The Argentine Triangle: A Craig Page Thriller (23 page)

Buenos Aires

E
strada, in his office, hung up the phone with President Garcia who had told him about the American delegation headed by Edward Bryce that would be visiting. “Since military issues are key,” Garcia had said, “I want you, Alfredo, to take the lead in planning the agenda for our visitors.”

Estrada was delighted. He already had Bryce in his pocket. He could use this delegation to his advantage. His mind was churning with ideas. Then his cell phone rang. It was Gina.

“Yes, dear,” he said.

“Alfredo, I’m flying to Buenos Aires tonight with Edward Bryce’s delegation. They’re taking along two American journalists, and Bryce added me to cover the story for
La Nación
.”

He leaned back in the high leather desk chair and told Gina, “I’m very pleased you’re coming.”

She coughed and cleared her throat. “There’s something I have to ask you.” The anxiety was apparent in her voice.

“Sure, dear, what is it?”

“Well, if that banker, Barry Gorman, is still in the country, could I see him?”

Estrada’s initial reaction was to respond with a sharp rebuke, reminding her that she had better not do anything to upset her relationship with Bryce, because it was critical for Argentina at this time. Then he thought about it some more. Despite being cloistered with her grandparents and at a private girls’ school, Gina was a young, hot-blooded, Argentine woman. He could tell from the sound of her voice that she had passion for Gorman. And he couldn’t blame her, preferring the much younger macho Gorman to the old, tired Bryce. Estrada decided he could use her passion to his advantage.

In London and on the plane, Estrada had concluded from Gorman’s behavior that he really was a wealthy money man. How he had handled a casino and women. How he had negotiated Estrada’s diamond offer.

When Estrada had told all of this to Schiller upon his return, he knew the colonel still wasn’t convinced. Now he had a further way of testing Gorman. See how he behaved around the Americans. Gorman’s suite and hotel phones were bugged. All of the other Americans’ would be as well. He’d find out if Gorman made contact with them. Gina had just given Estrada the perfect way to have Gorman around when the Americans were here. A perfect way to see how Gorman behaved.

“Of course, you’ll be able to see him, my dear,” Estrada said. “I’ll include him in many of the events. I just want you to be happy.”

Jorge Newbery Park was not far from the Alvear. Dressed in shorts and a tee shirt, Craig jogged along a deserted dirt trail, lined with tall trees. After the long days he had been keeping, his body felt stiff and lethargic, but he pushed himself hard to keep up the pace. Meantime, his mind kept coming back to Estrada’s speech last night on television and the call this morning. Something big was definitely brewing, but he couldn’t figure out what it was.

Up ahead, a small, rickety wooden bridge crossed a creek. On the other side lay a thick wooded area. Craig cut his speed and watched his footing to avoid stumbling on the bridge. Once he was on the other side, he ran faster. It had rained earlier that morning—a brief, strong spring shower. The ground was soft and muddy.

Two joggers, a man and a woman, passed him heading the other way. Bright sunlight glinted through the trees. He was approaching a sharp bend on the right. As he reached it, he saw a thick tree branch, too high to hurdle, blocking the path. He slowed down to slip around it. At that moment, two men jumped up in the underbrush. A powerful set of arms grabbed him from behind. Craig tried to fight back, but a sharp punch to the kidneys sapped his strength and left him gasping for air.

The two men, one tall and one short, pulled him deeper into the woods. After making certain no one could see them, they stood him up with his back against a tree and his arms at his sides. Around his midsection, they fastened a rope that rendered his hands useless and held him tight against the trunk. Bark was cutting into his back. A greasy gray cloth was tied over his mouth.

As he watched in horror, the tall man reached into a black canvas bag and extracted a pair of boxing gloves. “I hate to damage my hands,” he said sadistically.

“What do you want?” Craig asked. “I’ll give you money.”

“Leave Argentina now,” the short man said, “for good.”

Craig spit on the ground. “Tell Colonel Schiller that’s my answer.”

The boxer went to work on Craig’s upper body, his abdomen, and genitalia with blow after blow. Craig heard the smack … smack … smack … He felt the pain. First he threw up. Then he passed out.

When he regained consciousness, Craig found that the rope tying him to the tree was loose. He slipped out of it. His whole body aching, he staggered back to the Alvear.

“Are you alright?” the alarmed manager asked when he saw Craig pass through the revolving door and enter the lobby.

Since his clothes covered the bruises, he forced a smile. “Just a little winded from running in the park. I may have pushed myself too hard.”

The portly manger smiled. “You’ll never catch me running. It’s not healthy.”

When he reached his suite, he found a message on his voice mail. “Please call General Estrada.”

Before returning the call, he went into the bathroom and peeled off his clothes. The front of his body was covered with welts and bruises. In a few hours, he’d be every possible shade of black and blue.

He was tempted to tell Estrada, but he decided that would be a bad move. He had no intention of leaving Argentina. If he told Estrada about the beating and remained in the country, Estrada would doubt that he was here as an investor.

A secretary put him right through to Estrada.

“I have an invitation for you,” the general said.

“What’s that?” Craig tried to squelch the pain and sound natural.

“Tomorrow morning, an American delegation, headed by Edward Bryce, one of President Treadwell’s advisers, arrives in Buenos Aires on a fact finding mission about the Brazilian attack. During the day, I’m taking them up north to see the area. In the evening, there’ll be a dinner at the Alvear. I’d like you to attend both.”

This was quite an offer. Craig wondered what prompted it.

“I’d be delighted to be there. What do I have to know about the meetings?”

“Very little. My objective is to have the Americans understand what happened.”

Craig would have liked to know himself. But he wished
to hell Bryce wasn’t coming.

“I’ll let you know where and when to meet us. Oh, and something else you should be aware of.”

“What’s that?” Craig asked warily.

“I’ve been informed that your friend Gina Galindo will be with the press group covering the meetings. In fact, she asked me to include you.”

Well, well, isn’t that nice, Craig thought.

“So you might have time for a little fun,” Estrada said and laughed. Then he hung up the phone.

Craig stared at it for several minutes trying to discern what Estrada had in mind for him and Gina. His guess was that Estrada wanted Gina to pick his brain. He’d be extra careful in what he told her.

He had to find a doctor, and he couldn’t do that in the hotel or word would get back to Estrada. He had only one option.

Clumsily, he got dressed. Out in the corridor, he hid behind a doorway until the service elevator came. Then he took it to the basement. In the kitchen area he passed men loading a large industrial dishwasher. He looked around until he found what he wanted: a staircase leading to a delivery door in the rear of the hotel. Certain that he wasn’t being watched, he slipped out.

In the bright sunlight he walked a few blocks down the hill, away from the entrance to the hotel. Then he ducked into an indoor shopping mall lined with luxury boutiques.

From an isolated corner, he called Nicole. Without identifying himself, he said, “I enjoyed seeing your house last evening. I may be prepared to give you an offer to buy it, but I’d like to take another look first. Can you go out there with me now?”

She didn’t miss a beat. “Where are you?”

When he described his location, she said, “I’ll be there in a few minutes, driving a dark green BMW sedan.”

The instant she pulled up in front of the mall, he stumbled out and collapsed into the front seat of her car.

“Drive,” he said as he ducked his head down.

“What’s wrong? You look like hell.”

He pulled up his shirt.

She grimaced. “Good God. Schiller’s thugs?”

“Yeah. Thanks for picking me up. I need a doctor to look at me.”

“I have a friend who’ll come to the house. We can trust him.”

Craig woke up in a strange bed. Fluttering in through an open window was a gentle breeze. Outside, it was dark.

He boosted himself to a sitting position, rubbed his eyes, and looked around. Nicole was sitting in a rocker, dressed in a white terrycloth robe, gently moving back and forth and watching him.

Anticipating his question, she said, “You’re in my house.”

“How long did I sleep?”

“Well it’s almost ten at night. The doctor gave you a powerful painkiller that he expected would knock you out.”

“What was his diagnosis?”

“Just bad bruises. No serious damage. He said you might try moving in a different crowd.”

“Very funny.”

“You feel like eating?”

“I’m starving. I haven’t had a bite since breakfast, and I left that in the park.”

“Good. Let me help you out of bed.”

Before she reached him, he lowered himself onto the floor. The pajamas he was wearing were about two sizes too large.

“You obviously date a big guy,” he said.

She shook her head and laughed. “Those are Papa’s. He spends the night here sometimes.”

“Thanks for taking care of me. I appreciate it.”

He suddenly remembered the meeting tomorrow. “What happened to my cell phone?”

She pulled it out of his jacket pocket. “Did you sleep through a hot date tonight?”

“No, but I have to call for my messages. Estrada wants to meet me in the morning.”

Craig called his hotel. From the answering machine in his room he found out what he needed. He was supposed to be at Estrada’s office at nine in the morning.

She had sent the servants home, so the two of them settled down at the wooden butcher block kitchen table with cold, cooked steak, several different salads, and a loaf of homemade bread the cook had left.

“You want some wine?” she asked.

He started to say “yes,” then remembered what happened to him with Betty in Sardinia and changed his mind. “Plain old water.”

As they began eating, she asked, “What are you doing with Estrada tomorrow?”

“The American government is sending down a delegation headed by Edward Bryce to find out what happened up north with Brazil. Estrada wants me to tag along.”

“You’ve certainly managed to become a player.”

He laughed. “It’s the money, honey. Ten billion would get you invited to the festivities as well.”

She picked up a forkful of food. As he watched her eat, he thought Nicole had a very sensuous mouth. Her eyes were radiant in the light. She wasn’t wearing any make up. Perhaps he had been too busy worrying about survival the other times he had been with her to notice, but she was a strikingly beautiful woman. Her robe was loose on top, and he could see some cleavage and the round sloping portion of her breasts.

“Does Bryce know anything about my country?”

“He’s been getting an education in bed.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Do you know a reporter from
La Nación
named Gina Galindo?”

“I read her articles in the newspaper. That’s all.”

“Well anyhow, she’s an innocent kid who taught at a Catholic girls’ school in Mendoza. Estrada, who knew her old man, an army buddy of his, now deceased, plucked her out of the convent and coerced her into sleeping with Bryce. He’s willing to destroy her to get what he wants.”

Nicole glowered. “Estrada’s such a bastard. He’d do anything to advance himself.” She paused, then added, “I guess that explains why American arms have been flowing down here like water.”

“You’ve got it. Estrada told me that Gina’s coming with the American delegation as part of the press entourage.”