Angel - Part II
"She used to work for the government. She just killed her husband. She’s in bed with drug dealers—and she may be the only person left who can save the world"…
Victor
Angel stared at the picture on her computer screen. George had used her last name! She felt a peculiar sense of appreciation and then remembered that he’d also tried to kill her. What was George up to? Bioscience? How was it that a DEA agent had been running such a firm in Miami?
As she sat there staring at the computer screen and pondering these questions, her cell phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number, but answered. On the other end of the phone she heard Victor Cruz’s voice. “Ms. Arvelo? Where are you?”
Angel listened carefully, trying to detect whether Victor had a hand in events in the hotel room. Nothing. Either he was a great actor or he didn’t have a clue about the attempted hit. “Mr….I’m sorry, what is your name?” she asked coyly.
Victor laughed, “Ms. Arvelo, I’m quite sure you know my name. I am the man who paid you $50,000 to be at a hotel where you are not.” He turned serious, “Why have you not done as I asked?” His voice was even, but there was clear menace in the question.
“I was there, but something came up. Shall I return?”
“No,” Victor said, “Please join me at Charlie’s on 17th Street Causeway this evening. Seven o’clock.”
Angel said, “I’ll be there.”
“Hmm,” Angel mused, “Chuck’s on a Friday night. Well, it was a little older crowd but they had a good bar and good music, if you like ‘70s acoustic rock (and she did), and she could always enjoy a good steak.”
Charlie’s Charlie’s had been a mainstay of the eastside Republicans and the yachting community for as long as Angel could remember. Ever since she was a girl and her parents made the move from Hialeah to Fort Lauderdale, she had enjoyed eating there. She remembered sadly how much her father had enjoyed treating her mother and her to dinner there. He always got the salad bar, teriyaki steak and a baked potato and he always started the meal by bowing his head and saying grace, thanking God for their good fortune in escaping Cuba and living in “Los Estados Unidos de América.”
Angel opened the heavy front door and walked in. Looking to her right, she scanned the bar but didn’t see Victor Cruz. The hostess said, “Ms. Arvelo?”
Angel started. She had come there often in times past, but she certainly didn’t know the hostess now. “Yes,” she said.
“Oh good. Mr. Cruz is waiting for you. Please follow me.”
Angel followed the pretty young girl back past the bar to the more secluded rear of the restaurant. There sat Victor and his driver from yesterday. Angel noted that the driver sat in the corner with an unobstructed view of the room. “Something more than a chauffeur,” she thought.
Victor rose as she and the hostess approached. “Ah, Debbie, I see you found her,” he said.
The driver remained seated, seemingly disinterested in their arrival. A short, powerfully-built, Indian-looking man, he had what Angel assumed to be a genetically imposed dour expression. Scowling, he looked up at her and then his eyes moved past her to survey the room.
Angel turned to Victor and said, “Yes, she recognized me as I entered. You must have given her a good description of me.”
Debbie turned to her and held out her hand. She exclaimed delightedly, “Mr. Cruz gave me a picture of you, see?”
Angel saw that the hostess had a picture of her in her jogging clothes from the day before. “Oh, I see. Well, you couldn’t miss with that could you?”
Debbie smiled uncertainly and said, “Well, I’ll leave ya’ll alone now. Your server is Anthony and he’ll be over in a minute.”
With that, she walked away.
Victor pulled a chair out for Angel across from him. She sat down and he returned to his seat.
“Ms. Arvelo or, may I call you Angel?” he asked. “Yes, it should be Angel. After all, we are going to be good friends, no?”
Angel replied, “I guess $50,000 buys the use of my first name.”
Victor’s smile disappeared. “Yes, about that. I understand that the Tropic Resort has had to replace a window and make other repairs because of a young woman guest who decided to leave via the window rather than the door. Diego managed to sort that out with the manager for me.”
Victor had nodded towards his driver when mentioning Diego’s name. Angel looked at Diego, but he continued to scan the room.
Victor continued, “Yes, the room needed significant repair to its air conditioning system, I’m told.”
Angel said, “Yep, it was blocked by a man with a gun.”
Victor’s face twisted into a mocking sneer, “A man? I believe you knew that man intimately. Wasn’t that your husband from your days in my country? George Ramirez?”
Angel’s face showed nothing. She had always assumed that the cocaine cartel leaders in Colombia had as good intelligence on the DEA as the DEA had on them—perhaps better. Victor’s comments merely confirmed that suspicion.
Victor continued, “Do not worry, Angel, I own the hotel and the management will ask no questions.”
Angel said, “Okay, now I have a question. Why did you send me into an ambush?”
Victor laughed and said, “I was not sure that it was an ambush, but I needed to know if it was safe. Using one of the people who tried so hard to stop my business seemed like a good idea.”
“I see,” said Angel, “and what were the events that caused you to suspect an ambush?”
A waiter strode to the table and Victor looked at him. “Johnnie Walker Black on the rocks for the lady and I’ll have a Mount Gay Rum neat.” The waiter looked toward Diego and Victor curtly said, “He will have a Coke.”
Angel noted that he knew what she liked to drink. That settled it—his intelligence operation was too good!
As the waiter walked away, Victor turned his attention back to Angel and explained, “You think I am a vicious criminal, no? Perhaps I am, but I have been fighting an enemy of mankind that no one else even believes exists.” He motioned to Diego who pulled a dossier from a valise next to him. Victor spread the documents on the table. Angel noticed that some of the documents had the letterhead “Halpan” on them.
Victor pulled a picture out of the file and pointed to it. “This is the man I am fighting, Javier Carlos Rodriguez Blanco, the local chapter head of Green Again Planet. Better known, perhaps, as GAP.”
Angel laughed and said, “Javier Blanco? Isn’t he the flake who is always showing up at County Commission meetings in Miami-Dade and Broward Counties complaining about Everglades’ pollution and leading pickets whenever the circus comes to town?”
Victor nodded, “Yes, the same man.”
Angel scoffed.
Victor said, “I thought you were smart enough to look deeper. Perhaps this is why you and your friends never caught me?”
Angel glared at him, but thought to herself, “He may be a vicious, murdering druglord, but he has a point.” She said, “Okay, tell me why you are fighting Javier Blanco.”
Victor continued, but in a manner that indicated he had memorized the facts through repetition, “Javier Carlos Rodriguez Blanco, also known as Javier Blanco, is a Venezuelan-trained doctor. He grew up in Caracas but his family had a farm to the south where he spent much of his time as a boy. He was disliked by his father, who considered him weak and useless. He was remote, detached from both family members and others. As he grew, he became a loner with few friends and an increasing affection for the animals he knew on the farm. Disliking what he believed was abuse of the farm stock, at fifteen he declared that he was a vegetarian. During college, he came under the influence of environmental activists—activists who used the environmental movement as a front for their anti-industrial, romantic notions. They sought to create an agrarian utopia but Javier, who knew farming well, was under no such illusion. His goal was larger.”
Victor stopped for a moment and said, “Let’s eat. You must be hungry, I know I am.” He hailed the waiter and ordered the French onion soup and teriyaki steak, medium, with a baked potato. Angel asked for the same and looked towards Diego inquiringly. Victor saw her look and said to the waiter, “Make that three and bring another round of drinks.”
As the waiter walked away, Angel asked, “So what was Javier’s goal?”
Victor looked at her sharply, as if searching to see if she were mocking him. Angel met his look and raised an eyebrow in a questioning manner. He said, “Javier Blanco’s goal was the restoration of the earth to a state where man no longer holds sway. Neither industrial cities nor agrarian farms appealed to him, as both were the efforts of man to control the environment.”
Angel said, “You mean he wants to destroy mankind’s social and political systems?”
Victor glared at her, obviously annoyed, and hissed impatiently, “No, Angel…he wants to destroy mankind!”
Angel was surprised by the sudden display of emotion but showed nothing. Even if what Victor said was true, she wasn’t going to give this murderer the satisfaction of seeing her surprised or, more accurately, intrigued by his story.
With a mildly mocking tone, Angel said, “So this outcast you describe is the outgoing, vocal leader of the South Florida envirowackos? I thought you said he hated people?” She smiled innocently.
Victor spat out, “Miss Arvelo, do you wish to remain blind or do you want to understand what is happening?”
Angel feigned a contrite air and said, “I’m sorry. Please continue.”
“As you know, we have pushed into remote areas of Colombia to grow coca since you Americans started spraying the open fields with herbicides. We arranged for new plantations in the jungle and worked a deal with the FARC guerillas to keep prying eyes away. For some time, we enjoyed great success. Our biggest problem was, as usual, how to get our product to market here in the “land of the free.” Victor laughed, “Your Coast Guard made it difficult for awhile, until we found that tunnels from Mexico to Texas worked well.”
He suddenly looked sad and Angel was again surprised. It had not occurred to her that a man who had caused so much misery could feel sadness.
“I thought it best to have my family away from harm so I built a home for them in the jungle. I spared nothing to make it secure and comfortable. My wife, Maria Elena, and our two boys joined me there. I had to travel frequently on business, but I knew my family was safe while tucked away in this remote area. Three years ago, while I was away, the village where we lived was stricken with a strange sickness. Maria Elena called me and told me that she and the boys had a cold. I told her to take them to the doctor in the village and said I would be home in a couple of days. After all, I was busy and it was just a cold.”
Victor paused, glanced at Diego, who looked briefly at him, nodded, and returned to scanning the room. Victor turned to where Diego was looking and the waiter was approaching with the soup and fresh drinks. He leaned back in his chair and waited for the food to be served. Angel thanked the waiter but didn’t begin to eat. She sat, watching Victor, who seemed lost in thought and no longer present at the table. Finally, he looked up, grabbed his napkin and placed it in his lap and said, “Well, let us enjoy our soup, eh?”
Angel used her spoon to break through the thick gruyère cheese on the top of the soup crock. She let the steaming onion broth cool in the spoon and then brought it to her mouth. It was delicious! She realized that she was, in fact, very hungry.
Victor ate his soup quietly. Diego looked impassively at Angel and then began to eat, still regularly scanning the room.
Finally, Victor said, “The next day, my wife called again. Her voice was weak and she told me that our boys were dead. She told me that many of the villagers were also dead and begged me not to return. She said there was death in the air and it was too late for her. I was stunned, I had left three days before and they were all healthy. I told her I was coming home immediately. However, it would take me a day to get there from Miami, even with a chartered jet. Maria Elena again told me I must not return but I refused. I told her that I loved her and that I was bringing a specialist with me and would be there as soon as possible. Diego brought a doctor friend of ours with us and we headed to the airport. When we arrived, finally, in our village, I went directly to my house. There was no one there. Diego called me and told me that Maria Elena was at the clinic in the village. I grabbed the doctor, went down the hill to the clinic and found her and her mother among the bodies scattered around the clinic. They were both dead. Three hundred others were dead as well.”
Victor stopped. He drank his rum in one long gulp and sighed, “My Maria Elena and our children were the good part of me.”
Angel was surprised to find that she believed Victor Cruz. This, she thought, was no act. This man had truly lost what mattered most to him.
Victor continued, “I told the doctor to take samples of blood and, using the facilities of the clinic, see if he could figure out what had happened. Within a couple of hours he told me that the clinic’s limited equipment was not sufficient to determine what had occurred. He took blood samples with him and returned to Miami. Diego and I began to organize a burial effort. Since no one who had been in the village had survived, I reached out to the FARC to help us.” His fist clinched as he said, “Those bastardos would not come until I paid them for their trouble.”
Angel said nothing, but thought, “There’s a surprise!”
“The doctor called me two days later and told me that there was a virus in the blood samples he had taken. Every sample contained traces of it, but it, like the people, was dead. Then he told me that it appeared to be manmade.”
Now Angel was really listening. Who would make such a virus and was it what George had been talking about with Don Wilson?
Victor continued speaking, as if to himself, “I asked the doctor to discreetly check around to find out if the Americans had created this virus in one of their biological warfare experiments. I told him money was no object, but I needed to know. It took several months to be sure, but he was eventually able to confirm that the virus that killed my family and my people was not produced by the American government. What was strange, however, was that he also confirmed that it could not have been made anywhere but in the United States.”
The waiter appeared with their steaks. With a wry glance, Angel noticed that, for the first time, Diego showed enthusiasm for something other than looking around the room. As she buttered her baked potato, she thought about Don Wilson’s questions of the day before. What had he said George told him? Something about “the virus would fix everything.”
She began to piece things together in her mind. George had assumed the identity of “Juan Arvelo” and ran a medical research firm called Halpan in Miami. She wondered, “Could the George I knew be involved in some kind of biological weapons development?” Thinking about it, she realized that yes, George was the original “spook.” He lived for secrets and lies. That was why, she thought, their marriage disintegrated. What had first been an enchanting fairy tale in a faraway place became more and more a story of constant deception. Her respect for George’s skills as an agent never wavered, and his passionate desire to stop drug dealing, a passion that she initially shared with him, became increasingly fanatical. So much so that she became concerned for his sanity. As his frustration over the drug trade grew, he became more and more irate. She realized that, while she could overlook his rage against the druglords, she couldn’t so easily dismiss his lack of commitment to being a faithful and loving husband. His increasingly frequent and prolonged disappearances had driven her crazy with worry and suspicion. She had hated the way that his constant evasions caused her to become ever more like the nagging wives she had always detested. When their assignment ended, it was a relief to use that change as a reason to call an end to the marriage as well.
She hadn’t realized how lost in thought she was. Victor asked her, “Is your steak not as you like it?” It was then that she became aware that she had been lost in thought for some time. Diego had already eaten half his steak! She replied, “No, I was just thinking about your story.”
Victor seemed pleased with this response and, while encouraging her to enjoy her steak, continued with his story. “It took nearly all of the last three years to identify the source of the virus that killed my family and friends,” Victor said, “What I eventually learned was that Javier Blanco was instrumental in the development of the virus here in Miami at a firm called Halpan. The virus used in our village, it seems, was simply a test. Three weeks ago, we were able to obtain confirmation of this through some Americans taken captive by the FARC. It took almost two days to convince them to talk, but we learned that someone involved with the virus development had infiltrated the DEA. Indeed, the captured Americans were DEA agents. It cost me a sizable contribution to FARC’s operations, but I was able to persuade them to release the captives into my hands. It turned out that they were preparing for another “test” of the virus in a remote region of Colombia. Diego and I were able to oblige them. We took them to the clinic where my family died, introduced them to their own virus sample and watched the results. What we saw was an even more virulent strain of virus. Within six hours, they were unable to stand up. Two hours later, they were dead.”
Angel whistled. She said, “That’s quite the story. So what does this have to do with sending me into a possible ambush?”
She thought to herself, “I know now what George was doing there.”
Victor answered, “Ms. Arvelo, are you so self involved that you can’t see that this is important?”
Angel said, “I hear what you’re saying, but I also just heard you say that you murdered two DEA agents. You offer no proof, only a sad story and the picture of a man who is, depending on your point of view, either a righteous warrior against animal cruelty or a fool. In neither case have you shown proof of anything more. Do you really think I would accept your word on this? You are responsible for death and destruction all over the US and South America.”
Angel surprised herself with the vehemence of her response. She supposed the thought of the DEA agents dying in the abandoned clinic was what got to her.
Victor angrily slammed his fist on the table and hissed, “You think I am lying about this? And you think you, and your damned precious DEA are so perfect? How do you think I remained free? I PAID DEA agents for the information that kept me free! When I tell you I lost my family, I am telling you the truth. I have determined who is responsible and I will have my revenge. You are an intelligent woman—don’t act like such a fool!”
Angel took a deep breath, paused, and then said, “Okay, what else do you have in that dossier that supports your story?”
Victor sat, stewing in his anger. Finally, he snapped, “Look for yourself.” He pushed the file over to her.
Angel flipped through the dossier and saw pictures of bodies strewn around a small building with the words “La Clinica” painted over the door. There were close-ups of a beautiful, black-haired woman and two boys, all dead. There were a number of receipts for materials purchased by Halpan. While Angel couldn’t be sure that the materials were items required to concoct a powerful biological weapon like the “virus” Victor described, it did fit that George had been involved in Halpan and was talking about a “virus.”
She looked up from the documents and, staring sharply at Victor, said, “If I believed your story, what of it? Why are you telling me?”
Victor, somewhat sullenly, answered, “You are former DEA. You can help me stop Javier’s plans.”
Angel asked, “Plans, what plans?”
Victor said, “Surely you understand that the previous efforts have just been tests? Javier Blanco isn’t interested in merely killing coca farmers in remote areas of Colombia. I believe he wants to attack major urban centers.”
Angel said, “I don’t know if that is true, but we ought to be able to find out. Now, why did you think there would be an ambush in that hotel room?”
Victor looked at Diego, who remained impassive. He looked back at Angel and said, “While we have been looking for the murderers of our people, we have come to realize that someone is now hunting us. I received a call telling me that a man would meet me at the Tropic Resort, Room 212. The man, the caller said, had definitive information on the virus I’d been investigating. He was willing to provide the information—for a price.”
Diego suddenly spoke! “Don Victor, tell her about the attack.”
Victor smiled and said, “Okay, Diego.”
Angel was surprised at the kindly tone in Victor’s voice. Obviously, Diego was more than just a bodyguard and chauffeur.
Victor said, “A previous effort was made in Bogotá earlier this year. Diego was contacted and told that the virus that killed our village was being passed via courier the next day. The contact, a dealer who sometimes worked for me, was a reputable man.”
Angel raised an eyebrow.
Victor ignored her look and continued, “The contact told Diego that the transfer was to take place in the parking lot of a warehouse in the Occidente section of the city. Diego assembled a team of our associates and prepared to intercept the virus. Unfortunately, the transfer wasn’t a transfer at all. If Diego hadn’t planned for contingencies, none of our associates would have survived. As it was, our contact and two others were killed and, in their response, our associates killed the attackers so we couldn’t question them. What we learned from examining their bodies was that they were an international assembly. There were two Colombians, a Cuban and two Koreans in the ambush party. The two Colombians were the bait. They supposedly had the virus. The Cuban and the Koreans were set up in sniper positions.
Had Diego not taken the precaution of having snipers in place and a team ready to extract our contact people, more would have been killed. As it was, our snipers were only able to spot the ambush party after they began to fire. Our contact fell with the first shot. And our ground team lost two more before the attackers were killed.” Victor smiled, “Diego, as usual, was in the middle of it. I’m told by others that he took out the two Colombians personally.”
Angel nodded at Diego.
Victor said, “Angel, I think you can help us figure out who is doing what. I have spent both time and money on finding the killer of my family. Now the field, it seems, is turning. I need a detective with good contacts in South Florida—a detective who can think on their feet. You have proven to be this kind of detective. You have a retainer already. If you can help me stop the spread of this virus and avenge my family, you will receive a hundred times as much.”
Angel sat for a moment, thinking. George, she now realized, must have been part of whatever group developed the virus. There wasn’t any proof that Javier Blanco was the leader of the group but, then again, there wasn’t any proof that he wasn’t. How could it be that DEA agents were attempting to spread such a lethal virus? Who else at DEA might know of this? Did Don Wilson know? Was he testing her to see if she knew when he called? And what of the man she followed to the house in Golden Beach? She sighed, took a deep breath, and said, “I will do what I can.”
Victor smiled triumphantly and said, “Excellent! Diego, let us go. You may take the dossier if it helps you. Perhaps tomorrow we can meet again after you have reviewed it more carefully.” His eyes narrowed and his face hardened as he said, “We will do whatever is necessary to stop these madmen.”
Angel knew that she had just agreed to help a man who, quite literally, had the resources and the will to do anything he wished. She thought, “I hope you know what you’re doing!”
Victor dropped two hundred dollar bills on the table as he rose from his chair. Angel picked up the dossier and Victor and she followed Diego out of the restaurant just as the band began their first set. The hostess sang out cheerily, “Thanks for coming, ya’ll.”
Angel nodded and Victor smiled. Diego opened the door and, staying on Victor’s right side, proceeded towards the steps leading to the parking lot. Angel was on Victor’s left as they approached the few steps. As they began to descend, Angel heard Victor grunt. She turned towards him and saw the hole in his chest. Suddenly, she was knocked to her left and backwards as Diego pushed both Victor and her to the ground. He had a pistol in his right hand and was scanning the leafy hedge bordering the parking lot. Angel left him to do the surveillance and turned her attention to Victor. The blood was oozing out of his chest and, as she watched, his face turned gray and his eyes, fixed on Diego, went dim. She bent down to hear if he was still breathing but heard nothing.
“Diego!” she cried, “He’s dead.”
Diego said, “I know,” and ran towards the hedge directly in front of the steps and a hundred feet distant. He soon returned and, without looking at her, said, “They’re gone.”
Angel said, “Let’s get out of here. Now!”
They lifted Victor’s body and carried him to the Bentley. Diego tenderly held what was left of Victor and laid him carefully in the trunk. He looked at his fallen friend for a moment and then turned to Angel and said, “I will call you tomorrow at 10:00 a.m. Be ready.” With that, he closed the trunk lid and walked to the driver’s side door.
Angel replied, “Ten o’clock it is.”
She walked to the mini, checking the parking lot to see if anyone had witnessed what happened. Apparently not. No one had been on the restaurant’s veranda as they left and she had seen no one in the parking lot. She started the car with her keyless remote as she approached it and climbed in. She sat there for a moment and thought, “What a night! Victor Cruz, the scourge of the DEA, struck down right in front of her! She checked her watch. It was 8:30. In less than 24 hours she had two dead men on her hands and, she thought ruefully, in both cases Diego cleaned up the mess.
She put the car in reverse, backed out of the parking space, and headed for home.
Thomas A. Hall
Angel stared at the picture on her computer screen. George had used her last name! She felt a peculiar sense of appreciation and then remembered that he’d also tried to kill her. What was George up to? Bioscience? How was it that a DEA agent had been running such a firm in Miami?
As she sat there staring at the computer screen and pondering these questions, her cell phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number, but answered. On the other end of the phone she heard Victor Cruz’s voice. “Ms. Arvelo? Where are you?”
Angel listened carefully, trying to detect whether Victor had a hand in events in the hotel room. Nothing. Either he was a great actor or he didn’t have a clue about the attempted hit. “Mr….I’m sorry, what is your name?” she asked coyly.
Victor laughed, “Ms. Arvelo, I’m quite sure you know my name. I am the man who paid you $50,000 to be at a hotel where you are not.” He turned serious, “Why have you not done as I asked?” His voice was even, but there was clear menace in the question.
“I was there, but something came up. Shall I return?”
“No,” Victor said, “Please join me at Charlie’s on 17th Street Causeway this evening. Seven o’clock.”
Angel said, “I’ll be there.”
“Hmm,” Angel mused, “Chuck’s on a Friday night. Well, it was a little older crowd but they had a good bar and good music, if you like ‘70s acoustic rock (and she did), and she could always enjoy a good steak.”
Charlie’s Charlie’s had been a mainstay of the eastside Republicans and the yachting community for as long as Angel could remember. Ever since she was a girl and her parents made the move from Hialeah to Fort Lauderdale, she had enjoyed eating there. She remembered sadly how much her father had enjoyed treating her mother and her to dinner there. He always got the salad bar, teriyaki steak and a baked potato and he always started the meal by bowing his head and saying grace, thanking God for their good fortune in escaping Cuba and living in “Los Estados Unidos de América.”
Angel opened the heavy front door and walked in. Looking to her right, she scanned the bar but didn’t see Victor Cruz. The hostess said, “Ms. Arvelo?”
Angel started. She had come there often in times past, but she certainly didn’t know the hostess now. “Yes,” she said.
“Oh good. Mr. Cruz is waiting for you. Please follow me.”
Angel followed the pretty young girl back past the bar to the more secluded rear of the restaurant. There sat Victor and his driver from yesterday. Angel noted that the driver sat in the corner with an unobstructed view of the room. “Something more than a chauffeur,” she thought.
Victor rose as she and the hostess approached. “Ah, Debbie, I see you found her,” he said.
The driver remained seated, seemingly disinterested in their arrival. A short, powerfully-built, Indian-looking man, he had what Angel assumed to be a genetically imposed dour expression. Scowling, he looked up at her and then his eyes moved past her to survey the room.
Angel turned to Victor and said, “Yes, she recognized me as I entered. You must have given her a good description of me.”
Debbie turned to her and held out her hand. She exclaimed delightedly, “Mr. Cruz gave me a picture of you, see?”
Angel saw that the hostess had a picture of her in her jogging clothes from the day before. “Oh, I see. Well, you couldn’t miss with that could you?”
Debbie smiled uncertainly and said, “Well, I’ll leave ya’ll alone now. Your server is Anthony and he’ll be over in a minute.”
With that, she walked away.
Victor pulled a chair out for Angel across from him. She sat down and he returned to his seat.
“Ms. Arvelo or, may I call you Angel?” he asked. “Yes, it should be Angel. After all, we are going to be good friends, no?”
Angel replied, “I guess $50,000 buys the use of my first name.”
Victor’s smile disappeared. “Yes, about that. I understand that the Tropic Resort has had to replace a window and make other repairs because of a young woman guest who decided to leave via the window rather than the door. Diego managed to sort that out with the manager for me.”
Victor had nodded towards his driver when mentioning Diego’s name. Angel looked at Diego, but he continued to scan the room.
Victor continued, “Yes, the room needed significant repair to its air conditioning system, I’m told.”
Angel said, “Yep, it was blocked by a man with a gun.”
Victor’s face twisted into a mocking sneer, “A man? I believe you knew that man intimately. Wasn’t that your husband from your days in my country? George Ramirez?”
Angel’s face showed nothing. She had always assumed that the cocaine cartel leaders in Colombia had as good intelligence on the DEA as the DEA had on them—perhaps better. Victor’s comments merely confirmed that suspicion.
Victor continued, “Do not worry, Angel, I own the hotel and the management will ask no questions.”
Angel said, “Okay, now I have a question. Why did you send me into an ambush?”
Victor laughed and said, “I was not sure that it was an ambush, but I needed to know if it was safe. Using one of the people who tried so hard to stop my business seemed like a good idea.”
“I see,” said Angel, “and what were the events that caused you to suspect an ambush?”
A waiter strode to the table and Victor looked at him. “Johnnie Walker Black on the rocks for the lady and I’ll have a Mount Gay Rum neat.” The waiter looked toward Diego and Victor curtly said, “He will have a Coke.”
Angel noted that he knew what she liked to drink. That settled it—his intelligence operation was too good!
As the waiter walked away, Victor turned his attention back to Angel and explained, “You think I am a vicious criminal, no? Perhaps I am, but I have been fighting an enemy of mankind that no one else even believes exists.” He motioned to Diego who pulled a dossier from a valise next to him. Victor spread the documents on the table. Angel noticed that some of the documents had the letterhead “Halpan” on them.
Victor pulled a picture out of the file and pointed to it. “This is the man I am fighting, Javier Carlos Rodriguez Blanco, the local chapter head of Green Again Planet. Better known, perhaps, as GAP.”
Angel laughed and said, “Javier Blanco? Isn’t he the flake who is always showing up at County Commission meetings in Miami-Dade and Broward Counties complaining about Everglades’ pollution and leading pickets whenever the circus comes to town?”
Victor nodded, “Yes, the same man.”
Angel scoffed.
Victor said, “I thought you were smart enough to look deeper. Perhaps this is why you and your friends never caught me?”
Angel glared at him, but thought to herself, “He may be a vicious, murdering druglord, but he has a point.” She said, “Okay, tell me why you are fighting Javier Blanco.”
Victor continued, but in a manner that indicated he had memorized the facts through repetition, “Javier Carlos Rodriguez Blanco, also known as Javier Blanco, is a Venezuelan-trained doctor. He grew up in Caracas but his family had a farm to the south where he spent much of his time as a boy. He was disliked by his father, who considered him weak and useless. He was remote, detached from both family members and others. As he grew, he became a loner with few friends and an increasing affection for the animals he knew on the farm. Disliking what he believed was abuse of the farm stock, at fifteen he declared that he was a vegetarian. During college, he came under the influence of environmental activists—activists who used the environmental movement as a front for their anti-industrial, romantic notions. They sought to create an agrarian utopia but Javier, who knew farming well, was under no such illusion. His goal was larger.”
Victor stopped for a moment and said, “Let’s eat. You must be hungry, I know I am.” He hailed the waiter and ordered the French onion soup and teriyaki steak, medium, with a baked potato. Angel asked for the same and looked towards Diego inquiringly. Victor saw her look and said to the waiter, “Make that three and bring another round of drinks.”
As the waiter walked away, Angel asked, “So what was Javier’s goal?”
Victor looked at her sharply, as if searching to see if she were mocking him. Angel met his look and raised an eyebrow in a questioning manner. He said, “Javier Blanco’s goal was the restoration of the earth to a state where man no longer holds sway. Neither industrial cities nor agrarian farms appealed to him, as both were the efforts of man to control the environment.”
Angel said, “You mean he wants to destroy mankind’s social and political systems?”
Victor glared at her, obviously annoyed, and hissed impatiently, “No, Angel…he wants to destroy mankind!”
Angel was surprised by the sudden display of emotion but showed nothing. Even if what Victor said was true, she wasn’t going to give this murderer the satisfaction of seeing her surprised or, more accurately, intrigued by his story.
With a mildly mocking tone, Angel said, “So this outcast you describe is the outgoing, vocal leader of the South Florida envirowackos? I thought you said he hated people?” She smiled innocently.
Victor spat out, “Miss Arvelo, do you wish to remain blind or do you want to understand what is happening?”
Angel feigned a contrite air and said, “I’m sorry. Please continue.”
“As you know, we have pushed into remote areas of Colombia to grow coca since you Americans started spraying the open fields with herbicides. We arranged for new plantations in the jungle and worked a deal with the FARC guerillas to keep prying eyes away. For some time, we enjoyed great success. Our biggest problem was, as usual, how to get our product to market here in the “land of the free.” Victor laughed, “Your Coast Guard made it difficult for awhile, until we found that tunnels from Mexico to Texas worked well.”
He suddenly looked sad and Angel was again surprised. It had not occurred to her that a man who had caused so much misery could feel sadness.
“I thought it best to have my family away from harm so I built a home for them in the jungle. I spared nothing to make it secure and comfortable. My wife, Maria Elena, and our two boys joined me there. I had to travel frequently on business, but I knew my family was safe while tucked away in this remote area. Three years ago, while I was away, the village where we lived was stricken with a strange sickness. Maria Elena called me and told me that she and the boys had a cold. I told her to take them to the doctor in the village and said I would be home in a couple of days. After all, I was busy and it was just a cold.”
Victor paused, glanced at Diego, who looked briefly at him, nodded, and returned to scanning the room. Victor turned to where Diego was looking and the waiter was approaching with the soup and fresh drinks. He leaned back in his chair and waited for the food to be served. Angel thanked the waiter but didn’t begin to eat. She sat, watching Victor, who seemed lost in thought and no longer present at the table. Finally, he looked up, grabbed his napkin and placed it in his lap and said, “Well, let us enjoy our soup, eh?”
Angel used her spoon to break through the thick gruyère cheese on the top of the soup crock. She let the steaming onion broth cool in the spoon and then brought it to her mouth. It was delicious! She realized that she was, in fact, very hungry.
Victor ate his soup quietly. Diego looked impassively at Angel and then began to eat, still regularly scanning the room.
Finally, Victor said, “The next day, my wife called again. Her voice was weak and she told me that our boys were dead. She told me that many of the villagers were also dead and begged me not to return. She said there was death in the air and it was too late for her. I was stunned, I had left three days before and they were all healthy. I told her I was coming home immediately. However, it would take me a day to get there from Miami, even with a chartered jet. Maria Elena again told me I must not return but I refused. I told her that I loved her and that I was bringing a specialist with me and would be there as soon as possible. Diego brought a doctor friend of ours with us and we headed to the airport. When we arrived, finally, in our village, I went directly to my house. There was no one there. Diego called me and told me that Maria Elena was at the clinic in the village. I grabbed the doctor, went down the hill to the clinic and found her and her mother among the bodies scattered around the clinic. They were both dead. Three hundred others were dead as well.”
Victor stopped. He drank his rum in one long gulp and sighed, “My Maria Elena and our children were the good part of me.”
Angel was surprised to find that she believed Victor Cruz. This, she thought, was no act. This man had truly lost what mattered most to him.
Victor continued, “I told the doctor to take samples of blood and, using the facilities of the clinic, see if he could figure out what had happened. Within a couple of hours he told me that the clinic’s limited equipment was not sufficient to determine what had occurred. He took blood samples with him and returned to Miami. Diego and I began to organize a burial effort. Since no one who had been in the village had survived, I reached out to the FARC to help us.” His fist clinched as he said, “Those bastardos would not come until I paid them for their trouble.”
Angel said nothing, but thought, “There’s a surprise!”
“The doctor called me two days later and told me that there was a virus in the blood samples he had taken. Every sample contained traces of it, but it, like the people, was dead. Then he told me that it appeared to be manmade.”
Now Angel was really listening. Who would make such a virus and was it what George had been talking about with Don Wilson?
Victor continued speaking, as if to himself, “I asked the doctor to discreetly check around to find out if the Americans had created this virus in one of their biological warfare experiments. I told him money was no object, but I needed to know. It took several months to be sure, but he was eventually able to confirm that the virus that killed my family and my people was not produced by the American government. What was strange, however, was that he also confirmed that it could not have been made anywhere but in the United States.”
The waiter appeared with their steaks. With a wry glance, Angel noticed that, for the first time, Diego showed enthusiasm for something other than looking around the room. As she buttered her baked potato, she thought about Don Wilson’s questions of the day before. What had he said George told him? Something about “the virus would fix everything.”
She began to piece things together in her mind. George had assumed the identity of “Juan Arvelo” and ran a medical research firm called Halpan in Miami. She wondered, “Could the George I knew be involved in some kind of biological weapons development?” Thinking about it, she realized that yes, George was the original “spook.” He lived for secrets and lies. That was why, she thought, their marriage disintegrated. What had first been an enchanting fairy tale in a faraway place became more and more a story of constant deception. Her respect for George’s skills as an agent never wavered, and his passionate desire to stop drug dealing, a passion that she initially shared with him, became increasingly fanatical. So much so that she became concerned for his sanity. As his frustration over the drug trade grew, he became more and more irate. She realized that, while she could overlook his rage against the druglords, she couldn’t so easily dismiss his lack of commitment to being a faithful and loving husband. His increasingly frequent and prolonged disappearances had driven her crazy with worry and suspicion. She had hated the way that his constant evasions caused her to become ever more like the nagging wives she had always detested. When their assignment ended, it was a relief to use that change as a reason to call an end to the marriage as well.
She hadn’t realized how lost in thought she was. Victor asked her, “Is your steak not as you like it?” It was then that she became aware that she had been lost in thought for some time. Diego had already eaten half his steak! She replied, “No, I was just thinking about your story.”
Victor seemed pleased with this response and, while encouraging her to enjoy her steak, continued with his story. “It took nearly all of the last three years to identify the source of the virus that killed my family and friends,” Victor said, “What I eventually learned was that Javier Blanco was instrumental in the development of the virus here in Miami at a firm called Halpan. The virus used in our village, it seems, was simply a test. Three weeks ago, we were able to obtain confirmation of this through some Americans taken captive by the FARC. It took almost two days to convince them to talk, but we learned that someone involved with the virus development had infiltrated the DEA. Indeed, the captured Americans were DEA agents. It cost me a sizable contribution to FARC’s operations, but I was able to persuade them to release the captives into my hands. It turned out that they were preparing for another “test” of the virus in a remote region of Colombia. Diego and I were able to oblige them. We took them to the clinic where my family died, introduced them to their own virus sample and watched the results. What we saw was an even more virulent strain of virus. Within six hours, they were unable to stand up. Two hours later, they were dead.”
Angel whistled. She said, “That’s quite the story. So what does this have to do with sending me into a possible ambush?”
She thought to herself, “I know now what George was doing there.”
Victor answered, “Ms. Arvelo, are you so self involved that you can’t see that this is important?”
Angel said, “I hear what you’re saying, but I also just heard you say that you murdered two DEA agents. You offer no proof, only a sad story and the picture of a man who is, depending on your point of view, either a righteous warrior against animal cruelty or a fool. In neither case have you shown proof of anything more. Do you really think I would accept your word on this? You are responsible for death and destruction all over the US and South America.”
Angel surprised herself with the vehemence of her response. She supposed the thought of the DEA agents dying in the abandoned clinic was what got to her.
Victor angrily slammed his fist on the table and hissed, “You think I am lying about this? And you think you, and your damned precious DEA are so perfect? How do you think I remained free? I PAID DEA agents for the information that kept me free! When I tell you I lost my family, I am telling you the truth. I have determined who is responsible and I will have my revenge. You are an intelligent woman—don’t act like such a fool!”
Angel took a deep breath, paused, and then said, “Okay, what else do you have in that dossier that supports your story?”
Victor sat, stewing in his anger. Finally, he snapped, “Look for yourself.” He pushed the file over to her.
Angel flipped through the dossier and saw pictures of bodies strewn around a small building with the words “La Clinica” painted over the door. There were close-ups of a beautiful, black-haired woman and two boys, all dead. There were a number of receipts for materials purchased by Halpan. While Angel couldn’t be sure that the materials were items required to concoct a powerful biological weapon like the “virus” Victor described, it did fit that George had been involved in Halpan and was talking about a “virus.”
She looked up from the documents and, staring sharply at Victor, said, “If I believed your story, what of it? Why are you telling me?”
Victor, somewhat sullenly, answered, “You are former DEA. You can help me stop Javier’s plans.”
Angel asked, “Plans, what plans?”
Victor said, “Surely you understand that the previous efforts have just been tests? Javier Blanco isn’t interested in merely killing coca farmers in remote areas of Colombia. I believe he wants to attack major urban centers.”
Angel said, “I don’t know if that is true, but we ought to be able to find out. Now, why did you think there would be an ambush in that hotel room?”
Victor looked at Diego, who remained impassive. He looked back at Angel and said, “While we have been looking for the murderers of our people, we have come to realize that someone is now hunting us. I received a call telling me that a man would meet me at the Tropic Resort, Room 212. The man, the caller said, had definitive information on the virus I’d been investigating. He was willing to provide the information—for a price.”
Diego suddenly spoke! “Don Victor, tell her about the attack.”
Victor smiled and said, “Okay, Diego.”
Angel was surprised at the kindly tone in Victor’s voice. Obviously, Diego was more than just a bodyguard and chauffeur.
Victor said, “A previous effort was made in Bogotá earlier this year. Diego was contacted and told that the virus that killed our village was being passed via courier the next day. The contact, a dealer who sometimes worked for me, was a reputable man.”
Angel raised an eyebrow.
Victor ignored her look and continued, “The contact told Diego that the transfer was to take place in the parking lot of a warehouse in the Occidente section of the city. Diego assembled a team of our associates and prepared to intercept the virus. Unfortunately, the transfer wasn’t a transfer at all. If Diego hadn’t planned for contingencies, none of our associates would have survived. As it was, our contact and two others were killed and, in their response, our associates killed the attackers so we couldn’t question them. What we learned from examining their bodies was that they were an international assembly. There were two Colombians, a Cuban and two Koreans in the ambush party. The two Colombians were the bait. They supposedly had the virus. The Cuban and the Koreans were set up in sniper positions.
Had Diego not taken the precaution of having snipers in place and a team ready to extract our contact people, more would have been killed. As it was, our snipers were only able to spot the ambush party after they began to fire. Our contact fell with the first shot. And our ground team lost two more before the attackers were killed.” Victor smiled, “Diego, as usual, was in the middle of it. I’m told by others that he took out the two Colombians personally.”
Angel nodded at Diego.
Victor said, “Angel, I think you can help us figure out who is doing what. I have spent both time and money on finding the killer of my family. Now the field, it seems, is turning. I need a detective with good contacts in South Florida—a detective who can think on their feet. You have proven to be this kind of detective. You have a retainer already. If you can help me stop the spread of this virus and avenge my family, you will receive a hundred times as much.”
Angel sat for a moment, thinking. George, she now realized, must have been part of whatever group developed the virus. There wasn’t any proof that Javier Blanco was the leader of the group but, then again, there wasn’t any proof that he wasn’t. How could it be that DEA agents were attempting to spread such a lethal virus? Who else at DEA might know of this? Did Don Wilson know? Was he testing her to see if she knew when he called? And what of the man she followed to the house in Golden Beach? She sighed, took a deep breath, and said, “I will do what I can.”
Victor smiled triumphantly and said, “Excellent! Diego, let us go. You may take the dossier if it helps you. Perhaps tomorrow we can meet again after you have reviewed it more carefully.” His eyes narrowed and his face hardened as he said, “We will do whatever is necessary to stop these madmen.”
Angel knew that she had just agreed to help a man who, quite literally, had the resources and the will to do anything he wished. She thought, “I hope you know what you’re doing!”
Victor dropped two hundred dollar bills on the table as he rose from his chair. Angel picked up the dossier and Victor and she followed Diego out of the restaurant just as the band began their first set. The hostess sang out cheerily, “Thanks for coming, ya’ll.”
Angel nodded and Victor smiled. Diego opened the door and, staying on Victor’s right side, proceeded towards the steps leading to the parking lot. Angel was on Victor’s left as they approached the few steps. As they began to descend, Angel heard Victor grunt. She turned towards him and saw the hole in his chest. Suddenly, she was knocked to her left and backwards as Diego pushed both Victor and her to the ground. He had a pistol in his right hand and was scanning the leafy hedge bordering the parking lot. Angel left him to do the surveillance and turned her attention to Victor. The blood was oozing out of his chest and, as she watched, his face turned gray and his eyes, fixed on Diego, went dim. She bent down to hear if he was still breathing but heard nothing.
“Diego!” she cried, “He’s dead.”
Diego said, “I know,” and ran towards the hedge directly in front of the steps and a hundred feet distant. He soon returned and, without looking at her, said, “They’re gone.”
Angel said, “Let’s get out of here. Now!”
They lifted Victor’s body and carried him to the Bentley. Diego tenderly held what was left of Victor and laid him carefully in the trunk. He looked at his fallen friend for a moment and then turned to Angel and said, “I will call you tomorrow at 10:00 a.m. Be ready.” With that, he closed the trunk lid and walked to the driver’s side door.
Angel replied, “Ten o’clock it is.”
She walked to the mini, checking the parking lot to see if anyone had witnessed what happened. Apparently not. No one had been on the restaurant’s veranda as they left and she had seen no one in the parking lot. She started the car with her keyless remote as she approached it and climbed in. She sat there for a moment and thought, “What a night! Victor Cruz, the scourge of the DEA, struck down right in front of her! She checked her watch. It was 8:30. In less than 24 hours she had two dead men on her hands and, she thought ruefully, in both cases Diego cleaned up the mess.
She put the car in reverse, backed out of the parking space, and headed for home.
Thomas A. Hall