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They moved out of the seats to the helipad as Tweedledee and Dum ushered them toward the huge house, an ocean castle that looked like a fairytale home complete with beautiful flower boxes with a riot of color. They entered a side door and walked down a hall until they passed through an opulent kitchen with a coffered old-world stone floor crisscrossed with warm brown wood. The backsplash was in a white-and-blue flowered motif with a peacock framed over the sink, the light wood cabinets done in a herringbone design with a bluish tint. Hooked to the edge of the hood over the stove was a myriad of copper pots that matched two light fixtures over the main island.
They emerged into the main part of the house, down a long wood-floored hall to a large library, where they were pushed down onto one of the sofas in the room. Everything in this place was pristine and expensive, from the floor-to-ceiling bookcases and richly colored carpets over another coffered floor combined with taupe-colored slabs of large tile with a blue diamond in the middle, to the huge mahogany desk commanding attention to the far side of the room.
There were several men working at computers, and Mari could make out some kind of a schedule on one of the screens. This must be the hub of their operation. The intel in those computers would be enough to take this whole operation down, dismantle it for good. That gave her great satisfaction for a fleeting moment.
While they waited, she could hear the sound of more helicopters before they buzzed across the open French doors made of the same wood on the floor. A man arrived, dressed impeccably in an Armani suit, his salt and pepper hair sporting an expensive cut. Santiago greeted him in Spanish, naming him as Mr. Delgado. He asked him about the weather in Barcelona, and they chatted for a few minutes, their conversation interrupted by another well-dressed man. This time he spoke in Italian, and the same kind of conversation ensued, only this guy was named Mr. Amato from Venice. Then a third man with an Irish accent, his name Mr. Walsh, and finally, an American, a Mr. Moore, who was dressed in pastels, making her think he was from Miami. They each eyed the women, but Santiago dismissed them every time.
Mari gasped as a man entered the room through the French doors, dressed in a coverup as if he’d been sunning himself by the pool like he was on vacation. He had an iguana on his shoulder, a young one, not very big with a jeweled collar and a linked-chain leash—an odd sight for a middle-aged man. His hair was black and swept off his forehead, some silver threaded through the thickness. His features were rugged and handsome, but not as good-looking as Santiago, and he sported a bushy black mustache.
Carmen slipped her hand into Mari’s, looking at her sister with such sheer terror, Mari squeezed to try to soothe her.
But there was no denying that the man was Ignacio Siachoque, Colombian drug lord, and founder and leader of the Siachoque Cartel, currently on the run from the Costa Rican and American authorities. The notorious Nacho.
The drug lord inclined his head at Santiago and then looked at them. Mari’s blood went cold. Santiago walked over and said nothing as he signaled to the Tweedles. Dee and Dum grabbed each of their arms and marched them out of the library to a door near the kitchen. Santiago opened it, and Mari balked for a moment; the smell was dank with a terrible metallic stench.
Dee forced her through and down a set of wooden steps into what she could only think of as a dungeon. He shoved her forward, and she careened into a wall, flinching as wet stone scraped her skin. There were three cells down here with rusted bars, looking medieval with nothing inside, not even a bucket. The third cell had a bloodstain on the floor, telling her the last occupant probably hadn’t survived.
She wished with all her heart that she had confided in Buck, wished she was with him now. Sweat pooled at the base of her spine, at her temples. Her sister was shivering, but she hadn’t gone into any hysterics.
Placed in the center of the three cells was a rain barrel.
It didn’t matter that she didn’t want to tell them anything. She slipped her arm around Carmen. She feared they weren’t going to get out of this alive.
* * *
Buck entered the briefing room, still worried about Mari and how upset she’d been last night. The backlash from him being undercover on this mission and working her for information. She doubted him. Doubted their relationship, and part of him was sick at heart, but the other part of him understood how she felt. None of it was good.
They settled into their chairs, and Kat walked into the room with a tablet in her hand. She was looking at it as she walked. When she reached the front of the room, she faced them. “We have gotten the results of the FBI’s investigation into the production and shipping records for La Buena Tierra and the news is not good.”
Curses and groans from the guys, and Buck’s hopes sank, making him want to smash something. The implications, and the bleak look in Kat’s eyes, told him that Mari’s family business was in jeopardy.
“The coffee beans produced do not match what was shipped out. Although we see no indication of the plantation receiving any kind of payoff. Their financial records are impeccable and appear to result from their legitimate coffee and hotel proceeds.”
That information opened up a small window of hope.
“There are two ports where they are shipping out their coffee.” She put up a slide of a curved slice of land where the port sat. “Port of Caldera is situated in the Gulf of Nicoya on the Pacific coast in the Puntarenas province, handling more than half of its international maritime commerce with trade links with the United States, African and Asian countries.” She clicked and a new slide went up, this time showing docks, cranes, and structures surrounded by ocean. “The other is the Port of Limón, the largest port in the country and strategically positioned near the Panama Canal, the Gulf of Mexico, and the southern coast of the United States, making the port an important departure point for cocaine heading to international markets.”
“Could it be that they know nothing about what’s going on?” Blitz asked, his expression grim, but hopeful.
Kat shrugged. “It could be, but we won’t know until we raid the shipping warehouse. We need to have another conversation with Diego. The PCD is working on a warrant to search the premises and detain all employees. It will be a joint operation by the PCD, the DEA, and us. The PCD will be supplying police, and the DEA, agents and drug-sniffing dogs.”
“Do we have any idea who is behind this shipping irregularity? None of us believe Diego is responsible,” D-Day asked.
“Until we talk to him, we won’t know, but we have some intel that it’s the Sombre Sindicato Gang who has affiliations with none other than our nemesis—Nacho.”
“That fucker is part of this,” Zorro said, his jaw taut, his eyes glacial.
“That makes sense. His guys attacked us after the crash. Maybe they were herding us toward the plantation,” Gator said.
“Nacho uses everything to his advantage to get his cocaine in the country—go-fast boats, semi-submersibles and the stripped-out and covered-up low-profile vessels dispatched from Colombia,” Kat said.
Russ spoke up. “Including hidden in loads or packed into structures of containers departing from the Colombian port of Turbo. So, a lot of methods by sea. They are also crossing the Panama border in modified vehicles with secret compartments.”
“We all know how ruthless he is. In fact, I’m sure he was behind the death of Juan Barrantes. They wanted the manager dead so they would have free rein of the department,” Kat said. “Gear up. We’ll be hitting the shipping warehouse in two hours.”
Buck had to wonder if Mari was back from her errands. He looked across the compound from their warehouse headquarters in full battle kit, wishing he could speak to her for a few moments. Reassure her, knowing in his gut that Diego wasn’t involved. The man wasn’t that good of a liar.
When it was time to move out, Buck walked with his teammates and Russ toward the warehouse. In the quiet afternoon, the sounds of vehicles, helicopters, and personnel broke the stillness as they all converged on their target. Workers looked around confusingly as PCD moved in to contain them.
