Swarthy and obese with long, thinning hair he rarely washed, Gadanz perspired heavily in the high humidity of the Peruvian mountains near the Colombian border. So he kept the air-conditioning in this room of the sprawling jungle compound set at a constant sixty-four degrees — which was harsh for the nude women. But they didn’t complain. No one around Gadanz complained about anything. It wasn’t worth the risk.
Subordinates were starting to whisper that he was going crazy.
The drug empire he ruled over with an iron fist made him one of the wealthiest men in the world, though he would never show up on the “richest” lists published annually by Forbes or Fortune, as Pablo Escobar once had. Gadanz was too careful for that. And he’d sent the editors a personal letter. He was confident his name would never appear on those lists.
In fact, Daniel Gadanz was difficult to track down at all. He rarely spent more than two nights at the same location, always convinced that enemies were closing in. So he maintained six compounds in South America, three in Thailand, two in Mexico, two in the United States, and one on the Tajikistan border with Afghanistan — as well as an air force of jets on which he moved around the world to stay ahead of his enemies.
The fat man’s eyes narrowed. Six nights ago in Venezuela he’d almost been killed by one of those enemies, proving to him once and for all that his paranoia was well founded. He’d already executed his head of security and several lieutenants as punishment and as a message to others of the security detail. And he’d never go back to that compound again.
Gadanz exhaled two full lungs of heavy smoke as he pulled the collar of the tentlike robe snugly around his thick, flabby neck. He knew the young women kneeling around him were cold, but he cared not. They served at his pleasure, and he paid their families very well. Where else in the jungles of Peru were they going to earn that kind of money?
“Nowhere,” he growled out loud. “That’s where.”
Gadanz’s eyes narrowed again when the curtains stirred ever so slightly. There had been a draft, and that could mean only one thing.
A thrill coursed through his chest. Revenge was getting closer.
Liam Sterling moved cautiously down the shadowy corridor toward the doorway he’d been directed to. An average-looking Australian, he’d never been proud of his less-than-imposing or outstanding physical features. But he was intensely proud of his ability to carry out what others in his line of work deemed impossible or were too scared to attempt — execute missions in any corner of the world and leave no trail.
Thanks to acquaintances in high places and the substantial bribes he constantly plied them with, Sterling held citizenship in many countries. So he moved around the globe with ease. And he was a master of disguise, so when he moved he wasn’t recognized. In the end, he’d turned his average looks to his advantage. Men with outstanding features had difficulty altering their appearances convincingly. Sterling had no such challenge.
He glanced back down the corridor when he reached the heavy curtains. The guard who’d directed him this way gestured and nodded that he’d reached the correct location. Sterling waved back. He found it fascinating that the guard wanted to stay as far from Daniel Gadanz as possible. Most underlings craved face time with their ultimate leader. Such was not the case at this jungle compound.
After slipping through the curtains, Sterling hesitated a moment to take in what would have been a jaw-dropping scene for most. The naked young women kneeling around Gadanz were like something out of the Arabian Nights. However, he’d met with the drug lord several times over the last few years, so nothing about Gadanz surprised him anymore.
But really, four of them?
Gadanz’s net worth exceeded two hundred billion dollars, and it was climbing as steadily as America’s national debt, Sterling knew. The world loved its heroin, cocaine, and marijuana. It was an awful but indisputable truth. And no matter how stiff governments made the penalty for doing drugs, the world still would. Escape — even temporary — was worth anything to a large portion of the population.
Sterling never touched the shit. But he was willing to sell his services to a man who was neck-deep in the trade, in the name of making fuck-the-universe cash for one mission.
He’d already run two highly successful missions for Gadanz, and the rewards had been substantial in both cases. But the bounty for this mission alone could dwarf everything he’d ever earned, including what Gadanz had paid him before—combined. That had been made very clear before he’d agreed to make this trek deep into Peru’s jungle.
“Come up here, Liam,” Gadanz called, beckoning. “Don’t be afraid.”
Sterling snickered at what he considered a grave insult. The idea that he was afraid of anything was absurd.
“Come on,” Gadanz ordered impatiently.
As he climbed the stairs, Sterling glanced directly at one of the young women kneeling to the left of Gadanz. They were all pretty, but Sterling found her more beautiful than the others. There was a longing for shelter in her sad eyes, and he found it compelling.
“I trust your trip into the jungle was uneventful,” Gadanz said between puffs on the cigar. “A long way to come, but I’m confident you’ll be glad you did.”
“No worries, mate,” Sterling answered in his thick Aussie accent.
Gadanz chuckled. “How appropriate.”
“Excuse me?”
The fat man waved the cigar in the air, leaving a smoke trail between them. “I’d forgotten you were Australian, Liam.”
That didn’t explain anything.
“You’re here tonight to discuss high crime,” Gadanz continued, “and you’re from Australia. If I’m remembering my history correctly, Australia is a nation with its past rooted deeply in crime. I believe England sent her worst criminals to Australia in the late eighteenth century to purge herself. Therein lies the explanation to my insightful observation concerning the appropriateness of our meeting.”
“Right, well—”
“If those poor Aborigines had only known what was coming.”
Sterling kept his mouth shut. The fat man was on a roll. When he was ready, he’d get to the matter at hand.
“Do you approve of the subjects decorating my throne?” Gadanz asked, gesturing grandly around him with the hand clasping the cigar.
Sterling grinned self-consciously.
“I take it from your reaction you do.”
Sterling and the young woman to his left traded glances again, and this time she smiled back. “Of course, mate.”
“Perfect, Liam, just perfect. Now let’s—” Gadanz shut his eyes tightly, leaned forward, put a hand to his forehead, and groaned.
“You all right, Daniel?”
“I’m fine,” Gadanz hissed, straightening back up in the chair. “Come close, Liam,” he gasped, still wincing from the sharp pain that had torn through his skull. “Lean near to me. I don’t want my subjects hearing this.”
When Gadanz finished whispering in his ear, Sterling stepped back and stared down intensely. This would be the mother of all missions. Now he understood why the drug lord was offering him such an immense amount of money to execute this mission.
“I want revenge,” Gadanz said. “And I want it very badly.”
“Obviously.”
“My brother Jacob was a good man,” Gadanz continued, “and he was murdered. His death was not an accident, as the U.S. authorities claim. They murdered him while he was in custody last December, and they must pay. I want their families to feel the same loss I feel. I want the entire country to feel it.”