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Authors: Rosa Turner Boschen
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far as
Mark could tell, it looked like Carnova was using El Dedo's Latin American connections to help secure weapons
for his Spanish uprising.
Mark could smell the money
involved and knew the Colombians' reputation for stockpiling weapons. It was a well- known fact that contraband weapons were often smuggled
along drug-trafficking routes. Everything was starting to fall into place. The
missing link was Ana.
Even if Albert Kane had been
involved for many years in covert operations, what did that have to do with his
daughter? Kane had worked in Iberia during the War. Maybe someone there had an
old axe to grind. But the man was dead. Waging war with his ghost seemed a
wasted battle. Wasted, and yet Ana’s kidnapping had turned American
Intelligence protocol on its head.
Mark's intuition told him this
terrorist triangle involving Colombia, Costa Negra and Spain had Ana Kane caught squarely in its middle.
All at once, with no facts to
prove it, he knew he was right. She was no longer in Costa Negra .
He would proceed with the routine checks and border patrol calls. But first, he
would telephone Jarvis to say he was coming home.
Mark made his calls and
breakfasted in the hotel bar. Then he checked with the concierge regarding
Ana's belongings. Not surprisingly, her room had been cleared, and all remaining
items boxed on the morning of Mark's arrival.
At first, the clerk was
reluctant to grant him access to the storage area but, after a persuasive
grease of the palm, he’d been happy to show Mark to the over-stuffed wooden
crate sequestered in a musky corner of the basement.
Nothing really seemed out of
place. A couple of business suits, pantyhose, makeup and the like. He closed
the zipper on the small suitcase and was just standing to go when two canceled
U.S. postage stamps caught his eye. He pulled the envelope from the front flap
of the bag and examined its return address. Scott Denton, Washington, DC.
Mark stuffed the envelope into
his coat pocket and checked his watch. Eleven-thirty. Not much time before
catching his one o'clock flight to Miami.
As he crossed through the hotel
lobby with his bags, the concierge stopped him with urgency. 'Senor Taylor, el telefono !'
He took the call at the
switchboard while Gustavo waited impatiently outside. Mark motioned for the
cabby to wait and picked up the receiver.
It was a winded Ambassador
Mooney; he could barely hold his air to speak. 'I've got someone here who needs
to talk to you.'
Mark couldn't waste time with
preliminaries. He knew he was on the right track and would have to make haste.
'I'm on my way to the airport.
I think I've got a lead on Ana and Joe.'
'Precisely
what I need to see you about. We've found the Embassy jeep and Joe.'
Mark's heart
bounded in his chest. He had assumed Joe was still with Ana. Although,
of course, Ana was the target and Joe had just been in the way. Mark steadied
his voice in an effort to convey concern. 'Is he –?'
'Alive? Yes, thank God. Took a
couple of slugs to the shoulder, but he'll live. He's a tough one.'
Mark was surprised the
kidnappers had left this loose end and figured there must be more to the story.
'I'll bet he is. Listen, I'm
glad your nephew's all right. Looks like I'll need to talk to him after all. The sooner, the better. Where are you?'
'We're at my house on Avenida de la Constitucion .
Gustavo knows where it is,' Mooney said, still out of breath.
'Good, I'll stop by on my way
to the airport.'
Mark quickly scanned the room
to be sure he hadn't been overheard, then hurried down
the stairs to the taxi where his driver was waiting.
Mark sat in a beige patio chair
sipping a rum and coke and surveying the face before him. So this was Ana's
idea of a rugged Romeo, he thought with amusement, swirling the ice in his
glass. McFadden was a brawny guy, beefy through the shoulders, but also a
little too wide in the gut. Still, he held a certain appeal, Mark supposed, for
women who liked that rough-riding
Mark could tell, it looked like Carnova was using El Dedo's Latin American connections to help secure weapons
for his Spanish uprising.
Mark could smell the money
involved and knew the Colombians' reputation for stockpiling weapons. It was a well- known fact that contraband weapons were often smuggled
along drug-trafficking routes. Everything was starting to fall into place. The
missing link was Ana.
Even if Albert Kane had been
involved for many years in covert operations, what did that have to do with his
daughter? Kane had worked in Iberia during the War. Maybe someone there had an
old axe to grind. But the man was dead. Waging war with his ghost seemed a
wasted battle. Wasted, and yet Ana’s kidnapping had turned American
Intelligence protocol on its head.
Mark's intuition told him this
terrorist triangle involving Colombia, Costa Negra and Spain had Ana Kane caught squarely in its middle.
All at once, with no facts to
prove it, he knew he was right. She was no longer in Costa Negra .
He would proceed with the routine checks and border patrol calls. But first, he
would telephone Jarvis to say he was coming home.
Mark made his calls and
breakfasted in the hotel bar. Then he checked with the concierge regarding
Ana's belongings. Not surprisingly, her room had been cleared, and all remaining
items boxed on the morning of Mark's arrival.
At first, the clerk was
reluctant to grant him access to the storage area but, after a persuasive
grease of the palm, he’d been happy to show Mark to the over-stuffed wooden
crate sequestered in a musky corner of the basement.
Nothing really seemed out of
place. A couple of business suits, pantyhose, makeup and the like. He closed
the zipper on the small suitcase and was just standing to go when two canceled
U.S. postage stamps caught his eye. He pulled the envelope from the front flap
of the bag and examined its return address. Scott Denton, Washington, DC.
Mark stuffed the envelope into
his coat pocket and checked his watch. Eleven-thirty. Not much time before
catching his one o'clock flight to Miami.
As he crossed through the hotel
lobby with his bags, the concierge stopped him with urgency. 'Senor Taylor, el telefono !'
He took the call at the
switchboard while Gustavo waited impatiently outside. Mark motioned for the
cabby to wait and picked up the receiver.
It was a winded Ambassador
Mooney; he could barely hold his air to speak. 'I've got someone here who needs
to talk to you.'
Mark couldn't waste time with
preliminaries. He knew he was on the right track and would have to make haste.
'I'm on my way to the airport.
I think I've got a lead on Ana and Joe.'
'Precisely
what I need to see you about. We've found the Embassy jeep and Joe.'
Mark's heart
bounded in his chest. He had assumed Joe was still with Ana. Although,
of course, Ana was the target and Joe had just been in the way. Mark steadied
his voice in an effort to convey concern. 'Is he –?'
'Alive? Yes, thank God. Took a
couple of slugs to the shoulder, but he'll live. He's a tough one.'
Mark was surprised the
kidnappers had left this loose end and figured there must be more to the story.
'I'll bet he is. Listen, I'm
glad your nephew's all right. Looks like I'll need to talk to him after all. The sooner, the better. Where are you?'
'We're at my house on Avenida de la Constitucion .
Gustavo knows where it is,' Mooney said, still out of breath.
'Good, I'll stop by on my way
to the airport.'
Mark quickly scanned the room
to be sure he hadn't been overheard, then hurried down
the stairs to the taxi where his driver was waiting.
Mark sat in a beige patio chair
sipping a rum and coke and surveying the face before him. So this was Ana's
idea of a rugged Romeo, he thought with amusement, swirling the ice in his
glass. McFadden was a brawny guy, beefy through the shoulders, but also a
little too wide in the gut. Still, he held a certain appeal, Mark supposed, for
women who liked that rough-riding
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