helicopter and the fact that Yakov had been maintained in an unconscious state in his cabin for almost four days, they were now nearly three thousand miles north of Panama City, a few hundred miles beyond Cabo San Lucas and just forty-two miles off the coast of Mexico’s Baja peninsula. By midafternoon tomorrow they would be tied up at the dock of the international cargo terminal at Ensenada, Mexico, just sixty miles south of the U.S. border.
“Tell him to check the bomb. If there is no damage, I want him to arm the device now, everything except the cordite charge, which I will load, and timer, which I will set myself. The device should be safe from here on out.” He wanted Yakov to remove the safety.
Nitikin waited for the interpretation and then replied, “Not until I know the target.”
“The target is not your concern.” Alim was getting angry.
“It is if you wish to deliver the bomb in one piece. Tell me, do you intend to transport it beyond the ship?”
Following the translation, Alim looked at him with a stern expression, but didn’t answer.
“Tell him I will not arm it until I know how it is being transported and where,” Yakov said.
Afundi ignored him for the moment and talked to the interpreter in Farsi. “What time do we expect the phone call?”
The interpreter checked his watch. “Any minute now. In fact, he is late.”
“I don’t want him on the bridge.” Alim dismissed Yakov with his eyes. “Tell him to go check the device to make sure there is no damage. And I want a report back.” Alim turned to his man with the assault rifle. “Watch him closely. And when he’s finished, lock him back in his cabin. I am holding you personally responsible.”
As he said it the satellite phone lying on top of the console rang. “Get him out of here.”
Larry Goudaz huddled over the desktop computer in his apartment as he cradled the phone against his shoulder and spoke into the mouthpiece.
“That’s right, he failed both times. If I were you, I’d get my money back, unless you haven’t paid him yet.”
Goudaz waited for the reply.
“Ah, your man is smarter than I thought,” Goudaz said. “How do I know? Because I had lunch yesterday afternoon with the mother, Maricela, the one who blew up and burned in her house the day before. She was here with the lawyer for her daughter-that would be Katia, Nitikin’s granddaughter, the woman he missed at Pike’s house and killed on the bus. She’s in the hospital in San Diego and recovering nicely, thank you. Listen, when this is all over, tell him I’ll send him a DVD. It’s a Road Runner cartoon. There’s a character in it you’ll recognize, he’s called Wile E. Coyote. I think he’s related to the Mexican you hired.
“Yeah, never mind, you’d have to see it to appreciate it.
“Listen, don’t…no, don’t worry, you can tell him that I took care of everything. Right now I have them running errands. And when they come back, I’m going to give them some urgent news and send them off on a vacation to Panama for a few days. How much time do you need?”
He waited and listened.
“No problem. I can give you more if you need it. Yeah, let me get paper and a pencil. I don’t want to put that kind of stuff in my computer. Just a second.”
FIFTY-THREE
He stepped away for a moment.” The interpreter looked at Alim as he held the satellite phone away from his ear.
“Are you still in contact with the Mexican?” said Alim, talking about Liquida.
“Yes, by e-mail, to different addresses each time.”
“Good. Then send him an e-mail and tell him that if he wants his money, he’s going to have to meet us in Tijuana, just south of the American border. That’s his home. He should feel safe there. Tell him we are going to pay him in gold and narcotics, which will explain why we are not wiring the funds. Because it is not in cash, we will be giving him a significant increase over the market value of these commodities. Tell him you are surprised because we have never offered this to anyone before. Give him the location of the warehouse and say the meeting will be tomorrow afternoon. We are scheduled to arrive in the port about noon, so tell him we will meet at four o’clock sharp. Tell him not to be late.”
“He’s back.” The interpreter put the phone to his ear again. “Okay, here’s the deal,” he said to the person at the other end. “We are sending a fax from the bridge in just a few minutes. We have the fax number for your cargo-container broker at Puntarenas. You have arranged everything with him, correct?” The interpreter waited.
“Good. Then in our fax we will give him the name of the ship, the registered number on the cargo container, and our estimated time of arrival at Ensenada. The contents of the container will be listed as machine parts. The broker will prepare the necessary customs documents and transmit them to Mexican customs at Ensenada. Here’s the information. Write it down. We want you to have it so you can follow up. And make sure he does it today. Immediately. It is critical.” The interpreter read the information over the phone and waited while it was read back to him.
“That’s correct.”
Alim whispered to the interpreter, “Tell him we are going to send him a separate copy of the fax, that way he will have a reminder. We can afford to take no chances on this.”
If the documents did not arrive on time, Mexican customs would throw a blanket over the cargo and do a thorough search of the container, including the shielded warhead case inside. If that happened, Alim’s mission would be over, and the gamma radiation shriveling the testicles of the customs officers would assure that they would have no more children.
“Listen, the extra service at this end, cleaning up your Mexican’s mess, is going to cost quite a bit more,” said Goudaz. He had already figured in the thirty-thousand-dollar kickback he would be getting from the cargo broker at Puntarenas.
“Since you’re stopping payment on his services, you should have no difficulty paying the surcharge on mine.” He quoted them an additional seventy-five thousand dollars. After all it was only money, and who knew when an opportunity like this would come again. What he got was silence on the other end of the phone.
“Tell you what, let’s round up and make it an even hundred thousand,” said Goudaz. “By the way, I thought you’d like to know, I heard the lawyer and his friend talking. They were wondering just how big your bomb is, how much radioactive fallout something like that might produce. Given that I’m going to have to keep the lid on this until you’re done, I would think my fee is worth it.”
Ordinarily the nature of the cargo would be beyond the purview of the mayor. His business was simply providing municipal services. But in this case, Maricela and the lawyer had given him some extra leverage, and Goudaz was never one to ignore a gift.
“I knew you’d understand,” said Goudaz. “Yes, yes, you can send it by wire transfer to the same numbered account. I wouldn’t wait. I’d do it now, this afternoon. That will give me something to think about so I don’t forget to follow up with the broker. Good. Excellent. Well, listen, good luck. And take care now.” He hung up the phone, clapped his hands, and laughed as he did a little jig around his desk chair.
He carried the dance into the kitchen where he punched the button on the electric hot water kettle on the countertop and got out the French press for a cup of coffee. Goudaz was turning toward the small pantry to grab the bottle of amaretto from the top shelf when he came face-to-face with a man he didn’t know.
