The Covert Element (14 page)

Santos left his beer on the lamp table, and buttoning his
smoking jacket, made his way through the crowd to Elena’s side. He
squeezed her elbow to let her know he had arrived.

She turned her head and kissed him on the lips.

"May I steal your attention for a moment, my dear?" His voice
was a whisper in her ear.

"Please excuse me, my friends. My valiant warrior desires my
presence. And you know how I hate to deny him that which he
desires."

The women giggled at the off-color remark.

Santos led Elena to the library, just off the great room, where
he opened the heavy wooden doors and led her inside. The doors
clicked closed behind him.

Pulling her towards him, he embraced her, caressing her body
as his kiss melted her hardened soul. He clutched her bottom in
both hands and squeezed. She giggled, pulling her face back from
his kiss.

"Here? Right now?" Even in the dim light of the library, he
could see she was blushing.

"Why not? We will lock the door. No one will know of our
adventure."

He placed his mouth on the nape of her neck and bit it gently.
Her moan of pleasure reverted to an objection.

"No. Raphael." She pushed on his chest. "Please. Not during
the party. Afterwards. As much as you want, I will give to you. Only
not at this moment. I would be too . . . uncomfortable."

Santos acceded to her decision, ceasing his falsely impassioned
advances and instead, leading her to the love seat. He left her there
momentarily while he opened the balcony’s white French doors,
exposing the moonlit valleys and desert mountains of the
Sierra
Madres
to the north.

Returning to her side, he picked up her hand and gazed into
her eyes.

Behind his loving expression, Santos continued plotting against
the cartel. He knew that, while Elena certainly loved him as much as
she was able to love another, she loved material wealth, and the
comforts and luxuries it could buy, at least as much. He needed her
support in the endeavor he was about to undertake. He had to be
certain he would have it in full measure.

It was time for him to bring Elena in line behind him . . . to
sever her allegiances to her uncle. She was of a favorable mind to
hear what he now needed to say. Her response would determine his
next step.

"My love. You know there is no one else in the world with
whom I should choose to spend my days. You are my life and my
breath. If that is enough for you, that is everything I need to sustain
my soul."

His eyes still held hers.

"We could run away from the fighting and danger of the family
enterprise, the worry of incurring your uncle’s wrath, the tireless
hours I spend laboring for
Los Cinco
.

"If that is your wish, tell me now and I will leave the riches and
status of this business behind and we will live in safety and bliss for
all of our days. But we must give up the ways of the cartel if we
make this choice. We must flee from your uncle, who will fear that
we would betray him. We must depart this home with all haste. You
will become an outcast in your own family – an orphan once again.

"You must tell me, my love, of your hopes for the future. Where
do you see us and our children living out our days?"

Elena was bewildered.

"Why must we decide these things tonight, my dear Raphael?
Can we not postpone such talk for a less festive time?"

"I have been speaking with your uncle this evening, Elena. He
has plans to give up leadership of the cartel, to abdicate his
responsibilities to
Los Cinco
. He intends to do so within the year.
He will name as his successor, Manuel Conchito, his longtime
friend and first captain of the security forces. He does not intend to
pass leadership of the cartel to us, as we had assumed . . . as
through your blood and my faithful service we rightfully deserve.

"As you know, Manuel is not so favorably disposed to me as is
your uncle. Though I have been faithful to the Calderons and
Los
Cinco
in all ways for many years, Manuel does not trust me. He still
considers me to be an outsider. And he most certainly places no
value on your family ties to cartel leadership, or on the sacrifices of
your father and cousins on the day of devastation. The fact that,
without the brothers Calderon, there would be no
Los Cinco
for him
to lead, matters not a gnat to him.

"If your uncle extends his blessings to Manuel Conchito, our
lives will never be the same. We will only be guaranteed safety as
long as your uncle lives. Our home will be taken from us. It is the
heirs of the Conchitas who will rule
Los Cinco
for generations to
come."

Her face flushed white and her hand shook in his.

"So you see, my love, now is the time that we must choose. Do
we flee from this place, this lifestyle, this family? Or do we stay and
claim what is rightfully ours? As I have already said, you are my life
and all that I need. It is not my family that will be lost, for I have no
kin. So you must choose. What course shall we follow?"

Elena stood, leaving Raphael’s hand to fall on his lap. She
walked through the open French doors onto the balcony and leaned
on the railing, surveying the lands her family controlled. She
thought of her hand maidens, her cooks, her servants, and all the
others who cared for her every desire. She recalled the respect that
even the security forces showed to her because she was a Calderon.
The thought of losing all of these necessities was unbearable.

Furthermore, she did not fear for her life as a respected part of
one of the most powerful drug cartels in the world. She knew the
extent of
Los Cinco’s
security forces – an army to rival that of many
nations.

Damn her uncle! How could he disinherit her in this way!

She turned back to Raphael. Her face was drawn. Her greedy
eyes betrayed what she had been thinking.

"Raphael. I do love you with all my heart. You are most
important of all things to me. But the thought of leaving my family
and friends, of departing my home and lands forever . . . . You
mustn’t demand an answer of me this night. I need time to
consider."

"I understand, my love. It is indeed a decision of great
consequence and should not be made lightly. But time does not
favor us. Your uncle has set no specific date for his retirement.

"May I have your decision by tomorrow evening at sunset? I
have considered a plan that will ensure our position of authority if
we choose to stay. But time will pass, and with it, all hope of
retaining your birthright."

Elena walked slowly to Raphael, her eyes wet with the tears she
fought to withhold. She embraced him, as a ship embraces safe
harbor in a storm.

He was certain he had convinced her. A final decision could
wait until tomorrow.

"Dear Elena. Speak nothing of this discussion to anyone,
especially your uncle. For if he is made aware, all will be lost."

Elena began to sob into Raphael’s chest.

"All . . . cannot . . . be . . . lost." Her breaths were shallow and
panicked. It was as he had hoped.

"We shall not speak of this, even to one another, until
tomorrow evening." He placed his strong hands on her shoulders
and gently pushed her away from his chest. Again, their eyes met.

"Now, retire to your bedroom directly. No one should see that
you have been crying. I will make your excuses with the guests.
Until tomorrow, beautiful Elena."

Walking with head hung low, Elena made her way through a
side door and upstairs to her bedroom.

Santos poured some scotch from the library bar into an empty
lowball glass. Then, moving through the open doors to the balcony,
he leaned lightly on the black iron railing.

That went far better than I could have expected. Her greed is
my ally. By tomorrow, it will overtake her love for her uncle, and
with her blessings, I will act
.

Santos swirled the scotch around the glass and sampled its
aroma. In it he savored a fragrance he had not known for decades –
the sweet smell of revenge. He raised a toast to the skies and
downed the scotch in a single swallow.

* * *

As the sun set on January 1, 2010, Elena and Raphael returned
to the library. As he had expected, she was ready to do whatever it
might take to hold onto her life of privilege and luxury.

"What must then happen, dearest Elena, to preserve our status,
and to prevent Conchita from stealing your birthright . . . what is
absolutely unavoidable to occur . . . is that your traitor uncle must
die."

Her face did not show the shock he had expected.

She grasped both of his hands in hers.

"Then that is what must happen."

She was an even more cold-hearted bitch than he had
anticipated.

"I will make it so. When your uncle dies, we will all mourn
him."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Several hours after Bull’s call advising that Sergeant Fuentes
would be arriving on Saturday, I decided I should probably fill
Gunner in on a few of the particulars. I knew I couldn’t tell him
anything about Fuentes without violating Bull’s trust. But I
could
tell him someone had heard about the killings and he might want to
let the BCA know.

At 10:15 a.m., I called Gunner on my cell. He was at the LEC as
usual.

"Chief Deputy Gunderson."

"Good morning, Gunner. Just calling to check in. How’s
tricks?"

"Ya know, everything was goin’ pretty smooth . . . till just now."

Gunner does this thing where he pretends he doesn’t want to
hear from me. I’m used to it. I think it gives him a feeling of control.

"I’ve got some news about you know what. Can I stop down?"

"What kinda news?"

I had piqued Gunner’s interest.

"Sorry . . . not on the phone. See you in a few?"

"Okay. C’mon down. Nothin’ much goin’ on here anyway."

I needed to say goodbye to Beth before I headed out. I called all
around inside the house – all four levels. No answer.

When I finally located my lovely wife, she was on her hands
and knees tending to some kind of purple flowers in the backyard
garden.

"There you are." I crossed the back porch and stepped out
through the screen door.

Slam.

Beth rolled onto her seat to face me. She was wearing cloth
gardening gloves and wielded a trowel.

"Oh, hey, Babe. Wanna come dig in the dirt? It’s good for the
soul."

"Aw, c’mon. You know I got plenty of soul food digging
potatoes in Dad’s back-forty-of-a-garden in my youth. The mere
thought of gardening strikes terror in my soul."

Beth shrugged.

"It’s too bad. But I guess too much of a good thing can ruin it
for you."

"Not to worry. I’ll be happy to contribute shoulder rubs, back
rubs, accu-pressure on those tight glutes . . . . I’m a veritable fount
of bodily blessings for the gardener who has overdone."

I smiled.