laptop, it was vital for Room 59 to provide an in-depth history for each operative’s cover story. For this, hackers worked behind the scenes in the world’s major search engines, tweaking hit algorithms to ensure that the false pages would pop up immediately in any search. A company Web page was easy, but faking news reports and other believable media usually took time. However, the three hackers had smoothly established Mr. Heinemann as a living, breathing person—at least on the Internet.
What a story they had woven, Kate thought. According to reliable sources, Mr. Heinemann operated a successful import-and-export company out of Munich. However, a bit more digging revealed that he had been investigated—but never charged—for illegal arms smuggling and sales by the U.S., German and French governments, and had been rumored to be involved in various black-market deals for the past twenty years.
It’s amazing how the Internet gives instant credibility to things, simply by letting people find it for themselves on a computer screen, Kate thought. What could be located by a simple keyword search would be enough to plant the notion in anyone’s mind about Mr. Heinemann, but there was one final straw that anyone seriously checking a cover story would probably think to do, as well.
“Incoming call for Rhienland I.E.” KeyWiz adjusted his headset mike and looked to Kate for confirmation.
She let it ring three times—after all, it was a thriving business—then nodded.
“
Yes, he does enjoy greyhound racing—it’s a life-long hobby of his. May I inquire as to whom is calling? Very well, sir.”
While KeyWiz was handling the phone call, El Supremo traced the cell phone call to its source.
“Originating in the Palm Beach Kennel Club restaurant,”
he reported.
“I think he may have been outside the bathroom—I thought I heard someone flush. No message. Guy said he’d call back later. Damn, I love this
KeyWiz said.” He held up his hand, and NiteMaster and El Supremo did the same, in a virtual high-five.
“Good work, gentlemen. Let’s keep monitoring the sites for any other hits—who knows, this bait may attract some other targets, as well. Also, I want analysis done on everyone at that table, who they are, their relationship to Castilo, anything and everything we can dig up on them,” Kate said.
Judy spoke up. “Kate, I’ve got Denny on another line.
Something’s gone wrong on the Hawaiian operation—our operative just landed himself in jail.”
“What? Oh, that’s great—I hope he didn’t blow his cover.
Conference me in, and let’s see what we can do.” Kate kept her gaze on the dot that was Jonas as he walked to a pair of tables in the racetrack’s restaurant.
Rafael Castilo rose to meet Jonas as he approached. “I understand that we have you to thank for this excellent champagne.”
“Your fine animal made me a tidy profit, and when I recognized you, I felt it was only right to share some of my good fortune.” Jonas extended his hand. “Ferdinand Heinemann.”
Castilo took it and pumped firmly three times, then let go. Up close, his dark brown eyes were even more penetrat-ing, even through the barrier of the sunglasses. Jonas felt himself being appraised, and returned the other man’s stare with a steely one of his own, friendly enough on the outside, but all business when confronted with a fellow predator in the corporate jungle.
“Rafael Castilo, and this is my wife, Javier.” He made introductions around the table, with Jonas filing the names and faces away for future reference.
Just then a waiter brought Karen to them. “Darling, you must play those hunches more often.” She handed him the folded sheaf of bills, exposing them just enough so that Castilo saw the outermost hundred.
Jonas tucked the wad in his pocket. “Now you have the chance to thank the owner of our good-luck greyhound in person, my dear.”
Castilo’s eyes lit up. “So you are the companion of this stunning woman.” He took her hand and kissed it, with Karen acting suitably charmed.
“It is my honor, yes. May I present Joanne Seneschal.
Joanne, this is Mr. Rafael Castilo, an American competitor of mine,” Jonas said with a smile.
Castilo’s eyebrows raised slightly, and he glanced toward the bathroom.
Perfect. Now he’s trying to figure out who I am, how I compete with him and where his bodyguard is with the background check on me, Jonas thought.
“Oh, Ferdinand, always thinking about work, even on vacation.” Karen’s words were playful as she turned to Javier. “It’s a pleasure. I don’t know about your husband, but I cannot get this one to talk about anything other than business for more than five minutes, I swear—”
Just like that, Karen had Castilo’s wife in the palm of her hand. She turned to the rest of the group, providing a slight but definite barrier separating them from Jonas and Castilo.
“
The waiters filled the glasses now, and Castilo raised his.
“Care to do the honors?” he asked Jonas.
Jonas considered for a moment, then raised his glass, catching everyone’s eye. “Here is one from my homeland.
May bad fortune chase after you for the rest of your days—
and never catch you.”
The surprised looks on everyone’s faces dissolved into chuckles and nods and the crystal clinked in celebration.
“To answer your question,” Jonas said, “as if my accent didn’t give me away, I am on vacation from my import-export company in Munich, and am also doing a little side business, exploring the feasibility of bringing organized greyhound racing back to Germany. So I thought, what better place to begin than in Florida, where I can also work on my tan, as well?”
Castilo nodded and grinned. “You have definitely come to the right place, my friend.” His bodyguard appeared over his shoulder, leaning down to whisper into his ear.
Jonas leaned back in his chair and sipped champagne, watching for Castilo’s reaction to the report without appearing to. The Cuban didn’t even pause, just nodded and thanked his man, who resumed his position a few feet from the table.
“Please forgive the intrusion,” Castilo said politely.
Jonas held up his hand. “There is nothing to forgive.
After all, I was the one who interrupted your gathering.”
“Think nothing of it. Now, you had mentioned wanting to bring organized greyhound racing to Germany.”
And with that, the conversation turned to dogs, organized gambling, the exporting trade, with Castilo and Jonas each recounting tales of strange shipments and dicey situa-tions that had the table roaring with laughter. Briefly, they talked politics. Karen kept her side of the table abuzz with celebrity sightings in South Beach and other tidbits of gos-sip. As she regaled the table with an involved story about a well-known Miami drag queen, his resemblance to a current Hollywood hunk and an embarrassing mix-up at a Palm Beach hotel, Jonas caught Castilo eyeing him more than once. Then the businessman leaned over.
“The message the waiter delivered with the champagne said that it was from a gentleman who also possessed a love of freedom.”
“Yes, I must confess that I recognized you as soon as I walked in. I have followed your success in our industry for the past several years, and in doing so, I have learned something of your background, as well,” Jonas said.
“Keeping your friends close and your enemies closer?”
Castilo’s grin didn’t come close to his eyes.
“It may have begun as something like that, but the more I learned, the more I admired what you have done. You are a true success story, in America, Germany or any other country.
Besides, with both of us taking it on the chin from the Chinese, why waste time fighting over scraps from their
