Cantrell had told them not to share anything they’d discussed prior to coming down here, but bringing the subject up couldn’t hurt as long as he didn’t mention any specifics.
“A lot actually. Why do you ask?”
“I’m just curious.” Nathan saw Harv shift his weight.
“It’s not common knowledge, but it’s going to be focused on the gold industry and its growth in the region. There’s more gold in Nicaragua than most people know. A lot more, actually. According to my best estimates, I think there’s five to six million ounces fairly close to the surface in Atlántico Norte alone. Most of the world’s gold remains undiscovered or unreachable. We’re probably finding less than a tenth of a percent of it.”
“Why is the summit happening in Managua and not Bogotá or Caracas?”
“President Torres arranged it, and he’s footing the bill. There’s prestige associated with hosting the summit. He also wants to put everyone on notice that Nicaragua intends to be a player. We’ve already secured some big leases, and there are more in the works. The reemergence of gold mining has triggered concerns that South American countries with bigger mining operations, like Colombia and Venezuela, will try to corner the market in this part of the world. Torres doesn’t want Nicaragua to lag behind.”
“So by hosting the summit, Torres is telling the gold industry that Nicaragua isn’t going to be bullied by the larger-producing countries.”
“Yeah, that’s basically it. We’ll never be able to compete with super producers like the US, Canada, and China, but we can compete with South America. We also don’t have all the red tape.”
Harv asked, “You’re talking about environmental concerns?”
“We’re not irresponsible when it comes to the permitting process, but it doesn’t take years and dozens of costly studies either. Labor costs are significantly lower. It’s easier and more cost effective to set up shop down here.”
They rode in silence for a few miles.
Millions of ounces of gold? It seemed surreal. Nathan hadn’t given it much thought before now, but that kind of money had to invite corruption. And probably did.
“We need to find out where Macanas lives,” Nathan said. “If Raven’s a gun for hire, there’s a good possibility he’s working for the man.”
“It’s not a coincidence all the sniper murders are in or around Santavilla,” Estefan said. “Think about it. The man who ran Macanas’s lumber mill was murdered, and the mill suddenly started producing again. My father was murdered, because he was trying to help the miners who work at Macanas’s sites. A helicopter comes and goes regularly from Santavilla. It’s not hard to figure out what’s being taken out of there. All roads lead to Macanas. If we find him, we’ll find Raven.”
“Is there any way you can discreetly ask your lunch partner in the police department for an address? Do you know him well enough?”
“I can try, but he’ll want to know why I’m asking.”
“Yeah, you’re right. It’s a red flag. My instinct says hold off on doing that for now. If word gets back to Macanas that Estefan Delgado is asking about his personal information, bad things will happen. If we run out of options, you can talk to your police friend as a last resort. We may be able to make that work for us, not against. You said you’ve already mentioned your father’s murder to him, but you didn’t name any suspects, did you?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Then so far, no one knows you’re Tobias’s son. I’d like to keep it that way.”
“There are people in Santavilla who know, but they have no reason to mention me. From what I remember reading in my father’s letters, they don’t like Macanas much even though he gives them work.”
After a few seconds Nathan said, “Pull over at the next open store or roadside stand you see. We all need food. Harv and I haven’t eaten much since yesterday. We’d prefer to save the MREs we brought with us. We’ll wait in your truck. Grab a case of bottled water too.”
Over the next half hour, Nathan watched the landscape gradually brighten, revealing the forest’s true nature — a mixture of every shade of green imaginable. The landscape looked similar to that of other tropical forests. Every so often they passed a rusting sheet-metal hut or decaying barn, but there was no sign of human presence. Small farms and ranches lined the road, but from the look of things, most of these people lived in abject poverty.
“It’s getting pretty light out,” Nathan said. “We should change clothes and remove our face paint.”
Nathan pulled Harv’s clothes from his backpack and handed them forward. Both of them swapped their MARPATs for cargo shorts, T-shirts, and flip-flops. Aside from their height, they ought to blend into the civilian population fairly well. Bill Stafford had made the wardrobe suggestions based on what the majority of Nicaraguan locals wore. Blue jeans were popular but bulkier, and they had limited space in their backpacks. Although they hadn’t anticipated needing civilian clothes, they were glad they’d brought them. Nathan also applied a fair amount of brown skin paint in an effort to darken his skin and cover the contours of his facial scars.
Finally, Estefan made the right turn onto a much better road. Its surface, although rough, looked to be regularly bladed by a road grader. They drove through village-like pockets of civilization where no more than several dozen people lived, while other towns looked to be home to several hundred. None of them qualified as cities in the traditional definition. Unfortunately, none of the places where they could buy food were open yet. Their hunger would have to wait. Nathan expected Santavilla to look similar to one of these towns. Most of them had churches, general stores, small shops, taverns, cafes, and painted-plywood roadside stands.
Nathan kept checking his cell, but it didn’t register a strong signal yet. They were still in a predominately rural area. He didn’t want to make a call to Cantrell until they had at least two bars of coverage. Nathan was sure he’d get a better signal further south. Until then, Cantrell would have to wait. The delay turned out to be fairly short. Fifteen miles closer to Managua, his phone picked up three bars.
“We’ve got coverage, but it may not last,” Nathan said. “Estefan, see if you can find a place to pull over where Harv and I can get out without drawing too much attention.”
“I’ll turn onto a side road and drive a safe distance away from the highway.”
“Sounds good.”
“Harv, will you grab my cell from the glove box?”
“Hey, no texting and driving,” Nathan said.
“I never do,” Estefan said. “I’ll check it when you guys climb out to make your call.”
Estefan found a good spot and made the turn. Barbed wire lined both sides of the road, but no animals were present. The primitive dirt track didn’t show any signs it had been used since the last rain.
“There doesn’t appear to be any place to turn around. How far do you want me to go?”
“The road curves to the left in that valley up ahead. We don’t want to drive into someone’s front yard. Let’s go another five hundred yards. Backing out to the highway shouldn’t be a problem.”
“For who?” Estefan said with a smile.
Although their friend was emotionally frayed, he seemed to be in good spirits. Nathan didn’t want to ruin the mood by talking about the difficulty of what Estefan planned to do, but sooner or later, Nathan would need to reaffirm they didn’t have unlimited time down here to conduct a prolonged surveillance of Macanas’s gold-mining operations. At this point, they didn’t even know where the guy lived. If Macanas possessed the kind of wealth Estefan suspected, he probably owned several homes. Unless Estefan had a reliable source within law enforcement, they’d have to rely on Cantrell, and if she couldn’t produce anything on Macanas, they’d have to start from scratch and learn what they could from people who lived in Santavilla. Nathan didn’t like their odds.