Duty Bound (1995) (31 page)

"Where's he living now?"

"He's got him an estate on Key Biscayne. It's only a house down from the old Nixon compound--you know, the place Nixon would hang to chill when he was president?

You ought to see the Mendez place--it's a five-acre walled in fortress with a view of the bay. Talk about nice, the place is really first-class. The guy has it made; he's a member of that swanky country club there on the key--plays golf on the best course on the East Coast and rubs shoulders with all the big-money blue bloods of the club."

Eli shifted in his chair, hating what he was hearing. "And the members don't mind a druggie being in their club?"

"He owns a piece of it. Most of the members don't even know he owns the piece, and those that do don't care. In their eyes, Mendez is for all intents and purposes a very successful legit businessman. Hell, he's got a Bell Ranger chopper right on the estate that takes him wherever he wants. Like I told you, the guy has it made. He owns a huge yacht that stays out on the bay, and he's got him two other major places. One is another big estate on an island off the Georgia coast, and he's got himself another one in the Caymans. He doesn't visit those other places much anymore, though--like I told you, he's into tropical plants now, brings them in from all over the world. Sure keeps us busy working with the Customs boys, checking them out."

"Tropical plants?" Eli repeated.

Steward nodded. "Yeah, as in rare species--he collects them. Built himself a big greenhouse on his Key Biscayne estate a couple of years ago right up against the house. We talked to the construction guys who built it. Like everything else he does, it's first-class. Hard to believe, isn't it, Mendez with a green thumb?"

"Sounds like age has mellowed him out;" Eli said. "He's become a regular family man, huh?"

Steward smiled without humor. "Mendez mellow out? No way, and he's far from being a family man. The plants must be helpin' his hormones. He's got himself a regular harem on his yacht, which he visits three nights a week. His wife must know 'cause she stays gone most of the time. Got her a big apartment in New York overlooking Central Park. The daughter is going to school there, some big-money music school. Anyway, the wife is doing her own thing. Loves spending his money and doing her personal fitness trainer-- he likes telling us how good she is in bed. Sick reading, if you have the time and the stomach for it. Bottom line is, he's doing his thing and she's doing hers; they're not a typical family by a long shot."

Eli leaned forward in his chair. "You've told me about plants and harems but nothing on what you've got on his laundering operations."

"Yeah, and for good reason--we don't have anything.

He's gotten wiser in his old age and covers his tracks with lots of middlemen who don't even know who they're workin' for. The boss has pretty much given up on him; our priorities are on those we can bring down."

"Given up on him?" Eli repeated angrily. "The son of a bitch killed--"

The door to the conference room opened and a dark-haired man stepped inside. Eli turned and gave the well-dressed intruder the once-over. The man looked like he just got off a shoot with GQ magazine. He was wearing tan loafers, slacks, and a silk shirt buttoned to the throat, and had on a lime green lightweight blazer with lots of gold buttons. His dark hair was slicked and swept back, and from the corner of his mouth half an unlit cigar protruded. He gave Eli a cold stare before shifting his look to Steward. "How about wrapping up? I've got a meeting in here in five minutes."

Steward rose. "Boss, this is Agent Tanner from the Atlanta FBI office. I was updating him on our progress.

Tanner, this is the chief of the division, Sam Ortiz."

Eli extended his hand, but Ortiz just nodded, took the unlit cigar from his mouth, and used it to motion with. "You people in the Bureau shouldn't have jumped on this without talking to us first. You've been spinning your wheels for nothing."

"Sir, I thought we had been talking to you."

"Your people have been talking, all right, but not listening. We don't need the Bureau telling us how to do our job."

"Sir, I'm sure we're all doing our jobs--Stew tells me you don't believe Mendez is the one."

"That's what I mean right there. You people came up with Mendez, but he's inactive! If you people would just let us do our jobs we'll get the one responsible."

Ortiz stuck the cigar back in the corner of his mouth and eyed Steward. "I want this room cleared in four minutes."

He turned and walked out.

"Nice guy," Eli said.

Steward retook his seat. "Intense is more like it. He took it personally when he saw the Bureau was leaning toward Mendez as the suspect. Sam has been in charge of the division for two years now. He gets results."

"Stew, you were workin' here when I was here in Miami. . . . I'd rather know what you think, not what your chief thinks. You really believe Mendez is out of this?"

Steward sighed and shook his head. "I honestly don't know--he may be retired but he's got too much dirty money stashed around not to be involved in trying to clean it. And Tanner, you and I both know that takes some work. But I do know this: If he is involved, we're not going to be able to prove a damn thing. He's been around too long to suddenly get stupid. He's covering himself, Tanner; he's covering himself even better than before. He knows how we operate and is way ahead of us. It's a dead end no matter what you or I think."

Eli's shoulders slumped as he shook his head in frustration. "After all these years, Stew--all these years and we haven't been able to come up with anything? Something is wrong."

Steward rose from his chair. "I try not to think about it anymore, Tanner; it drives me nuts when I do. You lost a partner; I've lost four friends who tried to get him. Believe me, I know what you're feeling. Let it go--he's beaten us.

Time to move on."

Steward took a step and. Put his hand on Eli's shoulder. "It was good seeing you again, Tanner. You need help covering the news lady while she's in town?"

"No, Stew, the local office is providing me support. I'm going to talk to Miss Starr once she arrives tomorrow and lay most of it out for her. Hopefully she'll understand and back off."

"Can you trust her with the truth?"

"It'll all be off the record. Starr is eager but she won't go over the line."

Steward gave Eli's shoulder a final pat. "Get her to back off, Tanner . . . she's in over her head. None of the players mess around when it comes to having their lives looked into. You'd best be real careful. If she stays and tries to find the guy, you'd best take care of yourself out there."

Minutes later Eli stepped outside and took a deep breath to calm his upset stomach as his Miami field office partner, Howard Parker, walked up. "You all done with the DEA?"

"Yeah, they laid it out for me."

"They don't have much, do they?"

"No, not much. Looks like we're losing this one."

"Yes, we've all pretty much come to that conclusion. You want to get a bite to eat before we check you into a motel?"

Eli closed his eyes for a moment to gather his strength.

"No, Howard, I've got to make a visit first and pay my respects. The wife of my old partner still lives here in Miami, and I promised I'd drop by if I ever came to town."

Parker lowered his head. "I guess you're talking about Gus's wife."

Eli nodded. "I haven't seen Alice in years, but we still exchange Christmas cards and letters. Still hasn't remarried, huh?"

"Alice? You've got to be kidding. She knows I hold the old Mendez case file, and calls me every month to see if anything new has come up. She won't let it go."

"She hasn't changed, then." Eli was steeling himself for the meeting. "She asks me in every letter and card she sends what's being done to get him."

"Are you going to tell her why you're here?"

"Yes, just to let her know we haven't forgotten. But I'm also going to tell her the truth. She deserves to know we're still trying but it doesn't look good."

Parker looked at his new partner with concern. "She won't like hearing it."

Lake Lanier, Georgia Ashley sat at the cabin's dining room table typing the finishing touches to her report on her laptop when Faraday walked up and put his hand on her shoulder.

"We gotta go. We just got a call-the cop guarding the security guy is dead and so is the security guard's wife. Our boy Duwane is missing. Looks like there was a struggle; he was bleeding when he was taken from the house."

Ashley's face paled as she stood. "My God, Ed."

"Yeah, it doesn't look good for him . . . but there is some good news. There was no attempt on the old black woman.

We've got extra officers with her now, and your people are on the way to move her to your headquarters. Maybe she'll want to talk to us now. And there's somethin' else. We got the report back on the missing female's prints. Bonita Rogers. White, age forty, had two priors in 1980. Seems she was an exotic dancer some years back in Miami and on occasion got too exotic. She moved up, though. In eighty-five she was picked up for prostitution in Miami, but later the charges were dropped. Must have had a high-class clientele. Here's the good part, though. She came up on the DEA's list of known associates of one Carlos Mendez. She was suspected of being his honey for the past year."

Ashley closed her laptop and quickly put it in the case.

"Ed, we've got a real problem here--how did Mendez know about the security guard? The press didn't have the story."

Faraday took the case from her and put it over his shoulder. "I think we've got a leak somewhere up the chain--it's the only explanation. Come on, we'll call Tanner and Agent Bowlan in the car and tell them what we've got and what happened. We gotta warn them that somebody on our side is spillin' everything we find."

Ashley strode toward the door. "We've got to find Bonita Rogers before Mendez's people find her. She's the key. It's obvious she knows his operation. If we find her first, then we've got Mendez."

Faraday shook his head. "Don't get your hopes up on that one. Remember, she and the four guys who wore boots split eleven million bucks. I bet she's already out of the country and right now she's lyin' on a beach somewhere countin' her money and drinkin' one of those colored drinks that has one of them little umbrellas in it."

Ashley slowed her steps. "We'll find her . . . we have to."

Key Biscayne Country Club Carlos Mendez was putting for par when Raul drove up to the green in a golf cart.

Mendez took a dime from his pocket and placed it behind the ball. "Go ahead, James, you try to sink your twelve footer while I speak with my associate."

Mendez picked up his ball and walked toward Raul.

Closing the distance, he whispered, "I hope you have good news for me."

"I do, Colonel. We know Bonita was involved in taking the money. The security guard told our interrogation team Bonita once borrowed the guard's car and asked for directions to Dahlonega. He also said a man visited her almost every evening while she was in the cabin."

"Who was he?" Mendez asked impatiently.

"The guard said he was a private investigator, a Ted Wilson. The team has his description as well as his vehicle's description. They're now checking the local investigators in the area."

"What else did this guard tell them?"

"He expired during the latter part of the interrogation, Colonel. He was very stubborn at the beginning, and required the cruder methods. But at least we are certain Bonita was involved."

Carlos's face tightened. "We must find Bonita and the others."

"Colonel, I have everyone available looking for her and have advised our friends of our situation. They, too, are helping. We also have help from the FBI and DEA. They are aware of her involvement and have begun a manhunt. If they find her, our DEA friend assures me he will inform us where she will be taken."

Mendez nodded once. "Very good . . . make arrangements to have a team ready to respond, and remind them I want her alive. Have you taken care of the other matter? Will I soon have the company of Miss Starr?"

"Vargas and his crew are working out the arrangements as we speak, Colonel. And the place where the authorities will receive their surprise has already been selected. The Colombians are using their boatyard for storage of their powder."

Carlos's lips drew back in a smile. "I think it honorable, dying while trying to do one's duty . . . it is a fitting end."

Raul nodded, then motioned to the green. "Your opponent just missed his putt, Colonel. I trust you'll win."

Mendez took the ball from his pocket and winked. "I always win."

FBI field office, Atlanta Ashley set the color photograph in front of the old woman who was seated holding a cup in which she spat her snuff. "Officers found his body two miles from his home, Mrs. White. He was tortured."

Halley White glanced at the photo and shook her head.

"That ain't Duwane."

Ashley dropped another photograph on the table. "That's a close-up shot, Mrs. White. That's the clothes and boots he was wearing when we interviewed you both this afternoon. It's him, all right . . . we ran a dental check and confirmed it."

"Oh, Lordy . . . poor Duwane." Halley lowered her head.