She looked down at the expensive watch on her wrist and took a deep breath. “We’ll leave here in an hour. That should put us at the party as the sun is setting. Based on what you told me about your plan, you’ll need the cover of darkness to reach the security building.”
“There’s just one more thing I need to know.”
Monique had turned for the door but spun back around at the statement. “And what is that?”
“When I leave Espinoza’s, I’ll be in a hurry. The van Gogh. Where do you want me to leave your half of the booty?”
“Well, you’ll be heading back to the United States before you fly to the drop-off point. Bring it by my home after you’ve made the drop for the Belgian.”
“Sure. I’ll just swing by Amsterdam on my way to wherever this crazed guy is sending me next.”
“Well, I can’t have you mailing a priceless piece of art through the postal service. You’ll have time. I promise.”
Adriana felt like there was something else Monique was keeping from her, but she also knew that was all the information she’d get out of the Dutch blonde for now.
“Be ready to leave here in an hour,” Monique reminded. “Drive your Jeep or whatever it is,and follow us. You can leave it at the bottom of Espinoza’s mountain retreat. There are no cameras there, and I doubt any security will be that far out on the perimeter. He usually likes to keep them close by.”
Adriana nodded and watched the other woman leave. She stepped over to a wooden desk near the far wall. Some of her things were littered on the surface, including her phone. She picked it up and opened the camera app. Her finger flipped through one of the albums until she found a picture of her father and her in Budapest. They’d gone there on holiday and had a wonderful time taking in the sights and sounds of the Hungarian capital. No tears formed in her eyes. No sadness crept into her heart. Instead, a firm resolve welled up inside her. And the more she looked at the picture, the angrier she became.
She would get the painting to this wealthy Belgian, if that truly were his country of origin. Adriana would play his little game. And when it was over, she would kill him.
22
“What do you mean they’re all dead? Calm down, and speak slowly. Tell me everything.”
Sanchez sat up in his monstrous bed with a cell phone pressed against his ear. His weary face displayed immediate concern.
The device vibrating on the nightstand next to the bed had roused both him and Allyson from their late morning slumber. The night before had been long and satisfying. He anticipated the next day to be the same, both professionally and personally. Upon answering the phone, however, he realized in a second that today would be tenuous at best.
“We found the bodies this morning when the men didn’t report for their deliveries. They were supposed to be at the warehouse at seven o’clock. By then, the police had already been alerted by a random traveler. When we arrived on the scene, there were police everywhere.”
“Anything linking them to me?”
“No. You’re clean.”
He breathed a brief sigh of relief, but the honest truth was, even if there were evidence linking him to the dead men, he could almost always wriggle free of any legal trouble. They owned the government in this part of the country.
Sanchez’s greater concern lay elsewhere.
“Did another cartel do this? Is someone trying to send us a message?”
The voice on the other end paused. “Could be. But most of the other cartels stay away from this area. They know this is our turf. Would be stupid for one of them to make such a bold move. And why would they? The cartel war is in the north.”
“War spreads. Like a virus.”
“That’s true. But who would be so brave?”
Sanchez thought for a moment. The news was disconcerting. Allyson was awake and watching his reactions to the conversation, so he stood up and walked into the adjacent room.
“Could it have come from the inside?”
“You mean from some of our own men?”
“No,” Sanchez shook his head. “I mean from higher up.”
“Francisco wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t order something like that unless he felt threatened by you or those men. And those men were nothing. They were low on the chain.”
Sanchez stepped over to a wide window and stared out. It didn’t matter that he was naked. Nothing but wilderness stretched out in front of him, reaching all the way to the Tequila Volcano. “Francisco has never really approved of what my men do on the roads with their tolls. I’ve always allowed it because it keeps the people in order and lets them know we are not to be messed with. Maybe his men did this?”
The line was silent for a second as the man on the other end considered the possibility. “I suppose there is a chance. But there is another component I failed to mention.”
“And what is that?”
“I spoke to one of the investigators, a man we pay handsomely every month. He passed some interesting information along.” He paused for half a second before continuing. “The first two men were lying close together, both shot up close, from only a foot or so away, with a handgun, 40 caliber.”
“Execution style?”
“No. One was shot in the face. The other in the forehead. They ran fingerprints but found nothing.”
“So what’s the mystery, other than the shooter’s identity?”
“That’s just it, señor: They believe only one person did all this. According to the ballistics, whoever the killer was shot the first two men at point blank range. Then they turned their attention to the other two who were a good eighty feet away.”
“A long distance to kill someone with a pistol.”
“They didn’t,” the voice explained. “The killer used your men’s weapons against them. From the looks of it, the shooter picked up one of the men’s rifles, emptied the magazine on one, and then grabbed the other. The fourth man was found just up the road. He had a hole in the back of his skull, and the front of his head was blown out. It appears he was trying to escape when the killer shot him from a distance. The truck veered off the road and crashed into a small hill.”
One person? The details of the account were more bothersome than first anticipated. It sounded like a hit and had all the makings of a warning from one of the cartels. But one person? One against four well-armed men? Something didn’t add up.
“Someone capable of such a thing would have to be highly trained,” he said quietly into the phone.
“Perhaps. Our men are not very well versed in combat and tactics.”
“Yes, but four of them with automatic rifles?”
Sanchez ran through the scenario in his mind as if he were on the road the night before, watching the entire thing transpire. He imagined the four men, blocking both lanes as he’d seen them do before. They would have halted an approaching vehicle and demanded the driver get out. Probably at gunpoint. But what happened next? Something went wrong. Did one of the men get distracted? While not the most well-trained gunmen, they’d all been taught to stay focused.
He stepped back around the corner and glanced through the doorway at the blonde in his bed. She’d turned over and faced the other wall with her head on the pillow, probably to get a little more sleep.
“That’s it,” he said quietly into the phone.
“I’m sorry, sir. What’s it?”
“Whoever did this was a woman.”
A doubtful silence filled the conversation for two seconds.
“A woman?” the other guy asked, uncertain. “How could a woman have done all that?”
“It’s the only thing that makes sense. You said the first two were shot at close range with a .40 caliber, right?”