Dance with the Dragon (40 page)

Only one road came north from Xochimilco, but less than two miles from the park, the highway split, and from there, several routes could be taken into the city. McGarvey wanted to conduct his first encounter with Liu tonight. He didn’t think he had the luxury of making the rounds of all the clubs on the chance that on any given night Liu would be at a specific place. He was going to force the issue. Perhaps if Liu felt rushed he would make a mistake.

If Liu left his compound tonight with a mob, as Shahrzad and Monique had described, he would most likely head to either the Wild Stallion or the Doll House. It was a chance McGarvey was willing to take. He figured it would be no good to follow the general all the way into the city. His people would most likely spot a single tail sooner or later, even if they weren’t expecting it.

Without a team to switch off with, McGarvey was forced to guess about the two clubs, and as soon as it became clear which direction Liu’s entourage was heading, McGarvey could use an alternate route and get there first.

Just about everything could go wrong: a lousy guess, Liu might change his mind at the last minute, or McGarvey could be stopped for speeding by a traffic cop.

He put the map aside, turned off the dome light, and headed into the city, looking for the spot where Liu’s driver would have to turn left or right: left to the Wild Stallion, right to the Doll House.

Fifteen minutes later he found the likely spot, where the broad Avenida a Chapultepec made the turn to the east, around the wooded park. Liu would follow it to get to the Wild Stallion, or turn left through the park up to Paseo de la Reforma, just north of which was the Doll House.

If it was to be the Doll House, McGarvey wouldn’t be able to turn off until the Melchor Ocampo Causeway, and he would have to hustle to reach the club before Liu did. He needed to be only a minute or two ahead. Just long enough for Liu to think that he hadn’t been followed.

No one made the downtown club scene until ten, and from what Shahrzad had told him, Liu usually had parties at his compound in the evenings, not getting downtown sometimes until after midnight.

McGarvey headed first up to the Wild Stallion, where he let the valet parker take his car. The pretty hostess at the front desk looked up and smiled when he came in.

“Good evening, Mr. McGarvey,” she said, her smile dazzling. “Will you be alone tonight, or will your friend be joining you?”

McGarvey had been here only once with Gloria, but the young woman remembered them. It was a professional touch.

“She hasn’t arrived yet?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, let me get a table, near the dance floor, and if she’s not here in the next few minutes I’ll go get her.”

“Of course,” the receptionist said.

Immediately a hostess, dressed in the skimpy costume of a French maid, appeared and led McGarvey to a nice table in the front. Very few other tables were occupied yet.

“I’m expecting someone any minute,” McGarvey told the hostess. “Bring me a bottle of Dom Pérignon and two glasses. A nice year.”

“Yes, sir.”

A jazz combo was playing onstage, the music mellow. A minute later a female sommelier brought the champagne, opened it, and poured a glass for McGarvey. “Will your guest be joining you soon, señor?” she asked.

“I hope so,” McGarvey told her. “But she may be late, so make sure the wine remains cold, and have another bottle ready in case I have to find out where she’s gotten herself to.” He handed the woman an American Express card in his own name.

“It’s not ncessary, Mr. McGarvey, we have your information on file.”

“Very good,” McGarvey said. He sat back and sipped his champagne as he listened to a couple of songs. A few others came in and sat at tables or at the bar, and McGarvey kept looking up impatiently and checking his watch.

Finally he got up and went back out to the hostess. “The stupid bitch is late,” he muttered.

“We’ll hold your table, Mr. McGarvey,” the woman said pleasantly.

By the time he got ouside to the curb, a valet parker was bringing up his car. He gave the young man a tip and headed over to Polanco, where ten minutes later he pulled up in front of the Doll House, which had been built to look very much like the Moulin Rouge in Paris, only the windmill atop this club was garishly lit with pink lights.

He bought a membership for two from the young woman at the front desk, who could have been a carbon copy of the girl at the Wild Stallion except she was Oriental; she had the same pretty round face, slight body, and pleasant, almost syrupy manner.

A guitarist playing Spanish classical songs was onstage, and only a few of the tables were occupied. McGarvey was seated near the front, and ordered a bottle of Dom Pérignon and two glasses with the same explanation about his date that he had given at the Wild Stallion.

This club was more expensive than the Stallion. The few men already here were older than at the other place, and the party girls sitting with them were even younger than at the Stallion.

Because McGarvey had mentioned he was waiting for his date, none of the club girls came over to bother him, and after a couple of glasses of champagne he charged back out to the lobby.

“Save my table,” he told the receptionist. “I’ll get her.”

“We can easily arrange pleasant company for you this evening, Mr. McGarvey,” the girl suggested.

“I told the bitch to be here tonight,” he said harshly. “And she will be here! Hold my table.”

The valet parker brought his car, and McGarvey peeled rubber until he was around the corner, then headed over to Gloria’s apartment, keeping well within the speed limit.

The downtown streets were starting to come alive with the evening, and it was past nine thirty by the time McGarvey reached Gloria’s place.

When she came to the door she was dressed in a silk robe, her feet bare and her hair done up in back. She’d already put on a little makeup, and wore a thin gold chain with a tastefully small diamond pendant around her neck.

“Is it time?” she asked, letting him in.

“You’d better get dressed. I’d like to get down to Xochimilco as soon as possible,” McGarvey told her.

“Is there time for a drink?”

“No.”

She nodded tightly. “Okay, give me just a minute.”

She padded back into her bedroom, leaving McGarvey waiting in the vestibule, and when she returned less than sixty seconds later, McGarvey’s jaw dropped.

The dress she wore was fluorescent white, like the one she’d modeled for him this morning, but this one was not whorish. It was low cut, and off one shoulder, but the effect, with tall heels and extremely pointed toes in black alligator, made her look like royalty. A dark-skinned Princess Di.

“The other dress was cheap,” she said. “I didn’t think Liu would go for something like that.”

“You’re probably right,” he said.

“Is it okay?” she asked, almost shyly. “Do you think it’ll get his attention?”

“It has mine,” McGarvey said.

She brightened. “No time for that drink?”

“No.”

SEVENTY-ONE

XOCHIMILCO

A couple of miles down the road from Liu’s compound McGarvey pulled over in a scenic overlook blocked from the road by thick willows. From here they could see the compound across the lake, the lights on the walls reflecting in the dark water.

McGarvey doused the car lights, shut off the engine, and got out and walked to the lake’s edge. Even from this distance he could hear the sounds of a party: music playing, people laughing, girls shrieking.

Gloria got out of the car and joined him. “They’re having a good time over there,” she said.

“Sounds like it.”

The night was silent except for the noises from across the lake.

“What do you suppose he’s up to?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” McGarvey admitted. He and Rencke had discussed it, and neither of them had come up with anything concrete. Whatever it was had occupied Liu for at least ten years, and that was a very long time for anything lightweight. People, especially men of Liu’s character, did not spend that extraordinary amount of time on nothing more than parties or sex games. He was into something serious, and Rencke’s program had picked up on it.

It was the shadowy Iranian or Middle Eastern figure who worried McGarvey, because he couldn’t figure out a scenario that would explain such a man’s presence here in Mexico.

McGarvey went back to the car and got the pair of image-intensifying binoculars he’d retrieved from the aluminum case he’d checked at the Hotel Four Seasons. From the water’s edge he could make out the compound and the first hundred yards of the road. At least a dozen cars were parked outside the compound, many of them Mercedeses or Jaguars or BMWs. A group of chauffeurs stood around smoking and talking.

The general was having a big party over there, and it was possible that he wouldn’t bother going into the city tonight. If that turned out to be the case, they would return tomorrow night, and again the next night, and the next, until they got lucky.

McGarvey lowered the binoculars. Gloria had returned to the car and was sitting back against the hood. She took a cigarette from her purse and lit it with a narrow gold lighter.

“Want one?” she asked, offering him the pack.

He shook his head and leaned against the hood next to her. “What’s the best thing you remember about growing up in Cuba?” he asked.

She offered him a wry smile. “What is this, another psyche eval?” she asked. “Did I hate my mother? No, I was afraid of her. Did I hate my father? No, I didn’t know him. Next?”

“My daughter was just a few years old when I was assigned to an ops outside Santiago, Chile,” McGarvey said. “It went bad almost from the beginning, and when I finally got back to my wife I was a mess. But she gave me a choice: her or the CIA.”

“What’d you choose?”

“Neither,” McGarvey said. “I was young and couldn’t handle it, so I ran away.” He shook his head. “But the best thing I remember, still to this day after all the hurt, and finally the reconciliation, was my daugher just after she was born. I got to hold her, and smell her breath on my cheek, and feel her fragile little body against mine. And there was a moment, just one out of ten million, when I looked into my wife’s eyes and without words we told each other that we had a daughter, that we’d done good.”

Gloria was watching him, but she said nothing.

“We all have those moments,” McGarvey said. “Name one.”

Goria was silent for a long time. When she finally spoke her voice was low and filled with barely suppressed emotion. “My mother and I never got along. At first I didn’t know I was supposed to be a girl. I was having too much fun to bother thinking about it. Later I began to realize what I was, and I thought that boys were pretty stupid in general. Whenever I talked to my mother, or tried, we never got anywhere. It was like we were from different planets. We knew that we were supposed to love each other, but I don’t think I ever felt it from her. And I know she never felt it from me.”

A burst of laughter and then a cheer came from the compound, and they both looked that way for a moment.

“When Daddy, my father, took us out of Cuba and flew us to Key West it was an adventure at first. I don’t think I had any real conception of what was happening. What the consequences would be. And when we crashed in the sea in the deep water outside the reef, all I could think of was getting out of the airplane. I didn’t want to drown.”

Gloria looked directly into McGarvey’s eyes, almost pleading for him to understand.

“I was treading water and I could see my mother trapped in the airplane as it started to sink. I knew that she was going to drown, and I knew that there was nothing I could do to save her. That entire side of the airplane was crushed. We could not get to her.”

Again Gloria hesitated, her eyes filling. “I looked into her eyes, and I could see that she wasn’t unconscious. She could see me, and understand. And for just that moment, that second or two, I knew that she loved me, and I could see that she finally knew that I loved her.”

The story was as sad as it was revealing, yet McGarvey couldn’t help but wonder if Gloria had lied about even this, thinking that such a story was what he wanted to hear.

He turned away and stared at Liu’s compound. If this had been nothing more than unraveling a ten-year-old murder mystery or uncovering a blackmail scheme, he would have dropped it, as the president wanted him to do, and go home. He missed Katy and their life in Sarasota. He even missed teaching.

But there was more here. If nothing else, Rencke’s threat-assessment program could not be ignored. And there was something else, something nagging at the back of his head, something about the guy in the shadows at Liu’s compound, that he couldn’t put his finger on. But it was important.

Gloria tossed her cigarette into the lake and pushed away from the car. “I have to pee,” she said. She looked brittle. She picked her cocktail purse off the hood of the car and walked off into the thick willows.

“Don’t get lost,” McGarvey called after her.

She was gone for a couple of minutes, and when she came back she laid her purse back on the hood of the car. She was grinning, and even in the starlight her eyes were bright. “How long are we staying here?”

“If Liu hasn’t made his move by midnight we’ll head back into town,” McGarvey said. He picked up her purse, and she tried to grab it away from him, but he held it out of reach.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.

“Just curious,” McGarvey said. He opened the purse and took out a Walther PPK in the 7.65 mm version and a silencer, which he laid on the hood of the car.

“Don’t you trust me?” she demanded.

“I don’t trust anybody,” McGarvey replied. He took out a package of Marlboros and a small gold lighter, and laid them on the hood. All that was left was an American Express credit card, a couple hundred U.S. dollars, a house key, and a large gold compact.

She watched as he laid the purse down and opened the compact. The inside of the lid was a mirror. One compartment held a one-hundred-dollar bill rolled into a straw and a single-edged razor blade. The other, large compartment was filled with a white powder. Some residue was dusted on the mirror.