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He motioned toward the back of the car before heading over to help the other driver transfer the luggage. Ama
ra felt the same twinge of apprehension about her bags being handled by a complete stranger, but Quint seemed to have no reservations.
No doubt he’d contacted someone with a good reputation, someone who could be trusted. Not only that, but this wasn’t like Nigeria or New Guinea where you might face down the barrel of a gun for your shoes.
Amara smiled at the driver as he approached with one of her bags. “Thank you, Mister Alvarez.”
His laugh was broad and good-natured, and he shook his head as he placed her luggage carefully in the trunk. “No no, none of that. You must call me Thiago. No need for titles. The car is unlocked. You sit wherever you like. We will leave right away, okay?”
Amara nodded and opened the back passenger door, sliding in and giving a small gasp of surprise at the interior. The seats were beautifully conditioned leather, and both the inside and outside were totally spotless. An unassuming, spicy scent gently filled the car leaving only an underlying hint of the astringent cleaning products that had been used to create such perfection.
A bottle of chilled champagne had been placed in a holder at the back of the driver’s console for the passengers, and the glasses were situated at either side. She had no intention of partaking, but she couldn’t help but marvel at the luxury packed into such an unassuming car.
Quint and Thiago entered near-simultaneously, and the engine came to a quiet, rumbling start as they buckled up. Amara followed suit, but her gaze focused outside the car. She was more than content to let Quint handle the task of directing their driver and seeing to their safety.
Quint directed the driver through Montevideo. Thiago protested a bit initially because he hadn’t been given a destination. He didn’t sound annoyed, however — only pleading for a destination so that he might get them there faster.
After some assurance from Quint that he’d planned the most efficient route, they returned to a simple back and forth of directions and confirmations.
Amara watched the city drift by. She’d never seen the place, and yet it had an air of familiarity. Just like her home city, people were going about their early morning commutes, grabbing coffee at the cafés downtown. The buildings got more and more sparse as they went on, having passed through most of the city in an hour’s time.
As they turned onto the narrow but well-maintained roads leading up Cerro de Montevideo, the large hill outside the city, Thiago chuckled and said, “Ah, I see. You do not want to give destinations because you are seeing important people. Or perhaps you are a military enthusiast on the way to the fort at the top? Either way, that is fine. I assure you, nothing but privacy from me. My lips are sealed.”
Quint glanced down at his phone and up to the road intermittently, guiding Thiago to the end of the long drive that led up to the Orlando estate. Behind the seemingly ancient, wrought iron gate, the compound itself could be seen.
It was impossible to make out anything but the main building with all the strategically placed foliage stretching from the sides of the building to the high fences at either side. Amara knew well enough from the overhead view that there was a lot more to the place than that one building.
Thiago pulled up to the security gate, and Quint quickly rolled down his window. The guard was pudgy and slow-moving, the bulk of his job being nothing more than turning away curious visitors. He seemed surprised by the car and its occupant as he approached, stopping suddenly as the window came down.
He spoke in stiff, badly broken English. “Who come here?”
Quint motioned to himself. “Quint Forbes. Must speak to Orlandos. Very important business.”
The security guard held a hand up and lumbered back to the small enclosure where he sat. He picked up a phone situated on the wall, talking briefly with whoever picked up on the other side. Once he hung up, he simply waved them through from the box, the large gate slowly sliding to allow them passage.
Thiago drove unhurriedly up the long lane, both out of caution and out of appreciation for the beauty of the place. The grounds were meticulously kept, the grass a lush green carpet, great beds of flowers lacing the lane.
With Quint’s window still down, the smell was practically intoxicating. Closer to the main building, the path was lined with giant, well-trimmed gardenia bushes. Even down to the greenery, everything about the estate screamed luxury and wealth.
The lane wrapped around a great, bronze statue of a military commander, standing with saber in hand, his head lifted proudly. Lilies bloomed profusely around the square, stone base. Amara assumed it was a tribute to some long-dead Orlando forebear.
As they parked, Quint instructed Thiago to leave the car running before he opened his door and stepped out without a word to Amara. Doubtlessly, he thought she would take it as a signal to stay inside, but she wouldn’t be kept back at what she hoped would be the moment of truth.
They walked up to the massive door, and it eased open, its weight causing a long, low groan from the wood and fastenings. It reminded Amara of old, scary-movie doors.
From the relative dark inside, a woman with wavy raven-black hair slipped out to greet them. It was obvious by her dress and the string of pearls that hung low over her chest that she wasn’t a servant — and her features told Amara loud and clear that they were dealing directly with a member of the Orlando family.
Chapter Twenty Five
BEFORE AMARA COULD SPEAK, THE woman closed the door behind her and stood with her hands clasped in front of her, wearing a pleasant, if weathered, smile. “Buenos dias. Welcome to the Orlando estate. My name is Gabriela. I was not expecting a man such as you to simply show up on our doorstep unannounced, Mister Forbes. To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit, hmm? I am amazed to see how much you have recovered from your ordeal. Yes, even those of us in other countries have heard of what you endured after the crashing of your airplane.”
Amara inwardly cringed at how practiced and high-society the greeting was, and how unmistakably the twist and drawl of her words matched her memories of Frederik’s tone.
Quint had both hands in his jacket pockets, seeming completely at ease with the situation, and obviously well-accustomed to the waltz that simple conversations were made into when influential or powerful people were speaking. Nothing was ever quite as it seemed, and she’d learned as much with Frederik.
He spoke confidently, without any hint of irritation or impatience. “Pleased to meet you, Gabriela.” One hand slipped from the jacket pocket to give her a personal business contact card. “I know it must seem strange, but I’m here on very important business. Would you mind if we talked inside?”
She smiled graciously as she slightly shook her head, loose curls sliding over her shoulders as she did. “I’m sorry, Mister Forbes. I do not know if that would be appropriate, considering the unexpected nature of your visit. As I’m sure you noticed, we’re quite a way back from the road, and I can likely address any questions you might have. It is as private outside as it is inside.”
