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“I told you. Magic. Or maybe I have X-ray satellites watching this house. Or perhaps drones circling around day and night. I could have sent workmen in here to bug every room and plant cameras where you’ll never find them. Or . . .” Bazin paused for effect. “Or there’s always the possibility of a traitor in your midst.”
Bazin avoided looking at Portilla, but Tallon got the hint.
“You?” he screamed at Portilla. “You sold me out?”
Portilla had his hands up in supplication. “No, boss. I’m loyal to you, I swear. This guy is lying.”
“He’s not lying. He described every last thing in that safe. You betrayed me!”
“I swear I didn’t!”
Bazin edged closer to the bar, putting his hand by the drawer beneath it. To Tallon he said, “At least when I want to share in profits from your business, I’m upfront about it. I don’t want to skim it behind your back.”
“Is that true?” Tallon asked Portilla. “Are you taking money from me after all I’ve given you?”
“No! Please, Alonzo!” But Portilla’s eyes revealed the lie. With a look of pure rage, he pivoted and drew a nickel-plated Smith & Wesson from his shoulder holster.
Bazin didn’t know who Portilla planned to shoot—maybe both of them—but it didn’t matter. The instant Portilla had made the move for his holster, Bazin had yanked open the drawer and snatched up the Glock pistol that Tallon had placed there as an emergency backup weapon. With a motion honed from years of training, Bazin raised the semiautomatic and put one bullet through Portilla’s forehead before Portilla had even finished aiming at Tallon, who was still dumbfounded by what was happening.
“You’ve suspected him for some time,” Bazin said. “I just did you a favor.”
Tallon stared at Bazin holding his hidden gun. “How did you—”
“I told you. Magic. Do we have an arrangement?”
Tallon nodded dumbly, then waved off the guards who had rushed through the door and now stood gaping at Portilla’s corpse.
Bazin walked over to the desk and dropped the Glock on it. He withdrew a slip of paper from his pocket and laid it on top of the gun. “The first number is the Cayman account where Portilla was stashing the skim. The second number is my bank account. I expect to see monthly deposits. And I will know if you’re holding back. By the way, he was also sleeping with your wife.”
Bazin left the office and made his way back to the helicopter. While his men got back on, his phone rang. It was the Doctor, likely calling to check on his progress.
“Where are you?” the Doctor said without preamble.
“I’ve just finished the business in Colombia. Another success.”
“Good. I’ve got another job for you.”
“I’m planning to go to Mexico tomorrow to meet with one of the cartel members.”
“It can wait. There’s a bigger problem. An unusual ship. It’s called the Oregon. They’ve got some information that could damage our whole operation, and they don’t even know it.”
“If they don’t know it, why is that a problem?”
“Because it’s only a matter of time before they do know. Can you have an assassination squad in Jamaica by tomorrow?”
Montego Bay, Jamaica
A light breeze ruffled the palm fronds above the outdoor section of the Sunset Cliff Spa. The idyllic setting had been carefully chosen by the resort to take advantage of the spectacular view of the Caribbean Sea. Tourists frolicked along the picturesque beach that stretched from the twenty-foot-high cliffs that gave the resort its name. During the day, white canvas tents were erected atop the grassy cliff so that guests could receive an open-air massage free from the prying eyes of passersby. Before dusk, the tents were removed, giving guests and sightseers an unobstructed view of the sun’s red and orange hues as it dipped below the horizon.
Linda relaxed on a chaise longue and sipped from a champagne flute as a pedicurist attended to her toes. Julia sat next to her with her own dedicated attendant. The two of them had been the first ones off the Oregon when it docked in Montego Bay that morning. They were both swaddled in plush white robes.
“It has been forever since I’ve had one of these,” Linda said, gesturing at the pedicurist’s work.
Julia grinned at her. “Aren’t you glad I talked you into it?”
“I could get used to this.” Although the Oregon was equipped with a Jacuzzi hot tub and a sauna, it just wasn’t the same as a full-service spa.
“We should ask Juan to hire a dedicated nail technician for the shipboard mani-pedis,” Julia said. “As the resident doctor, I know personally that some of the guys could sure use one. Their nails are disgusting.”
