Chapter Twenty
Nick spotted Javier Martine the moment he walked through the bank door. He was talking to Rene Santora in front of the safety deposit box section. Nick walked over to where customers stood in line to access a safety deposit box. Santora immediately closed off her talk with Martine. He glanced at Nick and walked away. Santora smilingly waved Nick to the window.
“Hello, Mr. Weatherby.” Santora checked the ID Nick slid into the tray under the window.
“Hi, Rene.” Nick appeared to look at her nametag. He then did a double take, pretending surprise. “What happened to your face?”
Rene smiled crookedly at Nick, patting her splotchy face, the result of hours in contact with duct tape. She pushed the sign-in sheet clip board around so Nick could sign it. “I’m okay, just a little rash.”
“Oh. Good.” Nick signed the clipboard sheet and handed it back.
Rene let Nick in the back. After helping him get his safety deposit box, she settled him into one of the rooms and left him alone. He took his satellite phone out of the case holding his computer and called Rachel’s throw away cell-phone.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Rach, guess who I spotted in the bank this morning.”
“I’d rather not. I thought you weren’t going to call. My heart stopped when the phone rang. Even Gus looked at me weird. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” he answered, surprised how tightly wound his companions were. “Our Javier was inside talking to Rene.”
“Holy shit! Tanus is after him too. Why would, oh…Rene must be feeding Fletcher instead of Tanus.”
“Which would explain how Frank had two people on site. He must be in charge of acquiring the drives for Tanus, the prick. Since I’m here, and I see Javier’s hanging around, too, why don’t I follow him and see what happens?”
“Aren’t you afraid whoever Frank has in place will ID you?”
“They didn’t make me yesterday. Frank’s probably still trying to reach Kate and Jessops. Your girlfriend Rene looks okay.”
“My girlfriend? Bite me! I’m feeling better about you risking your neck already. Have fun.”
“Still want to have a meet with Javier?”
“From a couple hundred yards?” she asked.
“Not this time, Nikita. Sarasota and sniper killings do not mix. It will have to be up close and personal. Whether you want a piece or not, Mr. Martine will have to be sent in search of an afterlife very soon.”
“Can I get back to you on that once you see if it’s feasible?”
“Absolutely.”
Rachel hung up the phone. Gus waited patiently for her to enlighten him. Jean was in her room with Deke, playing video games, while Rachel and Gus had coffee at the dining table.
“Nick says Javier Martine, the guy who helped kill and torture my husband Rick, is at the bank. He was talking to Santora, so she was spotting for Fletcher, not Tanus. Nick is going to follow Javier.”
“I take it from your side of the conversation, he offered to set Javier up for you.”
“I asked him about doing it when we found out Javier had transferred to Fletcher,” Rachel admitted.
“Be careful what you wish for. Are you going to take him up on it?”
“It seemed like a good idea when it was an unknown in the future.”
“Reality’s a bitch.”
“Gus, what happened in Jamaica?”
“That’s classified,” he joked guardedly.
“We could trade Nick adventures,” Rachel coaxed. “C’mon, Gus, it’ll be fun.”
“You don’t know Nick if you think it would be fun to tell stories about his adventures, Rachel.” He raised his hands palm outward toward her in a stopping gesture. “That guy’s one of the most dangerous men on earth. When he suddenly showed up with you, Jean, and Deke under his wing, I checked to see if the earth had flipped on its axis. The fact he and I hooked up in the past professionally doesn’t mean I don’t get a tingle of dread when I see him. Watching him playing softball with you, Danger, and that damn dog was the most disconcerting thing I’ve ever seen.”
Rachel laughed. “Then you definitely don’t want to know about our traveling road show. I have no illusions as to what Nick is, or what he’s capable of.”
Gus leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, as if coming to a decision. When he leaned forward again, he began talking while looking down at his cup.
“My younger brother Phil graduated from college seven years ago and received an internship at Boston General. He decided a trip to Jamaica with his friends, Damian and Julie Butler, who are sister and brother, seemed like a great way to celebrate. Phil did so well in school, and because he’s the only family I had left, a vacation to Jamaica seemed like a good graduation present. Phil claims he and his friends were at a party on the beach. He ended up bound and gagged along with his friends by the Jamaican Posse. They wanted a million dollars ransom. The Butler kid’s parents and I were able to round up the money, but as happens many times, we were sold out by the official in charge of helping us exchange the money for hostages. They ended up with the money and held on to the kids. No one cared a crap about it in either the Jamaican government or ours.”
“On an island like Jamaica, why would it be so hard for their police to find out who in this Posse was responsible?” Rachel asked, captivated and on the edge of her seat, hearing the tale.
“The cops are corrupt and the gangs own the ghettos. The Butlers and I went to Jamaica, hoping to petition the government for help. The US embassy claimed their hands were tied. The Jamaican government told us we should have come to them first. I had provided gear and support for Nick in the Dominican, Haiti, and Cuba in past years. Like he said yesterday, there were a couple jobs no one would touch, operating without backup. After watching Nick work, I never turned down a job with him. Anyway, I sent a message to his Internet drop. Three days later he was on my doorstep with his infamous equipment bag. He listened to the story and asked if I could land him at a particular place off the Jamaican coast, near Kingston. He slept on the way. I took him where he had requested. He told me to stay moving until he called me. Two days later, he told me to anchor at the place I’d dropped him off at. Nick showed up with a guy tied up and gagged in the raft.”
“Interrogation,” Rachel stated.
“You have some experience with a Nick question and answer session?” Gus asked, somewhat surprised.
“Oh yeah. Enough to know Nick found someone he was sure knew where your brother was. Then he found out the information in short order.”
“Then you do know. Nick went back in with a MAC10 and a bag full of hand grenades. I only have my brother’s version as to what happened. Phil told me he and the Butlers were chained in some dank hole under a bar in Kingston. They heard explosions, screams, and gunfire. The trap door to the hole was opened. One of their terrified captors tumbled down inside with them, followed by a guy dressed all in black with his face and arms blackened. Phil said the captor let them loose and Nick shot him in the head. Nick led them up into what was left of the bar, where Phil claimed the floor was covered in blood and bodies. He told me Nick guided them out, shot anything that moved and tossed grenades at random until they reached the Jeep he’d acquired.
“Nick called me with coordinates to hook up at in the Port of Kingston. When I backed in next to the pier, Nick hustled the three kids on board and we were out of there. The kids looked like hell. They’d been beaten and tortured. Nick helped the kids get cleaned up and their wounds bandaged while I hightailed it home. When we were all safe at my dock in St. Pete, Nick tossed me a bag full of money. I tried to make him keep it. He smiled, patted the other bag he had, and said he’d already acquired his fee.”
