A King's Ransom (49 page)

His hands were cuffed behind his back, his ankles tied, and his mouth gagged. It was a bit of ironic luck that JoaquAn had removed the blindfold to torture his eye. The left one had blistered and swollen shut from the cigarette burn, but the right one gave him the precious advantage of sight.

He lay perfectly still, almost afraid to breathe. The slightest movement could reveal his whereabouts, which would be deadly. He knew that JoaquAn had brought him here to avenge the death of Cerdo, to execute the prisoner right before his son's eyes. Matthew was ready for that. For weeks he'd been preparing himself for the possibility of his own death. One thing, however, he hadn't prepared for: the death of his son in a botched rescue effort.

He burrowed into hiding at the base of a huge stone marker, pleading with his Maker to take him and not Nick.

Nothing moved, not anywhere. I was peering out over the top of my marker, some dead stranger's resting place. Somewhere across the grounds, hiding behind one of those countless slabs of stone, were JoaquAn and his well-armed buddy. I'd been waiting for one of them to break toward my father, or at least in the direction I'd last seen my father go. Maybe they were being patient. Or maybe they'd already made their move, and I'd missed them. I couldn't risk it. I had to take the offensive. But to where?

Had I been my father, I would have crawled toward the cluster of old monuments beneath the two sprawling oak trees. Compared to the rest of the cemetery, it was like midtown Manhattan, towering granite everywhere, lots of little places to get lost. On hands and knees, keeping low to the ground, I headed in that direction, one monument at a time.

Matthew's heart nearly stopped. He hadn't budged from his hiding spot, hadn't made a sound. Lying in the darkness with hands and feet bound, he felt invisible and vulnerable at the same time. He knew it was only a matter of moments before JoaquAn would spot him.

He knew, because he could see JoaquAn.

JoaquAn was kneeling behind the dirt pile, the lower half of his body hidden in the half-dug grave. His pistol at the ready, he raised his head just high enough to see over the tops of the gravestones, searching for the enemy.

It would have been an easy shot for Matthew, a steady target at just fifteen meters. The kill shot would have been to the side of JoaquAn's head, as Matthew was perpendicular to him on the same row of graves. If only his hands were free, if only he'd had a gun, a knife - anything. So many times he'd thought of giving JoaquAn exactly what he'd deserved for the murder of his friends on the boat in Cartagena, for the gang rape of Nisho up in the mountains, for countless other atrocities that he and his buddies had bragged about. Matthew had no regrets for having killed Cerdo; it sickened him to think that JoaquAn might walk free, a wealthy man.

JoaquAn looked in his direction, looked away, and then did a double take. Their eyes met in the darkness. Matthew had been spotted.

Neither man blinked, neither looked away. Matthew refused to cower to his executioner.

JoaquAn smiled slightly, then raised his pistol and aimed between the eyes.

I was just a few meters from the forest of monuments when I heard Alex shout from somewhere in the darkness.

JoaquAn, take it!

The knapsack sailed through the air and landed with a thud. A volley of gunshots erupted, both JoaquAn and his accomplice reacting with pointless fire at the sack full of money. It was exactly what Alex had intended, I presumed, and she'd startled JoaquAn into revealing his position. Alex and I fired repeatedly in the direction of the half-dug grave, me from my position at the forest of monuments and Alex from farther away, near the statue of the Blessed Virgin.

Return fire ripped through the night, mostly in my direction, as I was the closer threat, just a few meters away from them. I scampered into the maze of taller monuments for better cover, a trail of bullets rattling off the stones with the beat of a jackhammer. I rolled several times to avoid the spray of gunfire, collided with a large stone pedestal, then froze at the sight of the body two graves away.

Dad!

I crawled as fast as I could to his side. He was facedown in the dirt but raised his head at my touch.

It's me! I said in an excited whisper. I yanked the gag from his mouth. Are you hit?

No, no. They're so coked up, they shoot worse than you do.

I hoped that someday we'd laugh at that. Thanks a lot.

Untie me.

I unknotted the ropes at his feet, but his hands were in cuffs, which would have to wait.

There's two of them, he said. Who's with you?

Just the priest and Alex.

Who's this Alex?

I thought for a second about all the things she'd just said. Damned if I know.

We ducked at the explosion of gunfire, but it wasn't coming our way. They were shooting in the opposite direction at Alex.

She must be making a move, I said. If I attack from this flank, we might take them. Stay here.

He nearly tripped me in his zeal to keep me down. What do you think you're doing?

I looked him in the eye, hoping that he wouldn't take it the wrong way. But it was something that I'd wanted to say for fifteen years, since that day on the fishing boat that had driven us apart.

Acting like my father's son, I said.

You don't have to do this.

If I don't, neither one of us is getting out alive.

He didn't argue, and there wasn't time for it anyway. Another burst of gunfire erupted on the far side. I glanced up and saw Alex running from the statue of the Blessed Virgin to another monument. She was definitely on the offensive, and she was definitely outgunned.

This is it, I said, then sprinted forward, zigzagging from monument to monument.

I moved in short bursts to avoid getting hit, but I didn't fire a shot, as the exchange was all in Alex's direction. The noise was deafening, one shot after another without interruption. Alex had come on so strong that both kidnappers had turned their weapons on her. I was just ten meters away, approaching from the side, when JoaquAn's sidekick took a bullet from Alex to the forehead. His head snapped back as he tumbled to the ground, his gun silenced.

JoaquAn kept firing his pistol, stopping only briefly to reach for his slain friend's AK-47.

Freeze! I shouted. I had him from behind.

AManos arriba! shouted Alex. She had him from the side.

He raised his arms, still on his knees behind the pile of earth from the half-dug grave.

Stand up! I shouted.

He rose as commanded. The pistol was still in his hand.

Turn around slowly and drop the gun.

He turned to face me but kept his weapon.

Drop the gun!

It was pointed in the air, but he wouldn't let go.

Drop it right now, or I'll shoot!

How many men have you killed before, yanqui? He was clearly mocking me, reminding me that the dead guerrilla at his feet was Alex's work, not mine.

You'd be a good start, I said.

His hand moved in a blur as he fired off what seemed to be a wild shot. I squeezed the trigger again and again, firing off as many shots as possible. His body jerked with each hit as he fell, landing in a heap in the open grave.

I took a half step forward, close enough to confirm that he looked very dead. The body was twisted, the limbs angled in every direction, like a mangled spider. I'd hit him at least three times, twice in the chest and once in the face. I moved closer and checked for a pulse.

He's gone, I said, loud enough for my father to hear.

I turned away from the grisly sight. As I rose, out of the corner of my eye I saw Alex stagger and fall to the ground.

Alex!

She didn't answer. I ran to her, weaving between monuments, jumping over the last one to find her lying on her side between two gravestones. She was shivering as I rolled her onto her back. Blood had soaked through her sweater at the rib cage, just below the heart. JoaquAn's last shot had hit its mark.

My God, you need an ambulance.

Don't bother. Nobody survives this. I got what I deserved.

I just shook my head. So it's true? You killed Jaime.

I never thought it would get this crazy.

Damn you. I trusted you. I believed in you.

A trickle of blood oozed from the corner of her mouth, her voice barely a whisper. Funny, I thought they'd hold some rich guy for a week or two, get the insurance money, and let him go. That was the deal. Get JoaquAn a nice chunk of money, and he'd leave me and my family alone forever.

I can't believe you'd do that.

Live in fear for fifteen years. You'd be surprised at what you'll do.

I'd never sell out another human being.

She grimaced from the pain and took my hand. I pulled back, but she squeezed harder and wouldn't let me go. Please don't hate me.

I was trembling, still shocked. I just wish this weren't true.

Then let's just leave it that I was a friend.

She looked at me and tried to smile, the life draining from those dark, mysterious eyes. She started to say something more, but it passed. Her body went limp in my arms. I held her for a moment, my emotions running the gamut. I lowered her head to the ground, then looked up and saw my father standing over us.

Was she a friend of yours? he asked sadly.

The question made me think back to the anonymous note that had led me to Jaime's door, the way it had been signed, and the way Alex had just used the same words to say good-bye.

In a weird way, yes. I guess she was A Friend.'

I rose and embraced my father so tightly that our bodies shook. He was sobbing cathartically into my shoulder as I opened my eyes for one last look at Alex, her beautiful face, the sad expression, the troubled life. If she hadn't told me herself, I would never have believed a word of it.

From her lips it all made perfect, horrible sense.

Let's go home, my father whispered.

Yes, I said with a lump in my throat. Let's.

Epilogue There were no empty seats at our Thanksgiving dinner table. Lindsey, my sister, was home for the first time in two years. Grandma was with us, doing as well as could be expected. My mother was smiling again, finally exuding the fabled glow that kicked in around the fifth month of pregnancy. In less than two weeks Dad was already looking better and slowly gaining some needed weight. The mountain of mashed potatoes and dressing on his plate would surely help the cause.

Do we have any sushi? asked Lindsey.

It's Thanksgiving, dear, my mother said reprovingly.

She rolled her eyes and put a sliver of turkey on her plate. I just smiled to myself. For all the family had been through, thankfully we hadn't changed completely.

Naturally, some things would never be the same. My days at Cool Cash were over. That was just as well, since the Miami office surely wouldn't survive the firestorm anyway. Before his murder, Jaime Ochoa had given a sealed letter to his mother with instructions to hand it over to the state's attorney if anything untoward should happen to him. It spelled out the entire scheme. Maggie Johans was named prominently in the cover-up, and she'd spent the last two weeks trying to save her own criminal skin by insisting that she'd acted on the advice of Duncan Fitz. From what I'd read in the newspapers, it wouldn't be long before they both came crashing down, taking a huge chunk of the firm's pristine reputation with them.

The saddest part of Jaime's letter was what he'd written about Alex, detailing the way she'd linked his stolen information about the insurance policy to the kidnappers who capitalized on it. I imagined she'd regretted it from the beginning, which was why she'd stayed on to help negotiate JoaquAn down even after the insurance company had fired her and denied my father's claim. A bigger part of me, however, felt only anger, betrayal - and increasing confusion over that speech she'd delivered before dying. I wondered if she'd really believed that serving up an American would buy her own family a lifetime of safety from JoaquAn and his band of killers. Or had she made the whole thing up, one last deception? The more I thought about it, the more it seemed that even if her motive hadn't been greed, perhaps she and Jaime both had gotten what they'd deserved. My sense that justice had been done only intensified when I learned that a certain Japanese couple, Nisho and her husband, were also K&R policyholders with Quality Insurance Company. Fortunately, the scam was uncovered before any other names were sold to kidnappers. From what my father had told me, I was certain that when Nisho was finally released, it would take a lot more than a million and a half dollars to settle her claims against Quality Insurance.

As for my own legal woes, Jaime's letter was a godsend. His own written words had taken me off the list of murder suspects, as did the forensic evidence. Before its throat was slit, Jaime's dog had clawed the skin of the real murderer, and the DNA test of the scrapings from under the nails didn't match me. They matched Alex. That, plus the sworn affidavit of the Colombian priest who had overheard Alex's confession, pretty much guaranteed that my next role would be not as a defendant in a murder trial but as a grand jury witness in the imminent criminal prosecution against Quality Insurance Company and the lawyers who'd orchestrated the cover-up. It was one more thing to be thankful for on this holiday.