Lampert knew that he had always been meant for bigger and better things.
But he had to survive. This was where the risk was greatest. This was why he was making so much money. Because it could cost him everything.
Including his life.
He refocused on the tasks at hand.
Rojas did not know of the latest maneuvers.
The storm had forced his boat far out to sea. He doubted the man would chance coptering in when the skies and winds were still too unpredictable. All that gave Lampert something he desperately needed now.
Time.
Time to figure this out. Plan his next moves.
Survive.
The unknown factor, of course, was Puller and his cohorts.
They had followed the truck with the product. They obviously knew what was going on. There had been a gunfight on the beach. He had not heard from his men, so he knew that they had lost.
So what was Puller up to?
He had tried calling out to the platform, but the call had not gone through.
The storm again. The timing truly sucked.
And then, as if in answer to his prayers, his cell phone rang. He looked at the number and smiled.
He clicked on and said, “I was hoping to hear from you.”
Cheryl Landry said, “I’ve got a lot to fill you in on. Can we meet? Now?”
CHAPTER 92
The storm was rapidly dissipating but downpours were still occurring intermittently as Danielle finished expending its energy.
It was daylight now, but Danielle was keeping the skies dark. It could have been the wee hours of the morning.
Someone knocked on the front door.
Lampert answered it himself. He had taken a tender to shore. He had thrown up twice because of the rough seas. Now he was hoping for some good news.
He stared across the threshold at Landry. She was drenched and her face was bruised.
“What the hell happened to you?” he asked.
“Can I come in first? And can I get a drink?”
He turned and she followed him in. He led her to his private study and closed the door behind them.
“You want a change of clothes?” he asked.
“I’d like that drink. That’s what I really want.”
He poured her out a scotch from the bar set against one wall.
“I was on the
“Trust me, I was contemplating the same thing.”
“But on the phone you said you had good news.”
She accepted the scotch from him, took a sip, and then sat down in a chair opposite his desk. He sat down too, steepled his fingers, and stared at her expectantly.
“Well?” he said.
She took one more sip from the tumbler and then pressed the glass against her bruise. “The operation was compromised.”
“That I know.”
“Murdoch is a spy.”
“That I know too.”
“Her name is Lieutenant Claudia Diaz. She’s with the Colombian National Police.”
Lampert simply stared at her for a long moment before exclaiming, “Shit!
Landry smiled at this reaction. “I take it that you didn’t know.” She held up her glass. “You might want one of these.”
“Tell me what happened.”
Landry took another sip, sat back, and exhaled a long breath. “What happened is, I saved your ass.”
“How?”
“I never trusted Winthrop or Murdoch.” “Smart of you.”
“So I watched them. Winthrop was clean. Murdoch wasn’t. It was clear she was just letting him get into her panties so she could get close to you.”
“I can see that now.”
She smiled, cocked her head at him as the rain beat down outside and the thick dark swirling clouds kept the sun at bay. “And did she let you get into her panties?”
“Irrelevant to our discussion, but the answer is yes.”
“So you were deceived as well.”
“Women are my weakness. And I think I’ll have that drink now. But keep talking. I’m very interested in how you saved my ass.”
While he poured out a drink she said, “Your hit team against the big guy went awry. Diaz tipped him off.”
Lampert sat back down with his scotch. “And why would she do that? Is he working with her?” “It doesn’t matter at this point. They’re both dead.”
Lampert choked a bit as the scotch went down the wrong pipe. “Dead? How was that managed?”
“Like I said, saved your ass. Puller is dead too.”
“What about the other woman? You told me she was a general. Carson, right?”
“Dead too. They’re all dead. It’s not like we could allow any of them to survive.”
Lampert stared furiously across the desk. “You just ignited a shitstorm, Cheryl. The Pentagon will be all over this.”
“And would you have preferred the alternative? They follow the trail right back here to you.”
“That would not have happened.”
“It
He said nothing, just stared at her like she was the last thing he would ever see in his life. “They found out about the warehouse.”
“I cleared it. There was nothing to find.” “Well, they found the platform out there,” she said, pointing out the window toward the Gulf.
Lampert put down his drink and edged forward in his chair. His face was drained of color. “That is not possible.”
“The big guy? His name is Mecho, by the way. He was on that platform. Your people snatched him from Mexico. He escaped. Made it to shore. And then he made it back. Last night.”
“I thought that might be the case. I thought he was spying on me. But I didn’t know why. I just thought he was trying to steal something.”
“He was tracking you, Peter. What he wanted to steal was your whole life and everything you have. And he came really close to accomplishing that goal.”
Lampert took his glass and hurled it against the wall. “Son of a bitch!”
Landry watched the scotch drip down the once immaculate wallpaper.
“Get a grip, Peter. Like I said, they’re dead.”
“How?”
“I’m drenched and my face is smashed up. What does that suggest to you?”
“A fight in the storm.”
