"Now tell me something besides work."
"Like what?"
"I'm your girlfriend, Alex. I don't care."
And to his surprise he did talk to her about things unrelated to the Department of Justice.
Alex Duarte sat at a booth in the outrageously overpriced restaurant inside the Marriott. It was nearly ten in the morning, and he was still waiting for Félix Baez to meet him. As he sat alone, he sketched out a little diagram with some of the major players in the case to see if he noticed any links he had missed before. He wrote in "B.G." for poor, dead Byron Gastlin and "W.F." for William Floyd. He just wrote a big "O" at the top. He felt certain the shadowy Mr. Ortíz had something to do with the overall scheme.
His concern came when he wrote "L.C." for Lina Cirillo at the bottom of the page. She knew more than she claimed. He also wrote "L.S." next to Lina's initials. Colonel Lázaro Staub appeared legit, but his trip to New Orleans and lingering presence had set off an alarm inside Duarte's head. Not a serious one yet, but the colonel might also be better informed than he claimed. His English had improved drastically in his short visit to New Orleans, and every day he seemed to disappear with someone for a while. Duarte decided he didn't want to take his eye off the colonel.
He looked up from his diagram and saw Félix crossing the restaurant.
Duarte saw the look on his face and said, "What's wrong?"
"I got more bad news from Panama."
"What's that?"
"First I spoke to Staub, then I asked my buddy with the DEA down there, John Morales, to find out about the first mate of the Flame of Panama."
"Yeah."
"The captain was found dead on the ship. Two bullets in his face. No one knew anything about the crew. No records, no payroll, nothing. They already renamed the ship, and it's hauling something else."
"Dammit." He looked up at his friend. "Félix, does it seem like everyone involved in this case dies violently?"
Félix seemed to flinch as he slid into the booth. "As long as it's not you or me."
Duarte looked at the DEA man. "You okay? You hurt yourself?"
"Just banged up my arm a little. Out late on Bourbon Street."
"That why you look like you haven't slept?"
"I haven't."
"You look rough."
"C'mon, bro, we almost got blown up yesterday. I mean you flew across the parking lot on a door. Neither of us should look good."
Duarte nodded. He wanted to tell him about his visit to Jessup's house in Biloxi, but he didn't want to put Félix in the position of hearing about a crime and not being free to tell anyone. Duarte knew he had gone off the books on this case, and if he was going to get in trouble he didn't want to hurt his friend, too.
Félix didn't seem to care if they pursued any leads today. Instead he looked down at the sheet of paper on the table. "What's that you're working on?"
"Just a flowchart on the case."
"'B.G.' is for Gastlin?"
"Yeah."
Félix smiled. "The two in the corner are for Lina and the colonel?"
Duarte nodded. "You're not the only one who thinks there's something fishy with them."
"What's the 'W.F.' for? White female?" Félix smiled.
Duarte hadn't noticed that the common police designation for a white female was the same as William Floyd's initials. Somehow it made a click in his head, but he couldn't put it together just yet.
Pelly waited just down the street from Colonel Staub's hotel for his boss. He worked his hand, opening and closing his fist. It was a little sore from his fight the night before. He had hit at least three grown men in the mouth. That always led to a sore hand. He could see the entrance to the little bar he had been in the night before.
He was sorry he hadn't been able to get to know the lovely Lina. She had backed him up in the ensuing melee and didn't seem upset by the hair that bulged out of his torn shirt. But he couldn't look at her dark eyes after the incident. He had simply fled, sure he had blown a chance to talk with the interesting self-proclaimed kickboxing champ.
Pelly liked to stay busy and concentrate on work, because when he didn't he realized he was lonely. He had been on few dates where he hadn't paid the girl at the end of the night. The more he thought about the events of the night before, the angrier he got. He wished he could see Lina again. He'd shave down his whole body. Maybe even get a wax if it would help.
From the front window of the diner, he saw his employer walking on the opposite side of the street like he was the king of New Orleans. In Panama, Staub was the undisputed boss, but Pelly doubted the Americans cared much about Panama. And he knew that was what motivated his boss. His idea of revenge made some perverse sense if anyone cared that Panama had been humiliated by the U.S. But now, years after the invasion, the people of Panama relied on the U.S. as much as they ever had. They needed protection and tourism as well as aid in the form of engineers and professionals for all kinds of projects.
Pelly knew it would be difficult to keep the U.S. from figuring out who was involved in an attack like this. Pelly knew it could hurt the country not to mention their own business, but his boss seemed hell-bent on carrying out his plans.
He stood as Staub entered the diner, then stepped over to the table.
Staub said, "Pelly, we should not meet so close to my hotel. I would not want Duarte to see you."
"I thought I'd make the meeting convenient for you."
"While I appreciate your concern, I think we should not come close to the Marriott again. Understand?"
Pelly just nodded.
Staub continued. "Now we have another issue and an opportunity."
Pelly just kept looking at his employer.
Staub continued. "In addition to Duarte, the ATF agent, we should probably take care of the FBI agent on the case."
"Won't that raise questions?"
Staub smiled. "We'll be gone in a day or two. We'll drive to Houston then fly home. We must set it up in such a way that there are no witnesses or that I can give misleading answers."
"What's the FBI agent look like?"
"It's a woman. Haven't you seen her?"
"Only from a great distance. I know Duarte and the DEA man."
"She has dark hair and an athletic build. If I had more time, I'd have some fun with her. She would not do well under the whip. On the other hand, she's not built for it either. Not enough meat."
Pelly felt disappointment that he had grown used to his boss's odd quirks. He had grown callous to many things in the years he had worked for Staub. He asked his boss, "How should I do it?"
Staub gave an evil grin and said, "I may have a simple, fast way to wrap up these two problems."
Pelly nodded. Unhappy, but willing to complete another task that didn't help their business in any way.
40
ALEX DUARTE HAD STARTED THE DAY ON A LIE BY EXPLAINING to Lina Cirillo that his bruised face was the result of running into a door. Félix knew it was from the Cajun Inn explosion and smiled smugly.
Lina just said, "Yeah, sure." Duarte was still trying to figure out which piece of the puzzle she knew.
Félix Baez was still in his own little world, focusing on who had killed his informant in Panama. Colonel Lázaro Staub seemed to have a voice Duarte had heard somewhere, and his English was much better. He wondered what the Panamanian cop knew about Ortíz and if he had chosen to keep quiet.