The Infinity Tattoo (17 page)

Roberto returned to his office and closed the door. He needed to think. He couldn’t believe what had just transpired in Karl’s office. He had just come face-to-face with Jack Cunningham. As far as he knew, the guy had been redeployed back to the United States. Roberto never expected to hear from him again. But there he was, large as life, sitting in Karl’s office.

He stood up and straightened his jacket. He needed to get out, clear his head. His tour in Honduras was coming to an end, and as far as he was concerned the end couldn’t come fast enough. It had been one of the toughest assignments he’d ever had. He hadn’t expected it to be. Sure there was the whole security situation with drug trafficking and the narcos wreaking havoc everywhere, but that just made it more interesting. The Regional Security Office in Honduras had a big job.

What he hadn’t expected was a coup, he didn’t think it would come to that. But the man had been asking for it. Bad enough that the president joined ALBA (a consortium of Latin American communist countries), that he refused to manage the country’s finances, that he imposed sweeping social reforms without thought to the consequences on the economy, but then he had called for that damned referendum to allow a second presidential term.

It was more that the Honduran ruling class could take. Roberto understood that. No president was allowed to serve more than one term. Period. Like Chavas, the man was trying to position himself as life president, a dictator.

Despite opposition from the congress, despite rulings from the supreme court against the action, he pushed forward. The final blow was when the ballots were shipped. The president ordered his head of the military to distribute them and when he refused, he fired him. But worse, the ballots were printed in Venezuela and shipped in a Venezuelan plane.

Roberto had known what would follow. He had Honduran colleagues who knew what was happening on the ground. The army would be taking the president out. Roberto listened to the word around the embassy, that the ambassador was meeting with congress to try to calm the situation down. He watched as the ambassador attended a televised conference. He heard that the minute it was over, the coup leaders went into action.

Therefore it was no surprise when he received a call at the crack of dawn on June 28, in the first year of his tour. The army had taken the president out. As a regional security officer, he was needed at the embassy.

The weeks and months following the coup had been extremely difficult for Roberto. The entire world had condemned Honduras for its foolhardy actions. The days of Latin American coups were over. That was the message. Find another way, a political way, to dissuade a politician from getting out of control.

But to Roberto, the actions of the Honduran elite were the only actions they could have taken. Communists were like worms in the soil waiting for their opportunity to gain a stronghold in a country.

Look what had happened in Nicaragua, his parents’ homeland. When Daniel Ortega took power, he ripped the country apart with land reform and wealth redistribution. Roberto’s parents lost everything, and had to flee the country to the United States. Roberto’s mother never recovered. The sudden move, being thrust into a foreign environment, was too much for her already fragile mental state and a form of dementia set in rapidly.

But Roberto had grown up in the United States. His first allegiance was to his new country. Much as he disagreed with the current administration’s reaction, he resolved to keep his nose clean, until he could move on.

But then the regional security office had received a letter from some soldier at Soto Cano who claimed to know where to find the body of the American journalist. Just who was this soldier and what else did he know? The coup was in the past. Honduras had duly elected a new president, and the world was ready to forgive and forget. The last thing they needed was more attention from the press.

As it was his assignment to handle all outside correspondence coming into his office, he knew that no one else had seen the letter, so he shoved it into his briefcase. Later that afternoon, he had lunch with Victor and handed him the letter. Victor thanked him for the information and assured him he had done the right thing.

Now the soldier was back in Honduras. Roberto could see that he and his colleague had brought along some documents. They were sitting on Karl’s desk. What was in those documents and how much damage could they cause? Until he knew, he had to proceed with caution.

He walked to a coffee shop a few blocks from the embassy and took a seat in the back corner. He pulled his cell phone out and made a call.

* * *

Augusto stared down from his balcony at his beloved city and swore under his breath. Roberto’s news was disquieting. Cunningham was right here in Tegucigalpa, under his nose. And he was stirring up trouble.

On one level he admired the guy. There weren’t too many people in this world who could out-punch the thugs he’d sent to get information out of him, elude his best surveillance team, and then turn the game around and come to Honduras. He could use a few more men like that on his side.

But unfortunately, Cunningham was not working for him. He and that reporter were digging up dirt, he was sure of that. So what had they found out? It had to be something significant to get an audience at the US Embassy. Who had Roberto told him they had seen? Karl something, the political officer. This was not good, not good at all.

Back in February, Augusto had been furious when he’d found out that someone had tried to kill Cunningham in a drive-by shooting. He and some other military officers had gone to San Pedro Sula on a humanitarian mission. Honduras had been in the path of more than one hurricane that had the potential to decimate the country, and these men were asked to check their emergency preparedness.

While they were there, a couple of his henchmen took it upon themselves to take Cunningham out. He hadn’t ordered it. But some of his underlings were all too anxious to please. They thought Augusto would be happy that they’d eliminated this problem. Now, he wished they had succeeded.

He wanted to bang some heads together, starting with Richard Parker. Parker had been supposed to keep an eye on the guy. But then, Richard was a pansy. He learned that a long time ago.

Even in his youth he was far too much of a gentleman, gentle being the operative word. He’d had to get Richard drunk, then coax out the machismo in him. Every man had machismo. Some just chose to bury it under a façade of gentility. But often, a little alcohol helped them to shed that façade.

Richard was pretty easy to handle once he’d consumed a fair amount of rum. Augusto played to his somewhat fragile male ego, stroked him, made him feel manly, made him feel like he could conquer the world. From there, it wasn’t hard to get Richard to work on his prisoner. He’d enticed Richard to the holding cell, telling him he was going to share a little secret with him.

Juanita was young and nubile, the little communist slut. He showed Richard how they interrogated traitors, then invited him to have a go. When Richard hesitated, Augusto had had to goad him on. Augusto knew where to strike at a man’s ego and it had worked. He even had the photographs to prove it.

If only the major hadn’t shown up when he had. They were so close to having little Juanita. He was sure she would fight hard. Even thinking about it now excited him. But the major had booted them out of the holding cell. Augusto had dragged the drunken Richard away. He heard the shot a few minutes later. The major had killed her, he was sure. He didn’t want to leave any evidence behind.

When Augusto finally got Richard to the bar where they had begun, the pussy had vomited. Then he’d cried. Then he’d vomited some more. Augusto had managed to convince the owner of the place to let him sleep it off in the back of the bar. When he’d returned late the next afternoon, Richard was gone.

Augusto waited until he got his film developed before paying Richard a visit at Soto Cano. Richard was not happy to see him. But Augusto insisted that Richard join him for a drink. Like before, he encouraged Richard to drink more than he could handle. When Richard was blurry-eyed, Augusto started bragging about how they had taught that communist, little Juanita, a lesson or two.

“What do you mean?” Richard had asked.

“You mean you don’t remember?”

“No, I don’t. I think I blacked out.”

“What a shame. We had such a good time with her. She fought like a she-cat. I had to hold her down for you.”

“You . . . you did?”

“Yeah. But you did good. Here check out this photograph,” Augusto said. It showed Richard grabbing her breasts and grinning like a fool.

“Give me that,” said Richard. He lunged for it, but Augusto pulled it away at the last moment, causing Richard to fall out of his chair.

Augusto laughed. “Don’t worry, my friend,” he said as he tucked the photo into his jacket. “Your secret is safe. Trust me. Only you and I will ever know about it.”

Now, nearly thirty years later, that little charade was still paying off. He had kept in touch with Richard over the years. Whenever he learned that Richard had been promoted, he had given him a call. Congratulated him. He also kept track of Richard’ family life, his marriage to a pretty young blond, the birth of his first child, a boy named James, and his second, a girl called Emily. Each time, Augusto contacted him.

He also called him when he needed a favor, something that needed doing on the US side of his operations. And of course, Parker had always said yes. He had always complied, the chicken-livered excuse for a man.

So when trouble started, with the inquiry into the disappearance of the journalist at the US embassy, he called him once again. Richard was not happy about it, but then what could he do? He only had a few years to retirement with a healthy pension.

They were old, the two of them. But Richard’s children had yet to have children of their own. Not like Augusto. Augusto was a proud grandfather of four, with another one on the way. It was time, he knew, to give up the realm of politics and settle into a nice peaceful life as a loving grandpa.

But first, he had to take care of this gnarly little problem. Damn that Cunningham. Damn him to hell. What did he know? How much damage control was Augusto going to have to do?

Meg and Jack flagged down a taxi outside the embassy. After instructing the driver to take them to their hotel, Meg turned to Jack.

“So, what do you think? Are they going to do anything?” she said.

They spoke in English, but were still cautious as they were in the presence of the taxi driver. You never knew.

“I think so. I sure hope so. We do have an ace up our sleeves. We can always go to the press,” Jack said.

“Yes, but we have to think about your career. Sure it would be great for mine, if I wanted to continue being a journalist, but for you? In the military?”

“Good point. Which leads us to our next step. We need to start working on the military end of things. Which means I need to make some calls.”

When they arrived at the hotel, Jack paid the taxi driver. He surveyed the busy street. It was becoming a habit of his, to keep tabs on everything around him. There were a few pedestrians, but not many. He noticed one taxi with a license plate that started with WTF.
What the fuck
, Jack thought and smiled.

When they got up to their room, Meg asked him who he was going to call.

“I’ll start with some guys at Soto Cano.”

“Can’t we just go there?” she asked.

“No. Security is really tight. Civilians aren’t allowed. And it’s too risky for me. No, I’ll start with some emails.”

Mission accomplished, there was nothing more to do but wait. They didn’t know when they would hear back from either the embassy or Jack’s colleagues at the base. Jack hated waiting. He liked action, plans, anything but waiting.

Just after lunch, Jack got a call back from one of his colleagues. Mike told him he was coming into town and could Jack meet him at the Casa de Puro at four p.m.

At three thirty they hailed a taxi.

* * *

“Meg, I think we’re being followed.”

“Really?” she said, looking around. “By whom? What do they look like?”

“See that white taxi with the number plate that starts WTF? I noticed it when we got out of the cab at the hotel. Now it’s behind us again.”

“But there are a lot of taxis in this town. Are you sure that’s the same one?”

“I’m sure.” he said, then told the driver in Spanish, “We’ve changed our minds. Can you take us to the Intercontinental Hotel?”

Jack rolled the window down. He was sitting next to the driver on the passenger side. This choice of seating was deliberate, a defensive tactic that Meg had learned when working in the field. With both of them sitting in the back, the driver could engage the child safety locks and they would be trapped. With one in the front, they could fight back if the driver tried to pull something on them.

Jack adjusted the rearview mirror on his side of the car so that he could see the suspect car as the taxi changed course. The car with the “WTF” plates followed each turn the driver made.

“Do you know the Intercontinental Hotel?” Jack asked Meg.

“I do. There’s a restaurant to the left when you enter the lobby, but there are no exits. If you go straight through the lobby, there’s an outdoor seating area.”

“Are there any exits from the outdoor area?”

“Yes. And there are little alcoves for guests to sit and have a drink.”

When they pulled into the drop-off loop in front of the hotel, Jack pressed the fare into the taxi driver’s hand. They strolled casually into the lobby, to avoid attracting attention, and headed to the patio area. Meg led them to a small alcove surrounded by tall tropical plants.

She watched the entrance through the palm fronds.

“See anything?” Jack said.

“It’s hard to say. I see people coming and going, but they look like guests to me. Wait, here come a couple of guys. They’re wearing suits and look serious. They’re just standing there, looking around. Now they’re walking over to the bar. It looks like they’re ordering coffee. But their attitude is anything but relaxed. I’d say they’re scoping the place out.”

“What do you say we head out in that direction?” Jack said, gesturing towards a walkway opposite from where the men stood. It looked like it led to another part of the hotel.

“Let’s go,” Meg said.

Jack put his arm around Meg and kissed her on the cheek. “Let’s take it slowly, like lovers,” he said. Meg thought that doing that wouldn’t require much deception.

The walkway eventually led to a section of the hotel with meeting rooms on either side of the hallway. About halfway down the hall, a short corridor led to an exit. They pushed the door open and found themselves in the large hotel parking lot.

“This way,” Meg said. They walked smartly down the sidewalk that bordered the parking lot. It led to the main street in front of the hotel. It was jammed with cars. Meg took Jack’s hand and led him, weaving in and out of the traffic, to the other side of the street, where there was a large mall.

They went in and looked around. “Come on,” Meg said, pulling Jack into a department store. They meandered through the men’s section, looking at socks, dress shirts, and ties, all the while keeping an eye on the entrance.

“I think we lost them,” Meg said.

* * *

Because of the circuitous route they’d had to take, they were late arriving at Casa de Puro, but fortunately, Mike was still there. He sat outside on the veranda leisurely smoking a cigar.

When he saw Jack approach, he stood and held out his hand.

“Jack, my man. I barely recognized you. What’s with the beard and scruffy hair?”

“It’s a very long story and you’re probably better off not knowing.”

“Does this have anything to do with that shooting when you were here?”

“Yes, it does actually. Do you mind if we go inside?”

“Sure, no problem,” said Mike, tamping out his cigar.

They found a table that was tucked away in a corner, Jack sat with his back to the wall, facing the door. They ordered beers and waited for them to be served. Then Jack spoke:

“I need some advice. See, I need to report something concerning a senior officer in the Air Force. It’s a bit of a sticky situation.”

“How senior?” said Mike.

“He’s a colonel.”

“That’s pretty senior. To go over his head, you would have to go to a general.”

“The thing is, some of them might not want to hear what I have to tell them. So, it has to be someone who will listen, someone who would be willing to deal with an issue of ethics.”

“Now you really have my curiosity peaked.”

“Let’s say that someone who is now a colonel committed a crime a long time ago, when he was an airman just out of boot camp. And let’s say someone else is using that information to blackmail that colonel.”

“But if the crime happened a long time ago, what does it have to do with now?”

“The blackmailer is now in a political position.”

“I see,” Mike said, regarding his friend seriously. “I know of one man who is top notch. A lot of integrity, cares greatly about our image in the rest of the world. The problem is, I don’t know him personally. I would have to do a little networking. It may take a couple of days.”

“That’s okay. We’ll wait. And thanks, man. I really appreciate it,” Jack said.

“No problem.”

* * *

It was just starting to get dark when Jack and Meg flagged down a taxi to return to their hotel. All of a sudden the taxi driver took a wrong turn.

“What are you doing?” Meg said. “The hotel is that way. Why are you turning here?”

“Don’t worry. I know where I’m going.”

“Like hell you do,” Jack said. “Now either turn around or let us out.”

The taxi driver turned into narrow side street and pulled over. The front passenger door was jerked open and Meg saw the driver shove Jack out of the car. Then the back door opened and Meg was pulled from the car by her arm. She struggled to stand up, as the man holding her put her into a choke hold and dragged her towards a waiting van. Meg screamed and kicked and squirmed until the man tightened his hold on her airway.

Her vision blurred as she watched Jack fight two men, thugs with tattoos covering their arms. One had a switchblade. With a swift kick that seemed to come out of nowhere, Jack knocked the knife out of the guy’s hand. Then he turned, kneed the other assailant in the groin, and followed up with a quick chop to the man’s neck. As the man fell to his knees like a demolished building, the other man jumped on Jack’s back.

Jack dropped down and grabbed the man’s shirt, pulling him off-center and over onto the ground.

Then the grip on Meg’s neck was suddenly released. The man holding her lunged at the switchblade lying on the ground.

“Jack, behind you,” she yelled. Jack turned just in time to dodge out of the vicious swipe of the blade. Then he smashed the man’s arm with his forearm, knocking the knife to the ground.

“Run, Meg,” he shouted.

Meg tried to. But her foot landed on something loose, causing her to fall. Disregarding the pain, she crawled out of sight behind a pile of trash. Her hands landed on the object that had caused her to fall: a large beer bottle.

She could see that Jack was losing the battle. He was being dragged towards the van. Without giving it any thought, she screamed like a banshee and charged at the thugs.

She swung the bottle as hard as she could over the head of the first man she encountered. The bottle broke on impact and he slumped to the ground. The other two turned and faced her, this mad female assailant. The distraction was just sufficient for Jack to land a kick to the kidneys of one of them. When the other turned back towards Jack, Jack’s foot was in a direct trajectory towards the man’s head.

The man she had bottled, started to stand, blood streaming down his face. The other two were temporarily down for the count. Jack grabbed Meg’s hand, and they tore out of the narrow street and unto the main thoroughfare.

“Over here,” Meg cried, gesturing at a small shopping center. They entered the building and Meg looked around for a likely place to hole up. She spotted a sign for the washrooms and dragged Jack into the ladies room. There was a woman at the sink washing her hands. Before she had a chance to look up, Meg pulled Jack into a stall.

They stared at each other, not daring to utter a word. Then they heard the woman head towards the door. Another moment of silence followed. Then Meg said, “Are you okay?”

Jack grimaced. “I’ll survive.”

Meg noticed that he was clutching his side. Blood oozed around his fingers and dripped onto the tiled floor. “Oh my God, Jack. You’re bleeding.”

“It’s just a flesh wound. I’ll be all right.”

She stepped out of the stall and looked around the bathroom. There were no paper towels, only a toilet paper dispenser. She grabbed a handful and returned to the stall.

She pressed them into his side and they immediately became soaked with blood. “Stay here,” she said. “I’ll be back as quickly as I can.”

“Where are you going?”

“I need to get some supplies. Promise you’ll wait right here.”

“Okay, I promise.”

Meg exited the stall and washed the blood from her hands. She checked her reflection in the mirror. She looked disheveled, but she figured she could get by. She ran her fingers through her hair, then turned and headed out of the bathroom and into the shopping center.

She spotted a small department store with clothing displayed in the window. She just hoped she could find what she needed. Entering the store, she gazed at the signs. Men’s clothing was on the left. She headed over in that direction. She found a large men’s T-shirt.

She kept her head down as she paid for it, not wanting the clerk to get a good look at her. Next she found a grocery store. She entered and peered down the aisles until she found housewares. She grabbed several dishtowels and proceeded to check out.

There were lines at every cash register, which was no surprise considering that it was early evening. People were shopping after work before heading home. She stood in the express line. It was moving fairly fast until the women in front of her got to the head of the line. Meg could see that she didn’t have a lot of items in her basket. This was good. Soon she would be out of there.

But no such luck. The woman removed her items and placed them in three separate piles. As the cashier rang up the items in the first pile, the women extracted small change from her purse and slowly counted out the total. Meg shifted from one foot to another. She glanced around at the other tills. But every one of them had lines three or four people deep.

Now the woman began counting out change for the second pile of purchases, using money from her pocket. Good, Meg thought, one more purchase and we’re done.

For the third pile, the woman pulled the money out of a different pocket. Slowly she started to count it out. She didn’t have enough. She selected an item to remove. The cashier subtracted it and told her the new amount. She still didn’t have enough money, so she removed another item. Finally she had enough for her purchase.

By now Meg felt like screaming. But instead, she quickly paid for her towels and hurried out of the store.