Everybody Pays (24 page)

“Not a chance. Can’t be done.”

“You did it before,” the chauffeur said, wasting no time in playing the card his bosses had told him to hold back unless he really needed it. “Same country. A chopper made up to look like the Red Cross on one side and La Policía on the other. Dropped into the biggest drug-dealer gathering the DEA ever heard of. And took your man out.”

“That was on the ground, just the other side of the border,” Cross said, not bothering to deny anything he’d done in another country . . . one with no extradition treaty. “The prison is in the mountains. No way to get a chopper there without being spotted halfway up. And the camp we hit was right out in the open. This one’s behind high walls. You could blast it, maybe, but there’s no guarantee you wouldn’t take out the client at the same time.”

“We’re willing to take that chance,” the chauffeur said. “She’s not going to last much longer anyway.”

“
You’re
willing to take the chance? The last thing you talked about—it cost me two men.”

“High risk, high return,” the chauffeur said.

“Your . . . friend here, he’s way-up connected, right?”

“Sure. But this can’t be a government thing. Hell, even the President called for her release; and our UN ambassador did, too. But Quitasol isn’t going for it. They saw what happened with the girl in Peru when the government wouldn’t release her. Nothing. Hell, Uncle’s not even willing to demand Pinochet’s extradition from England, for Christ’s sake. We got no muscle anymore,” he said, a deep trace of sadness in his voice.

“And even if the government was willing,” he continued, “we couldn’t do it the usual way—you know, foreign trade tariffs, Most Favored Nation status, rebuilding aid—with these guys. The only industry they got there is coke and gold. The coke market is drying up. Smack is back. So the Triangle’s back in business. That’s why Pol Pot had to go. And the gold they have, it’s not concentrated in one spot. On top of that, the government is
highly
unstable. The rebels hold big pieces of the country, and they could make their move anytime.”

“So why not throw
them
a little support? The government did that for the Kurds, they would have shredded Saddam a long time ago.”

“The old guard at the . . . agency isn’t real fond of the rebels. They’re
way
too leftist, if you get my drift. And they got no real leadership. Not pyramid-style, anyway. There’s nobody to talk to. Until the agency figures out who’s going to come out on top, they have to hedge. We need a presence there, in Central America. We’re going to lose our hold in the Canal Zone soon enough. Remember, this whole shaky mess is just the other side of Mexico. And Mexico, it’s got its
own
problems, especially in Chiapas.”

“But you tried anyway?” Cross asked mildly.

“Yeah, we did. And you know what’s funny? This guy,” the chauffeur said, jerking a thumb toward the immaculately dressed man, “he’s right. His daughter didn’t have jack to do with the rebels. She went down there with some other rich kids. You know, spend-a-semester-in-the-rain-forest thing? So the rebels, they don’t care what happens to her either. Fact is, near as I can tell, they’d kind of
like
it if she died there. Amnesty International already has her as a prisoner of conscience. It’d make it harder for us to associate ourselves with the guys in power.”

“So you want her out because . . . ?”

“Because I have friends in right places,” the immaculately dressed man interjected sharply. “
Grateful
friends. And all they’ve done is provide some . . . intelligence. I am expected to finance any rescue operation out of my own resources. And I am fully prepared to do so.”

“That’s nice,” Cross told him. “Good luck.”

“I am told,” the man said, his voice doing an isometric exercise against his impatience, “that you had the only private . . . force capable of handling such an operation.”

“We’re not a merc outfit,” Cross told him. “But there’s plenty of those out of work since Rhodesia disappeared and the Congo changed hands and the French pulled out of Algeria and the Portuguese out of Angola. . . . Well, you understand. Hell, for all I know, the Count still has his little air force you can rent.”

“I have spoken to . . . several such groups as you describe. It is clear to me, after consultation with my advisers, that I could spend money but would have no guarantee that the operation would ever be undertaken, much less successfully so.”

“And the difference between me and them is . . . what?”

“You live here,” the chauffeur said flatly. “Sorry, pal, but that’s the way it is. Uncle can’t reach out and touch the way it could years ago. The only outfits operating on U.S. soil are full of it. Bullshit idiots in camouflage suits. No way they could do anything like what we’re talking about. The ones that used to . . . work, they’re living elsewhere. Our orders are . . . Uh, look at it like this: We got to make you do it, okay? I don’t mean as a freebie or anything like that. This guy here”—indicating the immaculately dressed man with a curt nod—“he’s got the coin; that’s legit. But if you don’t take the deal, we have to take you down.”

“You mean . . . what?” Cross asked. “Those words, they’re like from a movie. They could mean anything. You saying you’re going to
kill
us, is that right? Murder us? All of us?”

The chauffeur threw up his hands, as if to defend himself against a blow. “Don’t be ridiculous. I gave you respect, why not give me some? I don’t know what I’m being recorded on now, but I’m not stupid enough to think I’m not. This place doesn’t
look
high-tech but . . . listen, I know what I’m dealing with, okay? You don’t want me to say in front of this guy”—another nod in the direction of the immaculately dressed man—“but I can show you whatever you want. You got something going here in Chicago, that’s all I’m saying. We
know
you don’t work out of the country anymore. All I’m saying is, we could make it kind of hard for you to work
here,
see what I’m saying?”

“Sure. And if I was running some kind of criminal enterprise, maybe that would be scary or something. But I think you got me confused with someone else.”

“No. No, we don’t. Look, don’t you have some place this guy”—another nod of the head—“can go while I talk to you alone for a minute?”

Cross nodded. A huge hand clamped down on the immaculately dressed man’s right shoulder. The tip of the hand’s forefinger was missing. Not a word was exchanged, but the man got up and left the room. The chauffeur didn’t take his eyes from Cross.

“You don’t want Uncle to owe you one?” he asked softly.

“He’s not
my
uncle,” Cross said.

“You must have thought so once. Your service record—”

“I went out on a Dishonorable.”

“That could be fixed. Easy enough. After all—”

“I don’t give a fuck. Gonna give me my medals back too, asshole? I went in because I thought it would be better than prison. It wasn’t.”

“Ah. All right, look: that guy, you think he’s got so much juice because of his cash? Fuck, the Chinese got more than him, and they
pay.
Got more politicians on their payroll than the whole tobacco industry. Reason he can call something like this in, he
knows
something. I don’t know what it is. And I know if he disappeared that wouldn’t be a tragedy, if you get what I’m saying. But the . . . agency doesn’t have what it takes to handle that stuff on the domestic side anymore.”

“Then you don’t have enough to hit us, either.”

“Nobody’s threatening to . . .” The chauffeur drew a deep breath. “Listen for a minute. This business with his daughter . . . I don’t understand these things. You got any kids?”

Cross stared through him.

“Yeah, sorry. Okay, look, here’s how it is. You got to do it. At least
try
to do it. And if it doesn’t work out, if the daughter doesn’t make it,
that’s A-fucking-okay with us,
you understand me now?”

“I don’t have the crew,” Cross replied.

“You got Ace, Rhino, Princess, Buddha, and Falcon for sure. And probably Tiger too.”

“You know so much, you know
this
much,” Cross said gently. “Ace never worked jungle in his life—he’s a city guy. Buddha, me, and Falcon are the only ones with the experience. And Falcon’s not with us.”

“He was with you on—”

“On some job, maybe,” Cross cut him off. “In another country. Once. But he’s not
with
us, understand? He’s not with the crew. He’s free-lance.”

“Uh, first of all, Rhino was on the ground when you made the last extraction from that same country. And Princess, you took him out of there . . . for whatever fucking reason we’ll never know, ’cause we
do
know he wasn’t part of the plan going in. And Falcon
was
there, on that job.”

“Princess wouldn’t know a rifle from a rock,” Cross said. “He’s useless. Tiger, I don’t even know where she is. She decides job by job, just like Fal, anyway. And I don’t have Luis or Maddox anymore. It’s too small a crew.”

“Money’s no—”

“We never take strangers,” Cross said, his voice dry ice. “Don’t even go there. And don’t waste my time telling me you know just the right boys.”

“She doesn’t have to come out, Cross. All we need is a big bang, something that’ll show on the radar, got me? Then you keep the money and Uncle owes you one, too.”

“I already told you—”

“Yeah. I believe you don’t know where Tiger is. Because we do. And I bet she’d be glad to go along on this one. She doesn’t get out much anymore.”

“That right?”

“Yeah. She killed a U.S. marshal while he was in performance of his duties. Only reason she didn’t get the death penalty was . . . it was a little murky, all right? Anyway, she’s got about another, oh, fifteen years inside. You take this deal, she goes with you.”

“What, on work release?”

“You
do
have a good sense of humor, huh? No, pal. She ‘escapes,’ all right? And nobody looks for her either.”

“Better she dies in prison,” Cross said.

“Damn, you’re a cold motherfucker. I thought—”

“Better she dies there,” Cross said, as if the other man had not spoken. “On paper. Then it’s off the books forever. Like the Witness Protection Program. Only one that
works.
”

“So you
will
do it?”

“I didn’t say that. I’m only saying, if I was to do it, that’d have to be her end.”

“Huh?”

“She wouldn’t get any of the money. Just the walkaway. That should be enough.”

“Yeah. Sure. Whatever you say. Who cares? Are you going to—?”

“Twenty-five thousand.”

“Huh?”

“Twenty-five thousand ounces of gold. That’s two hundred and eight bullion bars, ten pounds troy each. Half in hand, minimum of one month before we move.”

“That’s . . . how much?”

“At today’s quote, plus or minus a few bucks, seven and a half million.”

“He’s not even gonna blink,” the chauffeur said.

“Right. So you can tell your little asset that we’re not going for his snakehead scam either.”

“Ah. Look, nobody was going to get—”

“Right. Not killed, captured. In the act. Looking at forever Inside. So you could make the same deal with us you’re offering to make with Tiger.”

“Just business.”

“Right.”

“And you’ll . . . ?”

“Let you know.”

“It has to be something she already did . . . or something she knows,” Cross said four hours later. “He has to be worried what she’s going to spill when she gets out.”

“Spill what, boss?”

“How would I know, Buddha? And what difference does it make?”

“I don’t get it,” Ace spoke up. “This rich guy, even
his
money ain’t big enough, right? I mean, that’s what the spook told you. So he has to
know
something; all it could be, the feds humoring him like they are.”

“Humoring him?”

“The spook said, don’t matter if the girl gets out alive. In fact, way you told it, they’d just as soon have it
not.
And those guys that have her,
they’re
damn sure gonna kill her if they see someone trying to bust her out. So what they’re really doing, they’re buying a long-distance hit.”

“Sure,” Cross agreed. “But the agency doesn’t care about that. And neither does Uncle. It’s that man, he’s the one that wants it. The government, they’re just delivering.”

“What’s this got to do with the snakehead?” Buddha asked.

“The spook admitted it was a box. They were going to nab us red-handed, make us some walkaway deal. That way they’d have it all. But I suspect, the way it was supposed to happen—because our pal from Uncle snapped that we caught wise—he was going to make contact before we went in, tell us it’s a trap, do us a favor, okay? And what he’d be telling us is that, we don’t do them
this
favor, they won’t be doing us any more in the future.”

“So just another way to threaten us?” Rhino asked.

“More threats.” Cross nodded agreement, his voice weary. “I already told him it was a flop. But we need to tell them stronger. Fan out. Stir things up. Make some money. We had a couple of moves waiting. Small stuff, in case we needed a stake. Let’s do those. Let them know we’re still here, still doing business. See if that doesn’t make Uncle up the offer.”