The Infinity Tattoo (11 page)

“Did you check the pack?”

“Of course, but why don’t you have a look for yourself?”

Meg could see from her hidey-hole as one of the men pulled the pack out and up onto the desk. She could hear him pulling open the zipper and some rummaging.

“Convinced?”

“Yeah, okay. Let’s get out of here.”

Meg remained perfectly still as the men walked over to the door and left. She listened to their voices recede as they moved away.

She waited another thirty seconds. Then she crawled out from under the desk. Taking a deep breath, she tried the key again. Whatever that man had done, she was now able to turn the key.

When she slid the cabinet door open, she found the backpack where the men had left it. Opening it, she examined the inside for the slit that separated the lining from the padding on the back of the pack. When she found it, she slid a trembling hand into the small space.

Her fingers touched an envelope and she drew it out. It was addressed to Jack. She recognized Alex’s handwriting. Her heart skipped a beat. Suddenly, everything she and Jack had talked about went from theory to reality. It was frightening.

With shaky hands, she slipped the envelope into her briefcase and stepped over to the door. Was there anyone out there who would see her as she opened the door? This was another peril that she and Jack had discussed. They had to chance it. With any kind of luck, if someone did see her, they wouldn’t tweak to the fact that she was coming out of Jack’s door specifically.

Okay, she thought, here goes nothing. She opened the door, pulling it closed behind her. She resisted the urge to look up and down the corridor to see if anyone had seen her. She walked briskly, retracing her steps to the service stairwell. No one paid her the slightest bit of attention. When she got there, she pushed the door open and entered the service stairwell once again.

Even though she wanted to run down the stairs, she forced herself to descend at a dignified pace. Suddenly, she heard the voices of several men. They were coming up the stairs. Meg kept going. Soon they arrived at the landing and started up the same flight she was heading down. There was nothing for it but to brazen it out. If they asked, she would tell them that she was lost. But they didn’t. They simply nodded and made space for her to pass by.

Her heart was hammering by the time she reached the service entry door and exited into the bright Arizona sunshine. Temporarily blinded, she shielded her eyes and looked around. The street was empty. She walked to her car, threw the briefcase into the passenger’s seat, and headed to the gate. She returned her day pass, retrieved her driver’s license, and headed out.

* * *

At ten minutes to two, Jack saw Meg’s car exiting the gate. As she drove by, she gave him the thumbs up. It wasn’t until they reached the rental car office, however, that his heart resumed its normal pace.

Meg turned in the rental car and came back out of the office. She hopped into the Land Cruiser. “Mission accomplished,” she said with a huge smile. “Let’s go.”

Twenty minutes later, the motel room welcomed them home in all its shabby glory. Meg threw her briefcase on the bed and shed her jacket. When she turned to him, her smile was radiant and her eyes sparkled.

And all the tension of the morning snapped Jack’s reserve. Thoughts of everything else retreated, and his world shrank until there was only this room and this woman. He closed the distance between them, pulled her into his arms and kissed her hungrily. She wrapped her arms around him and her lips responded with fierce passion.

He pushed her onto the bed and then joined her there. One of his legs settled between hers, edging her skirt to her panties. His mouth returned to hers and the kiss deepened as he caressed her breasts though the crisp cotton shirt. But it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. Raising his head, he gave his attention to the buttons on her shirt. Slowly he unbuttoned them revealing her silken flesh from her neckline, past a snowy white bra, and down to a firm belly.

She rose long enough to fling her blouse off. Then he pushed her back down onto the bed and ravished her mouth while his hands continued to caress her breasts though the thin material of her bra. Before long his lips left her mouth and made a long, exploratory journey past her jaw, her earlobe, her neck and the tops of her breasts. His hand slipped behind her back and released the hook on her bra. Pulling it away, he gazed at her round, firm breasts.

Now fully exposed, he kissed and sipped at her breasts, while his hand slipped between her legs pulling her skirt nearly to her waist. He slipped his finger under her panties and felt the inviting wetness there. His finger found the nub of her desire and stroked it, enjoying the undulation of her hips. He could sense her rising passion and continued relentless until she finally moaned, “Jack, please.”

He paused only long enough to remove her panties. Then his hand slipped back up her legs. There was something extremely erotic about a woman with her business skirt pushed up to her hips with nothing underneath. His finger returned to that most sensitive spot and stroked it while suckling first one taut nipple, then the other.

* * *

Meg was lost in a maelstrom of desire. She lay beside Jack in nothing but her skirt. He was still fully dressed, making her feel exposed and vulnerable. She could feel the rigid length of his desire pressed against her leg while he stoked her like a violin. Her hips undulated under his sweet, insistent caresses while her nipples hardened, stirring something deep inside of her.

Then she cried out as wave after wave of pleasure spread from her center through her stomach and breasts to the very tips of her fingers and toes.

As she spun slowly back to earth, she found herself alone on the bed and she could feel the cool air where Jack’s body had been. She opened her eyes and watched him shed his clothes. He had extracted a condom from his back jeans pocket and now he sheathed it over his penis. And her heart skipped a beat. He was so gorgeous with that perfect physique: sculpted shoulders, tight ass, long muscular legs.

Then he lay on top of her and nudged her legs apart, planting his own firmly between hers and she could feel his manhood pressing into her, seeking entrance. He slid partway into her and Meg gasped. Then he pulled out and slid in again, but only partway.

Impatient, Meg grabbed his hips and arched into him until she was fully impaled. The feeling of his turgid penis filled her and she arched again and again to his rhythm. Sensing that he was about to go over the edge, she let herself go. She felt another spam of intense pleasure rocket her just as he found his own release.

Jack lay sated, arms and legs tangled with Meg’s, letting the tension flow from his limbs, his neck, his face, even his eyelids.

Well,” Meg said. “Do you think maybe we ought to see what’s in that package?”

“Mm . . .” he replied, pinning her down for a moment longer. Then he rose and put on his boxers.

He sat down on the bed and carefully withdrew the contents of the manila envelope. He put the contents on the bed. There were several sheets of printed-out emails and a couple of postcards.

The emails were back and forth between Augusto Garcia and “Luis in Honduras”. The messages, written in Spanish, were cryptic:

From:              LuisInHonduras

To:              Augusto Garcia

Date:               Wed, July 1, 2009 at 9:36 AM

Subject: Re: Status update

Thanks for your message. Reyes looks like he could be a real problem. Please take care of it.

* * *

From:              Augusto Garcia

To:              LuisInHonduras

Date:               Fri, July 3, 2009 at 10:46 AM

Subject: Demonstration

The problem with Reyes has disappeared. Meanwhile, there are plans underway for a major demonstration in front of the Presidential Palace being led by Martinez and Castillo. What would you like us to do?

* * *

From:              LuisInHonduras

To:              Augusto Garcia

Date:               Fri, July 3, 2009 at 3:45 PM

Subject: Re: Demonstration

We can’t touch Martinez or Castillo. They are too visible. Let them go ahead, but keep tabs on major players.

* * *

From:              Augusto Garcia

To:              LuisInHonduras

Date:               Fri, July 10, 2009 at 8:46 AM

Subject: Journalist

We intercepted Vargas taking photos and interviewing protesters. He is becoming more and more of a problem every day. Please advise.

* * *

From:              LuisInHonduras

To:              Augusto Garcia

Date:               Fri, July 10, 2009 at 2:37 AM

Subject: Re: Journalist

You need to take care of this problem as soon as possible. If you can identify any of his colleagues, take care of them as well.

* * *

Meg read them over quickly with Jack looking over her shoulder.

“See, that’s why I didn’t do anything with them,” Jack said. “They mean nothing to me. Do they make sense to you?”

“I’m not sure,” Meg said.

“Look at these last two,” he said. “The subject line is ‘Journalist’. Did you know of any journalist called Vargas?”

“No, but we might be able to find him on the web,” Meg said, reaching for her IPad. After several minutes searching the net, she grew still. “Jack, look at this.” She handed him her IPad open on an article from La Prensa.

On 22 July, in San Pedro Sula, conflict occurred between hundreds of protestors against the coup d'état and security forces.
Many people witnessed journalist Mauricio Samuel Vargas, 33 years old, being detained by police
and driven to San Pedro Sula’s central police station. At 6:30 the following morning, his body was found in a deserted field, with 17 wounds from stabbing. Demonstrators and the National Front Against the Coup d'État stated that the murder had all the characteristics of 1980s actions of Battalion 3-16, as a method of terrorizing the masses of people participating in the struggle against the coup regime.

As Jack read the article, Meg stood and began to pace. “Do you realize what this means? Where’s that email about Vargas?” she said, shuffling quickly through them with shaking hands. “Look. It says: ‘We intercepted Vargas taking photos and interviewing protesters. He is becoming more and more of a problem every day. Please advise.’”

“And what does the response say?” Meg continued. “‘You need to take care of this problem as soon as possible. If you can identify any of his colleagues, take care of them as well.’ It’s dated July 10. And then a journalist by the name of Vargas was killed on July 22. Jack, I bet these messages are about taking people out.”

“Taking them out?”

“As in making them disappear. Look how this one message reads,” Meg said. “‘The problem with Reyes has disappeared.’ I mean how do you make a problem disappear? Then the next one says, ‘We can’t touch Martinez or Castillo. They are too visible.’ Too visible for what? I’d say too visible to do them harm.”

“If these messages are what you think they are,” Jack said, “then we were right. This information Alex had was incredibly damaging for Augusto and this guy, Luis.”

She nodded her head vigorously in agreement. Then she paused, lost in thought. “But . . .”

“What?”

“But it’s not enough to explain what’s going on now. I mean, okay, so we have information that some guy named Augusto was making people disappear right after the coup. But so what? Journalists are still being murdered today and no one is investigating them. Even after Alex disappeared and the international press was all over it, nothing was solved. So why now and why you?”

“I don’t know,” Jack said. He picked up the postcards and looked at them. They were pictures of two of the main tourist attractions in Honduras. “And what’s with these postcards?”

“Hm,” Meg said. “Let’s have a look at those.” One was of Copan, an ancient Mayan ruin that had been excavated fairly recently. The other postcard was of the island resort of Roatan. It showed an enticingly long, sandy beach with thatched cabins dotted here and there next to a deep blue ocean. She turned them over. No messages had been written on them. She held one up to the light, but didn’t see anything.

“Beats me what they’re supposed to mean,” she said.

* * *

They spent the rest of the afternoon scouring the internet, looking for any mention of Augusto Garcia. But there was nothing. They tried any and all articles about the coup, about Honduras, about Battalion 3-16.

Finally, Meg threw her IPad onto the bed and stood up. “This is getting us nowhere, Jack. Let’s go for a walk, clear our heads.”

The hotel was located on a commercial street lined with the usual fast food places, drug stores, an assortment of cheap motels, and gas stations. In the arid, ninety-degree heat with the sun blazing down, the street was an uninviting collage of grays and tans and blacks.

Cars whizzed by, making it hard to talk, so Meg steered them onto a side street. It was equally as uninviting, but at least the noise of the traffic on the thoroughfare was muffled.

“I bet you anything this Augusto character has connections to the old Battalion 3-16,” Meg said.

“So what if he does?”

“So I wonder who he’s working for,” she said, thinking out loud.

“Well, you know the situation there better than I do.”

“Yeah, I’m thinking about who would benefit from suppressing the protests. My guess is that it’s one or more congressmen from the interim government. Remember the dates on those emails? It was during the coup. The interim government was trying its best to put a good face on things.”

“Could be someone in the military, as well. Wasn’t the Battalion 3-16 a military operation?”

“Yes, it was. That might explain the connection to you.”

Before returning to the hotel, they stopped at a Mexican restaurant and had a quick dinner. As they ate, Meg’s thoughts were far away from the contents of Alex’s package. They were on Jack and the mind-shattering sex they had had when they returned from the base. Just thinking about it made her hot. When she glanced up at him, she could see the same passion smoldering in his eyes.

This time, when they entered their dark, cool cave of a room Jack backed her up against the door and kissed her hungrily. Meg fumbled at the buttons of his shirt impatiently. He pulled her hands away and unbuttoned it himself.

She pushed the shirt off over his shoulders and ran her hands over the smooth skin of his back. But she wanted more. She grabbed the waist of his jeans and tugged.

Jack moaned. He stopped kissing her long enough to pull her over to the bed. Quickly, they undressed and fell onto the mattress.

* * *

The next morning, Meg got up and went in search of caffeine. She returned a little later and sat on the bed, sipping the not very good coffee. When she set the Styrofoam cup back down on the nightstand, it spilled a little. She had overfilled it.

“Damn,” she said and ran to the bathroom for some tissue to soak up the small pool of coffee. She hated mess. One of the postcards sitting on the nightstand had got in it too. Luckily, only the edge was wet.

As she picked it up to pat it dry, she noticed that the corner was peeling back. “What the hell?” she said, holding the card up to the lamp for a better look. The front and back of the card had split apart. And it looked like there was another photo under the picture of Copan. She gently peeled the touristy photo away.

And sure enough, underneath was another photo. It showed three men sitting around the table. One of them looked vaguely familiar to her. He was in his late forties and very distinguished looking in a well-tailored suit. She didn’t recognize the other two.

“Jack,” she said. “Jack, wake up and look at this.”

The excitement in her voice brought him straight out of his doze. “What is it?”

“This,” she said, handing the photograph to him. “It was under the picture on the postcard.”

“I recognize this guy,” Jack said.

“You mean the one on the left?” Meg said.

“No, the one in the middle.” Jack pointed to an older man. He had a long face with white wavy hair and a thick white mustache. His eyes were hooded.

“So who is he?”

“I can’t remember.”

“Jack!”

“What I mean is, I’ve seen his face somewhere, but I can’t remember where.”

“Fat lot of good that does,” she said. “Here, have some coffee. Maybe that will help wake you up, help you remember.”

Jack sipped the coffee and continued to study the photograph. Finally he shook his head and stood. “I’m going to take a shower. Maybe that will help clear my head.”

Meg stared at the closed bathroom door. She certainly hoped his memory would come back. Meanwhile, she carefully peeled away the touristy picture from the other postcard, the one with a picture of a sandy beach in Roatan. The same man, the one that Jack recognized, was with three other men. One was in military uniform and the other two wore suits. They seemed to be in a serious discussion. Meg was sure they the picture had been taken surreptitiously.

Now, she scoured the net. She was pretty sure she recognized the guy on the left in the first photo. As she glanced through one article after another about the coup, she found him. He was sitting at the conference table at a press conference with the interim president who had stepped into the deposed president’s shoes. The caption identified him as Luis Medrano Pedroza, prominent member of the Honduras congress.

Meg felt a tingle go up her spine. Those email correspondents were between Augusto and “Luis in Honduras”.

As the implications of this discovery swirled around in her head, Jack emerged from the bathroom with a towel around his waist and a huge grin on his face.

“I remembered.”

“Great! So who is it?”

“I don’t know. I only know that I’ve seen him before. He was in a photo having a beer with my commanding officer, Richard Parker. It was an old photo. Parker looked to be in his twenties.”

“Where is this picture?”

“It’s online. Here, let me show you.” He took the IPad and began browsing. It took a few tries, but he was able to track down the site he had been using when he found the picture. “That’s strange,” he said.

“What?” Meg asked.

“The picture isn’t there. Look, when you click on the link, it takes you to another story altogether.”

“What do you think happened to it?” Meg said. “Do you think someone took it down?”

Jack stood and started pacing in the small room. “The thing is, the day I found that picture, Colonel Parker came into my office. He saw the picture and asked me what it was doing on the web. He seemed agitated, and wanted to know how a picture that old ended up there. Then he asked me to email the link to him.”

“So, you think he somehow had it removed?” Meg said.

“Seems like it.”

“Well, considering the kind of work this Augusto seems to be doing, it’s no wonder your commanding officer didn’t want to be seen with him.”

“I suppose so. But it was a really old picture. Why would he care now?”

“I don’t know,” Meg said pensively. “But anyway, look at this,” she said, showing him the article with the headshot of Pedroza. “He’s a very prominent member of the Honduran congress. Don’t you think that’s interesting? Those emails are from someone named Luis.”