Dollar Down (19 page)

Alexandra braced her hands against the wall and dug
her heels into my trapezoid muscles, but it still wasn't enough
to get to the pressure points.

"Shift your weight, one leg at a time." Left, right, left,
there it was. I put my mind in neutral as the tension found its
own channels of escape. By the time she had strolled down to
my hips I was in a semiconscious state.

There was that call I had intended to make to Gavizon,
but he wasn't working for me anymore, so what was the point?
He might change his mind and rejoin the team though. It was
worth a try. To call or to succumb. Moving lower, Alexandra
rested her shins on the backs of my thighs, pressed her palms
against the backs of my knees, and worked her way down to
the knotty joints and tendons of my ankles. Whether to call was
no longer an issue. My body vetoed that notion. It was a good
thing it did.

If I had known what Gavizon had to say, it would have
taken a great deal more than a massage for me to get to
sleep.

"How was it?" Alexandra already knew. She was just
fishing for a compliment. I was happy to oblige.

"On a scale of one to ten, about a googol."

"What's that?"

"Ten to the hundredth power."

"
C'est très bon
." She nuzzled my neck
and raked her thumbnail across my cheek stubble. It sounded
like someone playing the comb in a gut-bucket band. "Stay here.
I can take care of that."

Alexandra left and came back with a hot damp towel.
She wrapped it across my face and neck and pressed her hands
against it. After a while, we went to the shower and she shaved
my face slowly, gently and thoroughly. We washed each other
and returned to bed to atone for our previous night of
celibacy.

It was late morning by the time we'd finished breakfast,
and I checked my phone messages. One was from Gavizon. I
hoped he was back on the job.

"Any word on your contact, who went missing? That's
just personal concern. I'm not asking if you can still get
information."

Gavizon apparently didn't care how I meant it. He
ignored me.

"I need to know the whole story of what you're
working on. You should have told me how big this was. How
did a
cabron
like you get on a case like this?"

That was a question I couldn't answer. Trevor died
without telling me why he'd hired me, but I was pretty sure it
wasn't to investigate bitumen liquefaction, forex trades or
Chinese politics. Maybe he just wanted a body guard. I brought
Gavizon up to date on most of what I knew. I left out parts that
were still critical or might put people in danger.

He made little noises, clicks and aspirations, during the
telling.

"Is someone trying to depose Maduro? The level of
paranoia is going up fast," he said when I'd finished.

"Not that I know of. I don't even see a fit."

"The contact in Maduro's office was my niece. She's
safe, for now anyway. A driver went to her desk and told her
that Maduro wanted to meet and that he would take her to see
him. She said she needed to use the restroom and
escaped."

"How did she know the driver meant trouble?"

"She works in the man's office. That puts her in the
position of learning things that she shouldn't. She also knows
that more than a few of Maduro's chauffeured guests have
disappeared."

"Did your niece run from general paranoia or does she
know specifically what Maduro was worried about."

"At the time she didn't. After thinking about it though,
the best guess she could come up with relates to the
liquefaction."

"She knows what makes the bacteria work? That's
highly valuable information. I've sent a sample to a lab in the
U.S., but if she knows already, we might be able to make her a
very wealthy woman."

I felt like I was on the brink of putting together a few
stray parts to a puzzle that was becoming more complex the
more I looked at it. Gavizon quickly disabused me of that
notion.

"You've got it backwards, Mick. The process doesn't
work. The bacteria does OK in the laboratory, but not in the
field. I'm not even sure it was ever intended to work, but the
Chinese and Maduro are telling the Saudis that it does. That's
what the trip to Orinoco was about, to demonstrate how the
bugs gobbled sulfur in the ground. It was a setup."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

I didn't either. Nevertheless, I did know that nations
often pulled a bluff either to look stronger or weaker than they
really were. If the process didn't work, that meant China was
trying to appear stronger than it was. Venezuela most likely
was being used as a minor player.

Number one, fact: China and Venezuela were in league
in a liquefaction scam.

Number two, reasonable guess: The Saudis were a
mark.

Number three, supposition: This was building up to be
the biggest confidence scam since Eve ate the apple. In that
case I wouldn't want to be in Saudi shoes against China. When
it came to war strategies, military, economic or otherwise, Sun
Tzu wrote the book.

Maybe Trevor and Sabine had found out. In stakes like
this, what were the lives of a couple of consultants? Despite the
grim outcome of that realization, I felt a sense of relief. Finally,
their murders had a rational context besides jealous rage and
guilt-driven suicide. With context and motive in place I had
hope of fitting other parts of the puzzle together and ultimately
finding out who did it or maybe even who ordered it done.

When I hung up, Alexandra asked me what our agenda
was for the day.

"I think I have an idea why your colleagues were
killed."

Her gasp was scarcely audible but her confusion was
obvious. "Sabine?"

"And Trevor."

"But, I thought that was known. There were the notes
from Trevor. They were having an affair, Mick. Her secretary
verified it. I verified it. Geir too."

"I accept that, but I think I have a better motive. I'm not
sure how far to go, but they might have been killed for knowing
too much about the Venezuela study."

Alexandra's face reddened. "It's my safety we're
talking about. How much to tell me shouldn't be your decision.
Ignorance-based protection is not a viable option for me."

"I just found out that the liquefaction process doesn't
work. It looks like China is working with Venezuela to scam
Saudi Arabia. I'm not sure how, but I would guess that, for
someone, it's important enough to justify murder."

The red drained out of Alexandra's cheeks almost as
fast as it had darkened them.

"Now that you know, can you think of anything China
might be trying to do?" I said.

She didn't respond. She just looked up at me as her
cheeks grew ashen. Finally, "No."

"When I last met David, I had a feeling that he knew
more than he was telling me. Now I also know more. I want to
see him again. Maybe between the two of us we can work out a
few scenarios."

"Now?"

"Yes, now."

"Don't go." Alexandra sat on my lap and put her head
against my shoulder. "Stay with me Mick. Whoever, they are,
they broke into my apartment. I hadn't accepted that. I wanted
to believe that Trevor and Sabine died in some kind of love
tragedy. If it had been true, then I would have been safe. Three
days, that's all that's left. Let's stay here together. We don't
have to leave the apartment." She gripped my hair and pulled
my cheek to her lips. "Stay. Protect me."

I savored the thought of doing just that. Three days of
doing nothing but relishing the time with Alexandra, a woman
so beautiful, I felt lucky just to have seen her.

Three days of hiding, of burying my head in the
sand.

I lifted Alexandra in my arms as I stood and lay her on
the bed.

When I stepped backwards toward door, it was hard to
analyze her expression. Shock, distress, sadness.

"Why?" she said.

I shrugged.
Anquiro ergo sum?
It was as good a
reason as any, but one that I couldn't explain. I looked back at
Alexandra before I closed the door behind me.

She was crying.

I called David. "I have new information that I got from
someone in Venezuela. I know it's important, but I don't know
exactly how it fits in with the bigger picture. You might be able
to help with that."

"I told you not to call me, again."

"If it wasn't critical, I wouldn't have. China's up to
something that might affect Taiwan."

How could he say "no" to that? He didn't.

"I'll meet you, but outdoors, in public where're there
are a lot of people."

"Wherever you want, David."

After a moment, he said, "Le Petit-Pont, the Little
Bridge. Do you know it?"

"Yes."

"Repeat it."

Alexandra was stirring awake.

I covered the mouth piece and jabbed my finger
toward the phone in exasperation. "I know it David, Le
Petit-Pont crosses the Seine from the Left Bank to the Isle de le Cite,
Norte Dame. All tourists know it. What time?"

"How long will it take you?"

"Twenty minutes."

"I'll be there in forty."

Despite my exasperation, I had to admit that the bridge
wasn't a bad idea. You could see all approaches. You also had
multiple exits—straight ahead, straight back or, in desperation,
over the edge to the river, doable for a swimmer.

The only problem with Le Petit-Pont was that it could
be approached quickly from either end or both ends. There
would be little time to decide whether to run or to jump. The
other problem was approaches to the bridge provided
concealment. That could make an escape easier, or it could
accommodate an ambush.

I arrived first and scanned the streams of tourists
going to and from Notre Dame Cathedral. The bridge was a
better meeting site than I had considered. There were police in
abundance to protect the nation's heritage. The sky was nearly
cloudless, and a brilliant sun gilded the highpoints of statuary
against backdrops of shadow.

I dropped a pebble off the bridge. Its fall to the Seine
was short. A jump wouldn't be dangerous, but the water looked
cold. I'd try to stay out of it. I dropped another pebble and
another. There weren't many of them. As I looked for a fourth, I
saw David headed my way.

"What did you find out?" He was dressed lightly for
this time of year. He also wore sneakers.

"Looks like you're ready to run," I said.

He glanced down at his shoes, but he didn't say
anything. I guess he wanted me to answer his question first. He
looked skeptical when I told him that the liquefaction process
didn't work.

"Wu threatened me. He would not have been so excited
if it didn't work."

"How would he know?"

"His father can find out anything that has to do with
Chinese officials."

Chances are David started looking for his own
"conspiracy nut" exit as I started telling him about my theory of
a gigantic confidence scam. If he did think I was nuts, he didn't
let it show.

"I don't know why they would try to trick Saudi Arabia
into thinking they can liquefy bitumen cheaply," he said.

"Do you know anyone you can ask?"

David bristled as though his initial instinct was to tell
me to jump in the Seine, but instead he remained silent until a
calm visibly settled through him. It was the first time I'd seen
him when he wasn't at least a little agitated.

"I'll ask my father. The risk in these times is very high.
There's a strong independence side in our politics. I think most
Taiwanese accept the status quo, but if the independence
movement wins enough support to declare Taiwan a nation,
who knows what China will do? Few people believe that it will
invade us, but think about it. The rationale for invasion is ten
thousand times greater than America's reasons for invading
Iraq. Even so, America invaded."

Inflation was creeping into David's speech. The last
time he used a number for emphasis it was only one thousand
ways for China to make America back down.

He leaned over the rail and stared into the river. "Tell
me everything about this investigation of yours."

There was very little that I left out, from the supposed
motive for the deaths of Trevor and Sabine to the thin payoff
range and enormous profits of the dollar forex trades. He was
attentive throughout.

"I'm not the right person for you to talk to. I'm a
chemical engineer, but I will ask my father. In Taipei it is the
middle of the night now. I'll call and wake him up. As you say,
there isn't much time. I'll contact you as soon as I know
something."

"David."

"What?"

"Who's your father?"

"He is the deputy director of the National Security
Bureau, Taiwan's intelligence service."

David might have been wrong about one thing.
Chances were he was exactly the person I needed to talk
to.

We parted, and I walked to Notre Dame. Construction
of the cathedral began in 1163, yet today it remained a living
church with services and consultations and areas of respite, if
not solitude. I went inside. The somber dark enveloped me, not
like the soothing blanket I had naively sought, but like a
hunter's net cast over prey. Youthful memories of
post-confessional solace clashed with those of iron-willed nuns
angry at their charges for no reason other than their own
subjugations to the perversions of celibacy.

I sat in a pew, clasped my hands and bowed my head
as though in prayer. In fact it was a pose of combat. Once more,
I fought the battle of apostasy, a strange and personal war.
Clergy have the absurd notion that fear of damnation is a
useful weapon against the logic of disbelief. It wasn't fear that
kept people faithful; it was guilt. At least in my case, it was. My
grandmothers, who had taught me the great lesson of caring,
were believers. It was hard to betray their faith.