The Tangled Web: an international web of intrigue, murder and romance (8 page)

“What the bloody hell do we do with that boy?”

David brooded silently for a moment before launching back into his tirade. “If he was here, I’d give him a damned good thrashing. That boy has turned his back on every opportunity we’ve given him. That bloody school has cost me a damned fortune and all for absolutely nothing! What in the name of God could he be thinking, the little idiot?”

Although they never failed to jar her, Elizabeth Armstrong had learned to deal with her husband’s outbursts and, as protective as she was of her son, she admitted David’s anger was justified on this occasion. Although she tried not to make it obvious, Logan was the apple of her eye. In many ways he was much like his father, although David had never been able to see that. “What about Wellington?” she ventured cautiously, afraid her suggestion might inflame David’s already foul mood.

“What about Wellington? More money down the drain? Why don’t we just put him in a local school and let the little bleeder sink or swim?”

“Well, we could do that,” Elizabeth answered, appearing to demur to him. “I went to a local school and my education was good enough.”

David stared at Elizabeth. He seemed to be considering her suggestion seriously. “He’s my son,” he finally said in exasperation.

“He’s my son too. And I think we both want the best for him. Maybe being expelled will turn him around.”

“I don’t know about that, Liz. What do you know about Wellington?”

“From all I gather it’s an excellent school. The problem is it might be hard to get him in after this.”

“He needs a school that will administer discipline instead of carrying on all that elitist nonsense like that damned place that’s been charging a king’s ransom. They should be throwing in a university degree for that kind of money.”

Elizabeth decided silence was the best course now the seed had been planted.

“Find out more about Wellington and let me know if they’ll take him, Liz. Let’s see where we go from there.”

Lauren repressed a smile as she glanced fleetingly at Logan.

“I should have known you would ferret it out,” he grinned good-naturedly. “Anyway, I think we’ve bored you enough.” He turned to Virginia. “I’d like to show Lauren around the property if you don’t mind. I’m sure she’d like to see it.”

“They make a lovely couple, don’t they?” Virginia sighed wistfully as she watched Logan and Lauren walk away.

“What on earth are you talking about?” Gordon asked. Then the penny dropped. “Is that why you invited them both to spend the night? You’re out of your mind, Virginia.”

“But there’s a nice little spark there don’t you think? I haven’t seen Logan look at a woman that way in a long time.”

“Virginia, if I were you, I’d keep my nose out of it. You should know your brother well enough by now to not meddle. In any case, I don’t trust that woman. No telling what she’s after.”

“Which woman with a grain of sense wouldn’t be after Logan?”

“I’m not entirely sure it’s Logan she’s after.”

“Well, it certainly isn’t you, Gordon.”

Gordon chose not to pursue it. Virginia was better off in her insular little world.

ELEVEN

The Prime Minister, the Honorable Erick Freeman, sat in a comfortable rocker looking out at a misty-blue sea stretching to the horizon. The day was unusually clear and from where Freeman sat on his upstairs verandah, he could see Cuba floating on the horizon like a mirage. Squinting at the far away cloud he knew was in fact the neighboring island, Freeman’s mind settled on an obscure bit of information, one he found of particular interest. Back in the nineteen eighties, Colombia’s Medellín cartel had paid officials in Cuba’s Ministry of Interior six million U.S. dollars to transship six tons of cocaine through Cuba to the United States. Freeman calculated that payment amounted to a million a ton, considerably less than his organization was charging to move eighty tons or more through the island en route to Europe. Freeman was aware his cut may have been considered steep, but with law enforcement in Central America becoming increasingly vigilant, he knew he had room for negotiation. He offered what few other countries in the region could: unobstructed passage for the container ships. What had prompted him to demand fifty percent of gross profits was another interesting bit of information he had stumbled upon. The Mexican, Juan Carlos Abrego, charged a forty to fifty percent commission. Freeman had pounced on that idea. However, Abrego’s commission was in kind, which suited Abrego. The Mexican had his hands in the U.S. market at that time. What Freeman wanted was cash – hard, cold cash. U.S. dollars.

The Prime Minister swished his rum and coke listening to the ice crackle as he watched the cars making their way along a road in the near distance. He conceded he was what you might call comfortable. He had this pleasant home when he wasn’t confined to the official residence of the Prime Minister, a nice enough apartment in Sutton Place, and the chateau in Provence where he entertained select friends from time to time. Freeman thought about it. If he were to be completely honest with himself, what he wanted was power. Absolute power. He was beginning to discover that that was not an easy thing to achieve. He wondered if his neighbor Fidel Castro hadn’t been right.

Freeman smiled grimly. They may have foolishly believed he would never get wind of it, but he was fully aware there had been rumblings among certain members of his cabinet of late. Three cabinet members in particular were of deep concern. From what he had been told, they were becoming alarmingly vocal about the government’s complete ineptitude in getting crime under control. Margaret Thomas came as no surprise. Neither did Boyd, the Minister of Tourism. It was Allan Harvey who had turned out to be the unexpected thorn in his side. He and Allan went back a long way. Together they had driven the party to success. There was room in his plan for a man like Allan. The problem was Allan seemed to have other ideas.

The ceiling fan hummed almost noiselessly above as Erick Freeman continued rocking deep in thought. At one time, he had seriously considered forcing the resignations of the three ministers. However, that idea had turned out to be flawed. They were popular with their constituents. They were above reproach as far as anyone knew, though he didn’t think it would be that difficult to pin something on them. One thing was certain, some form of action had to be taken before it was too late. Freeman stopped in mid thought. For a minute he wasn’t sure and then he realized his wife was calling him. “Erick, there’s an urgent call for you,” she said coming out and handing him the phone.

Erick Freeman’s face darkened as he listened. “Damn!” he barked. “How did that happen? This can’t go on! How the hell did they make a stupid blunder like that?”

Immune to the Prime Minister’s tirades, the person on the other end of the line stated calmly, “I can’t answer that at this point. I’ll look into it. Just thought you would want to know.”

“Make sure you handle it or heads will roll. That’s a promise. While I have you on the phone, heard anything back from our lady?”

“Still waiting for final confirmation. But from what I gather from her partner, it’s a done deal. They’re set to go.”

“Well, that at least is good news. Keep me apprised, will you? I’m anxious to hear what she says.”

Frank Sterling, the Minister of National Security and Defense, soberly considered the Prime Minister’s outburst. Erick’s frequent tantrums were becoming worrying. Erick had become nothing short of a megalomaniac. If he showed further signs of instability, he could very easily rock the boat. Sterling found Freeman’s threat about heads rolling particularly unsettling in light of the recent threat that had been issued to Robert Palmer. Sterling hadn’t agreed with that reckless course of action. Palmer may have been powerless when all was said and done, but nobody was above indictment. The minister was not a happy man as he picked up the phone and quickly dialed another number.

“Frank here,” he announced briskly. “The PM’s fit to be tied over that C.I.D. detective. We need to talk. Your guys are messing up on a grand scale. What happened, man?”

“There’s been an unfortunate lack of communication going on, Frank. But let’s talk. When and where?”

Frank Sterling considered the options quickly. Privacy was imperative. The less anyone saw them together, the better. “Meet me at the marina at four. We’ll go for a sail and see if we can sort this out.”

Sterling hung up and dialed again. This time, the call was to Cali, Colombia.

Late that evening in Cali, Jorgé Caicedo Rojas tightened the sash of his burgundy smoking jacket and walked over to the well-stocked bar to make himself a nightcap. He deliberated for a moment between a Grand Marnier or a Rémy Martin. He decided in favor of the Rémy and poured a large snifter, filling it considerably more than is customary.

Across the room, Maria Echevarría lounged languorously on a butter-soft calfskin sofa, her white satin gown clinging to the curves of a perfect body. “You are such an uncouth pig,
mi amor
.” Her comment, breathed in a low, throaty voice, was iced, and she contemplated the man at the bar with disdain. “You live in the lap of luxury and yet look how you pour a glass of cognac, like a peasant. And here am I dying of thirst and you haven’t even thought to offer me something.”

Jorgé’s blood boiled at the insult, but he chose not to react. He had learned not to rise to the bait where Maria was concerned. “I apologize, that was thoughtless of me. What can I get you?”

“Drambuie,
por favor
. My tastes are less extravagant than yours.”

Jorgé poured the Drambuie carefully and took it over to her, waiting for her to begin the inquisition.

“Jorgé,
mi amor
.” She was pouting petulantly. “You have not brought me up to date on our deal with the island.”

Jorgé took a cigarette from the engraved silver cigarette box and lit it slowly. “Everything is in place, Maria. Transportation to two additional cells in Eastern Europe has been secured. That eliminates our reliance on the Albanian Mafia.”

“Remind me, where are the new distribution centers?”

He knew she remembered perfectly well, but nevertheless placated her with an answer. “Albania and Kosovo. We ship directly to the island and the containers get transferred immediately to a secure shipping line.”

“What ever happened with the African route?”

“I don’t see how that can be beneficial to us at this point. Right now, I think the island is our best bet.”

Maria shifted on the sofa, her dark eyes quickly calculating. Because Europe was largely Mafia territory they had, until now, been left with no choice but to collaborate with the Albanians to open up new European markets. Their partnership with the island opened doors that had formerly been closed. Jorgé was right on that count. But she still considered the island a risk. “Who owns the shipping line on the island?” she asked.

Jorgé eyed her. He never knew what dark thoughts were running through Maria’s mind. Her question could have been for any of a hundred reasons. “It’s a small private operation,” he answered carefully. “They ship mostly agricultural products – citrus, coffee, sugar – that kind of thing. From what I gather, that company was the main shipper of bananas to the UK during the island’s banana heyday.”

Maria smiled sardonically, “Well, bananas are no longer profitable. We must keep up with the times to stay afloat.” Her eyes looked into an unseen distance. “How much do you estimate we can transship through there in a year?”

“With these new centers opening up? I estimate we can move at least one hundred tons in a year. That’s the plan anyway. But I should warn you, there is a downside.”

Maria arched her eyebrows quizzically.

“Our associate demands fifty percent of gross sales.”

Maria did not respond immediately, seemingly preoccupied with close scrutiny of her manicure. She seemed oblivious to Jorgé for an uncomfortably long time before she stated calmly, “I’m not happy giving our associate such a large slice of the pie. That is a ridiculous demand.
El hombre debe estar loco
.”

“
Usted no esta· tomando en cuenta ciertas cosas
, Maria. Not only is he offering unobstructed transportation, he can also stockpile the merchandise for us if we need him to. That is a plus. In addition, we are spared the cost of intelligence gathering and bribes to officials because we have his protection as head of state. These things need to be taken into consideration.”

“I’m aware of that,” she snapped, “But even so, I am not prepared to facilitate such an insane demand! There must be another way.” She twisted a silky strand of ebony hair in contemplation as she stared at him unseeingly, not expecting a response, or wanting one for that matter. Then, in the matter of fact tone of one who has come to a mundane household decision, she said, “Eliminate him.”

Jorgé flicked an ash into the ashtray without comment.

“Find somebody else. It shouldn’t be that difficult.”

“
No creo que sean necesario tales extremos
. The man can never be a threat to us.”

“Everyone’s a threat,” she hissed, uncoiling like a viper and sitting up. “Somebody’s pilfering those shipments. The figures aren’t adding up. We can’t be sure it’s happening on that end, but I don’t trust him. He’s become careless and that makes me nervous. We can’t afford to have our operation compromised. In any case, he’ll be forced out one way or the other eventually. With things deteriorating at the rate they are in that country, it’s only a matter of time before all hell breaks loose. Then, where will we be, Jorgé?
Dígame
!”

Jorgé finished his Rémy with a single gulp and sat heavily in an armchair opposite her. He had always had a strong distaste for violence and had only ever turned to violence as the very last resort. “Are you absolutely sure you want to take this path, Maria?” he asked in a futile attempt to dissuade her. “
Positivo
,
mi amor
,” she said rising and going over to him, her perfume enveloping him. She moved closer and ran her fingers through his hair. “I’m going to Europe for a little break. I’m sure you’ll have everything in place by the time I get back.”