24 Declassified: Storm Force

The body of a man lay facedown on the floor. His hair was white and his head was turned away from Paz, hiding his face.

Paz got excited: was this his man?

He crossed to him. The body lay so his hands were in plain sight, empty of any weapons. Paz still couldn't see his face. He toed the body, wedging a booted foot under it and flipping it over, so that it rolled over on its back and came to a rest faceup.

Disappointment. It wasn't Beltran after all. The hair had fooled Paz. What he thought was the white hair of age was an illusion, caused by a powdery covering of plaster dust that had fallen from the cracked and riven ceiling.

The other groaned, closed eyes fluttering open. Blinking.

Paz said, 'Not dead yet? I can fix that… '

The other's glazed eyes came into focus, fastening on the man who stood above him, arm at his side, pointing a big-bore pistol barrel at his head.

He gasped, 'El Colonello.' The Colonel.

Paz grinned, his ego tickled as always by any sign of recognition that comported with his inflated idea of his own status. Especially by one who could be considered a colleague, a fellow professional in the field. Not professional enough, though, or their positions would be reversed, with Paz flat on his back on the floor and the other holding the gun.

He said, 'You know me, eh? I know you, too, Monatero.'

Earlier during the fracas, a grenade blast had picked up Monatero and bounced him off a wall. The wall was hard and he was soft and now he was all broken up inside. There wasn't much of him left, and what there was, was fading fast.

Paz said, 'Surprised? You shouldn't be. I know many things. I know you're the boss of this outfit — you were.'

Monatero found he could speak if he spoke slowly and carefully, his lips shaping each word. 'So… Beltran didn't get you.'

'I'm the one who does the getting.'

'You can't kill me, I'm already dead. Thanks to him.'

'That's all right, I'll finish the job,' Paz said.

Monatero smiled, allowing himself a whisper of a chuckle. Anything stronger would finish him off. Paz was half puzzled, half amused. 'What's so funny? Tell me the joke, so I can laugh, too.'

Monatero said, 'Beltran's killed me… and yet, I've never even met the man.'

Paz frowned, waving the gun barrel like a chiding finger. 'Don't lie. It's a sin to go to your Maker with a lie on your soul.'

Monatero's voice was a husky whisper, as remote and distant as if it already emanated from the tomb. 'No lie, it's the truth. I've never met Beltran face to face, never seen him. His identity's a mystery to me. I've only talked to him over the phone. I didn't have a need to know, wasn't important enough.'

Paz said, 'A dying man shouldn't play games.'

'No games.'

'You really don't know who he is?'

'No. Not even now, at the end.'

'That is funny,' Paz said, grinning.

Monatero was sinking fast, but he had more to get in. He took a new tack. 'Garros — Garros… '

Paz said, 'What about him?'

'It's not too late. You can save him.'

Paz snorted. 'Save him? From what? Too much wine, women, and song?'

Monatero nodded, as if to himself. 'Then you don't know. He's been kidnapped. Beltran's got him.'

Paz said, 'I think maybe you've gone off your head.'

'You must listen.'

'Must I?'

'Yes. For the sake of your country. And mine.' Sparks blazed up behind Monatero's fast-glazing eyes. 'For the revolution!'

Paz was unimpressed. 'That fancy talk's too much for me. I'm a simple man.'

Monatero said, 'Do you want Beltran to make a fool of you?'

'No one makes a fool of Martello Paz!'

'Beltran's a traitor. He went off on his own. Havana had nothing to do with the attack on you. All Beltran's doing.'

'Why?'

'Perhaps because he knew you'd kill him for holding Garros for ransom. A million-dollar ransom.'

Paz rubbed his chin, thoughtful. Off his head or not, Monatero was making sense. 'A million dollars is a lot of money.'

Monatero said, 'On my dying breath, I swear to you that Cuba had nothing to do with it.'

Paz shrugged. 'Sure, sure, but what about the money? The million dollars?'

A glint of shrewdness came into Monatero's eyes. 'You don't want Beltran to have it.'

'I want Beltran dead!'

'I can tell you how to get him.'

* * *

Paz went down on one knee beside Monatero, wanting to believe, the knowledge of that want making him cautious. He said, 'You don't know who Beltran is, never met him, but you can tell me how to find him. How is that?'

Monatero said, 'He's using my men to trade Garros for the ransom. My men! But I know where the exchange is going to be made.' Paz said, 'Where?'

Monatero told him. Paz said, 'If true, I'll send word to Caracas that Beltran went off on his own and Havana had nothing to do with the plot. You have my word on that.'

Monatero said, 'You believe me, then.'

'I'll believe you when I've got Beltran looking down the barrel of my gun.'

'You will, if you act quickly.'

Paz said, 'One good turn deserves another. Now I'll do you a favor. This is funny — you know who Beltran is, you've known all the time.'

Monatero said, 'No, no.'

'Yes. You know him but you don't know him. It all makes sense to me now and it will to you, too, when I tell you who he is.'

Paz told him Beltran's true identity, who he really was. Monatero looked like a sleeper trying to awaken from a nightmare and failing. 'No… it can't be! Him… Beltran?'

Paz nodded. 'That's right.'

The sheer, outrageous audacity of the revelation struck Monatero as funny. The funniest thing in the world. Too bad the joke was on him.

Or almost. It would be even funnier when Beltran found himself cheated of a million-dollar ransom and, with luck, face to face with Paz, thanks to what Monatero had told him.

Monatero laughed out loud. The effort was too much for him, snapping some vital thread inside him, the one that held him to life. He coughed, choking, blood coming out of his mouth.

He shuddered and died.

Paz went into the showroom, stuck his head in the door to the back of the building, and called for Fierro and Carrancha. He said, 'All done?'

Fierro nodded. 'All done. None left alive.'

Paz said, 'Here, too. Let's go.'

The three of them piled out the front door. Vasco saw them coming and jumped behind the wheel of the SUV. The trio hurried toward it.

Gunfire blasted, hitting Carrancha in the back, ripping through him.