“Later, Tomás,” Esmerelda said and continued her conversation with Juana. “I’m sorry, what did you say? Your fax is broken. Oh, all right. I’ll come up.”
“Like hell you will,” the man named Tomás shouted. “You’re going to find that ram for me. You said it was here.”
Before Essie could answer, the guard that had challenged Roddy earlier appeared at the door, drawn by the angry voices. “What’s the problem here?”
“Nothing,” Essie said, the phone still gripped in her hand. She looked at Roddy. “Can you go upstairs to get that list for me, Mr. Herrara?”
Roddy turned green. From the jaws of victory, he’d managed to snatch defeat. He didn’t dare go up to the executive suite, yet Essie was suddenly stuck in a bureaucratic snafu she couldn’t get away from without arousing suspicion.
Tomás, the soldier, and Essie seemed to be waiting for him to answer. He gulped a mouthful of air. “Ah, sure. It’s, ah, the list of lubricant suppliers, right?”
“Yup.” She pulled her hand away from the phone’s mouthpiece. “Juana, I’m sending someone up for it. He’ll be there in a second.” She hung up.
“What’s this about changing lubricant suppliers?” Roddy’s cover story infuriated Tomás even further.
“We’re just looking into it,” Essie replied placidly, doubtlessly wishing Roddy had come up with a better lie considering Tomás headed one of the physical plant departments. “Don’t worry.”
The guard continued to stand at the door, looking from face to face. Like a condemned man, Roddy hauled himself out of his chair. Tomás barely gave him a chance to step aside before throwing himself in the vacated seat. He continued to berate Essie about his missing part.
Roddy gave the soldier an assuring half smile, as if to say the argument was none of their business. The youth gave no physical reaction so Roddy stepped past him and started down the hallway. He could feel the guard’s eyes boring through his spine. A dozen yards down the hall Roddy slid into a secondary stairway. He climbed quickly. When he reached the third floor he headed in the direction of the executive suite.
He had only met Juana a couple of times and he doubted he’d made an impression on the secretary, but still he was concerned she’d recognize him. He dreaded getting drawn into a conversation with her no more than ten feet from Silvera-Arias’s office. His hands were already shaking enough.
The suite of executive offices had been recently redecorated and the air conditioning seemed incapable of drawing away the heavy smell of fresh paint. The chemical stench only increased the nausea Roddy felt as he stepped into the reception area. Beyond Juana’s immaculate desk he saw the door to Felix’s office. Even as he studied it, fighting the urge to run in and kill the bastard, it swung open.
Felix Silvera-Arias looked smug and self-satisfied in his suit and glossy shoes. His hair was slick with brilliantine and his mustache was perfectly trimmed, a black slash above his tight mouth in the style of a clichéd Latin lover. Roddy nearly turned and ran right then, and would have had another man not emerged from the director’s office. He was handsome by any standard, with a commanding presence that clearly defined him as a leader of men. That he was Chinese and looked like he’d just given Silvera-Arias a final set of orders left no question in Roddy’s mind that here was Liu Yousheng.
The emotional surge made Roddy sway. Here was the man behind the whole operation and he had a gun tucked into his waistband. Should he do it? Could he do it? Before he could react, the two men strode past him without a glance.
“Did Esmerelda send you?” Juana asked.
“H’mm? Oh, yes.” Roddy turned to the assistant.
She studied him for a moment, a spark of recognition in her eye. She glanced down at her desk, dismissing whatever feeling she’d had. “Here’s that list. As you can see I’ve blocked out the pilots’ names.”
“Thank you.” Roddy took the proffered list.
At the end of the hall he saw Liu and Felix talking in front of the elevator. With them were two other Chinese men wearing light jackets that did little to hide their concealed weapons. Roddy turned the other way, knowing that the operation would go on with or without its architect and that it was more important to get the six-page list to Mercer than exact revenge right now.
He exited the building as quickly as possible, coming out at the back of the structure near the parking lot. A guard gave him only a passing inspection as he left.
Walking a wide arc around the office, he reached his car a few minutes later. He didn’t bother to give its air conditioning time to vent the stifling waves of heat that washed from the interior. The steering wheel felt like a steam pipe and the gearshift a rock that had lain in a campfire. After tossing the gun under his seat, he jammed the car in gear and spun one hundred and eighty degrees on the quiet street.
Rather than drive all the way across the snarled city, Roddy decided to find a shipping service that sent faxes for business customers.
Once he passed the old Ancon Train Station and encountered the anonymity of heavy traffic he dialed the hotel with his cell phone. “It’s Roddy.”
“Damn,” Harry said. “I was hoping it was General Vanik. I was going to tell him that Mercer’s been making eyes at his daughter. Hey, did you get it?”
“I got it. I’m looking for a place to fax it to you. It’ll be quicker.”
“I’ll tell Mercer when he gets back. He’s downstairs talking to that Barber woman. Any problems?”
“Went fine.” Roddy still felt like the tension was going to make him ill.
“Congratulations. I’ll make sure you’re given the secret decoder ring and learn our club handshake.”
“Hold on, Harry.” Roddy checked his rearview mirror. With traffic so dense it was difficult to be certain but he thought he was being followed. There was little he could do to check. The street he was on was nearly bumper to bumper.
“What is it?” Harry asked finally.
“I’m not sure, maybe nothing.” Roddy scanned the businesses along the street. Usually he saw plenty of places that sent faxes, but now he saw nothing but bodegas and children’s clothing stores. He turned another corner, moving deeper into the city’s commercial district. The car, a sedan with windows tinted so dark he couldn’t see the occupants, stayed with him. “Listen, Harry, I’d better go. I think someone’s following me.”
“Where are you?” the old man asked. “I’ll have some of the French pick you up.”
There! A copy center. “Too late, stand by the fax machine.” Roddy clicked off his phone and bulled his way toward the curb. A Kuna woman on a rickety bicycle almost went down under his car.
Roddy pulled a wad of cash from his wallet and jumped from his Honda. Car horns screamed as he tied up traffic by blocking half a lane. The bottleneck helped pin the pursuing car fifty yards back. He dashed across the sidewalk, clutching the manifest and the money in one hand. The copy center was busy, with employees in blue slacks or skirts and white shirts helping harried secretaries and students with their orders. On the long counter sat a cup of pens. Roddy hurriedly scrawled the fax number in Mercer’s room on the top of the shipping itinerary.
As he did he noted the names of the first dozen ships scheduled to pass through the canal the next day. Oh my God! No! He looked again, more closely. None were named Gemini. None were even close to Gemini. He scanned the rest of the list. Nothing.
“Can I help you?”
Without looking at how much money he was handing the clerk, Roddy passed over the roll of bills and the six sheets of paper. “Please send this as quickly as possible.” He was near panic.
Without waiting for an acknowledgment he fled the store. He pushed past several pedestrians, and when he reached the curb he dropped to his knees. The tension and fear and defeat spilled into the gutter.