular interest when a female and the Anguis are involved.”
“True, but our deal is not one-sided,” Durand cautioned. “My men have made two successful attempts on our oil minister’s life appear as if the Salvatore family is behind the attacks. Killing the oil minister would be much simpler than pretending to. I do not want the Venezuelan government on my doorstep. I admit I am happy to put Salvatore’s cojones in a vise, but these attacks are very risky. What is the purpose?”
“I don’t explain myself to anyone,” Vestavia warned.
Durand hid the urge to choke this man. To show anger was a sign of weakness. “I only suggest that if I understand your reasoning, I can better support your cause since I have a finger on the Venezuelan pulse.”
Vestavia studied on that a moment before speaking. “My organization was quite pleased with the results so far, but it’s imperative the pressure is kept up. The United States is under scrutiny for their attempt to secretly partner with Venezuelan oil production behind the Venezuelan government’s back.
“Both candidates for the next U.S. presidency are opposed to financing a partnership with Venezuela to produce more oil. Both are pushing the platform about America becoming a more green country since that’s the new hot button for voters. The media is fueling rumors that one of the two political parties is funding Salvatore to assassinate your oil minister. No one can figure out if the Democrats are behind the attacks to show how the Republicans are trying to partner with an unstable country for oil instead of going green or if the Republicans are behind this and plan to produce evidence the Democrats were behind the attacks simply to lay the groundwork for a major shift to going green.”
“How does Salvatore fit in your plans?” Durand leaned back, arms draped along his chair. A pose of confidence.
“It appears the Salvatore Cartel is sitting back until the elections are over to see if a coup does indeed overthrow the government. If so, that’s when we’ll find out if the new U.S. administration actually forms an agreement with Venezuela for oil. Salvatore can be an impediment in the oil ministry’s plans or the two could team up to form an agreement that assured the oil production industry was protected from rebel attacks as long as Salvatore’s drug shipments passed through safely.”
“Yes, yes, I stay informed through my contacts.” Durand tapped his cigar on the edge of a crystal ashtray. Salvatore had been an obstacle in his plans for many years. “I have no care what America pays for a gallon of fuel or the presidential election next week. I am concerned with the future of the Anguis and believe we can help each other.” He let that sink in.
Vestavia had come to Durand. Not the other way around.
When his guest didn’t comment, Durand repeated, “We both suffered a loss in France. The question is how will we both recover our losses? Someone will pay for mine. If we work together, we can recoup and make an example for others who might think to interfere again.”
“No one ever screws me over and lives to brag.” The brutal cold in Vestavia’s voice could freeze a hot ember.
“Then work with me to find these men who have killed mine and taken Mandy, because together we will find them.”
“You’re certain about Julio’s allegiance?”
Dios! This man had better be worth the aggravation he caused. Durand smiled. “Julio was the only person who knew about the chalet in advance and I stake my life on my cousin’s loyalty. Blood is everything in my family.”
“Did he get any good photos of the black-ops team?”
“Julio is processing everything now.”
“Send me what you have and I’ll put our people on identifying them.” Vestavia had said more than once he had limitless resources.
Durand nodded politely, but he would not share photos or anything else of significance until he could strike Vestavia’s name off the list of suspects for the ambush.
“Someone got the information to Mirage very quickly that you were behind the kidnapping,” Vestavia pointed out. “Sounds like a snitch inside your group.”
“I have people on that as well, but you also have a problem,” Durand countered in a calm voice. He suppressed a smile at his guest’s scowl. “My men did not know where they were taking the girl until they were in route, and since all were killed, is it not logical to assume their innocence?”
Durand paused to draw on his cigar, letting the rich tobacco flavor flow through his mouth. He exhaled and said, “Before you accuse me of failure, you must explain how anyone knew of the chalet meeting spot. The elite team who killed them showed up in less than eleven hours of my men arriving. How did the informant get that information so quickly?”
Vestavia didn’t answer for a minute, his tiny brown eyes shifting between narrowed slits. “If there is a leak in my organization, I’ll find it and deal with that person. But if I learn that someone in your camp betrayed us, my associates will expect his head or yours. And I mean that literally.”
Durand smiled conspiratorially. “If someone I know killed my men-one of whom was my younger brother-you may have the head and any other piece…once I am finished with him. You cannot have mine, ever. And if it is one of your people, I will expect the same courtesy in return.”
“Fair enough. In the meantime, continue as planned. I’ll personally interrogate Mirage once that informant is captured.”
Durand waved a finger back and forth. “Nada. The Mirage is mine. Delivered alive.”
Vestavia grunted, neither agreeing nor disagreeing and reached down into his briefcase. He withdrew a thick manila envelope. “Your next contract.”
Durand did not move to take the package. “I no joke about this informant.”
“Fine. Alive. No promises on the condition of the body.”
Durand took the package and opened it, withdrawing the photos. “Another female. No problem.”
“Maybe, but this one won’t be quite as easy to grab.”
Durand studied the teenager and wondered yet again what Vestavia’s purpose was for the teens, but his alliance with this strange Italian depended on better results with less questions.
“What is our time frame?” Durand lifted the photo sheets into view. Pretty, but nothing notable.
“Two days. Mandy was intended for a side project, but this girl,” Vestavia said, his eyes going to the photos in Durand’s hand, dark eyebrows dropped low over mean eyes, “is needed now. No missteps.”
Vestavia lifted his briefcase and turned to leave.
“It would be in your best interest to find the snitch before I hand over this girl,” Durand warned quietly.
Vestavia stopped, breathing slowly during the long silence. “Threatening me is not a healthy idea.”
“I only offer incentive to move as quickly as you expect my people to. If you do not locate this Mirage first, then you will owe me, yes?”
Vestavia left without another word.
Durand tapped his cigar. This would never be an easy alliance, but the truly strong ones took work and finesse. He pressed a button on the radio function of his cell phone, calling Julio, who answered immediately.
Durand asked, “How are the photos from the chateau coming?”
“Most are fair, but one is no bad. It is the man who I believe was in charge of the team.”
“Bring all the photos now.”
“Sí. I am on the way.”
EIGHT
GABRIELLE CURLED CLOSER to the warmth, hugging the pillow. The cloth smelled so…masculine?
She kept her eyes shut, allowing her mind to sharpen while she mustered the energy to pull away from the deep sleep tempting her to stay.
Now that she could actually process information, she realized the pillow wasn’t soft at all. The surface was hard and carved.
Last night…they were driving somewhere…then nothing once she dropped over the edge into deep sleep.