Part 27 (1/2)
Teru whistled. ”Simon's not the only one who plans ahead.”
I removed two pa.s.sports, two matching driver's licenses, four credit cards, and all of the cash. I replaced the baggie in the compartment and pressed the panel closed.
Simon said, ”Guatemala?”
I looked at him and raised my eyebrows.
He shrugged slightly. ”An elementary deduction.”
Teru said, ”You know it's a bail violation just to leave Orange County, much less the country. If they catch you at the border, you'll lose that million five bail money, and they'll detain you until the trial. Could be months from now. Even a year or more. And of course they'll add possession of the forged pa.s.sports. That's a federal crime. It carries ten years, I think. No, wait. You'll be carrying it in the commission of a crime, so they'll tack on another five.”
”Thanks, counselor.”
”Glad to help.”
There was the sound of a cell phone ringing. Simon removed it from his inside jacket pocket and examined the screen. ”Miss Soto appears to be at the front gate.”
”You have the gate cameras linked to your phone?”
”Indeed, I do.”
I shook my head again. ”Can you let her in from here?”
”Of course.”
”Then kindly do so, my good man.”
Simon touched his cell phone's screen, then replaced the phone in his pocket.
We went outside. Simon and Teru walked with me as far as the edge of the gravel drive, then Simon headed toward the main house as Teru got in his Porsche and drove toward the gate. I saw him wave at Olivia as he pa.s.sed her on his way out.
I stood and watched her park. She got out and walked right up and threw her arms around me. ”Oh, thank G.o.d,” she said.
”Hey,” I said, tentatively returning her embrace. ”What's all this?”
She clung to me tightly, pressing her cheek against my chest. ”I thought they might hold you in that terrible place for months.”
”Teru got me out.”
She pushed back, still holding on to me, and looked up at my face. ”What are you going to do?”
”Well, I was thinking about dinner in a little while.”
”Be serious.”
Very gently, I pushed her away. ”I don't know what you want me to say.”
She stepped back and turned toward the harbor. Watching as a sloop with a black hull ghosted past the estate, she said, ”You could tell me if you did it, you know. I'd never repeat a word. I don't care about Dona Elena. I only care about you.”
I might have laughed if she hadn't been playing it so straight. I said, ”Is that so?”
She lifted her chin. ”I like you, Malcolm. I like you a lot. Don't you like me?”
”Sure I do. You're lovely and smart. What's not to like? But it would be nice to know why you really came over here.”
”I came because I care!” She flung her arms around me again. ”Don't you see? I had to make sure you're okay.”
”No.” I pushed her away again. ”I mean what's the real reason?”
Her eyes went wide. ”Don't you believe me?”
”Not completely.”
”But... but why not?”
”You're too gorgeous, Olivia. You could have any man you want. And hanging around with Dona Elena and the congressman, you probably meet millionaire producers and corporate executives and national politicians every day. So I've been wondering, why would a girl like you throw herself at a chauffeur? It's obvious you want something from me. What is it?”
”You really think I'm that shallow?”
”I think you're too interested in the Toledo case. I think you've been after inside information from the moment I met you. I think you've got some kind of skin in the game. I just don't know what.”
Her eyes narrowed. ”You... you...”
I said, ”Look. Save the outraged act, and don't bother pretending to have hurt feelings. You have an angle. That's okay. Everybody does. So why not save us both a lot of time and just tell me what you want?”
She swung hard at me, but I caught her wrist before the slap connected. I pulled her close and tight and said, ”Were you with Castro and the other men at Dona Elena's house?”
”Let me go!”
I said, ”You say you care so much about me. Would you tell me if you were the woman Dona Elena saw that night? Would you confess that to the cops and tell them I wasn't there to keep me out of jail?”
Her dark eyes flashed with fury. ”It was not me, Malcolm. Now are you going to let go, or should I scream for help?”
I released her wrist. Without a pause she spun on her heel, marched to her car, and got in. Her back tires spewed gravel as she sped toward the front gate.
When the gates had closed behind her, I went inside the guesthouse, ate dinner, and got into bed. It seemed like hours before I went to sleep. Maybe it was because I skipped the Scotch, or maybe it was because I couldn't make up my mind about which side Olivia was on.
35.
The next morning Teru dropped me at a rental-car agency in Huntington Beach. Teru drove fast on detours through backstreets and did some doubling back to check for tails, but if the police were there when we left El Nido, he lost them along the way. It's hard to keep up with a well-driven Porsche on surface streets in a Crown Victoria.
Using a driver's license and Visa card in the name of Michael Cullen, I rented a white Toyota Corolla. I hadn't wanted to tip off the police surveillance by leaving El Nido with luggage, so as soon as I had the car, I drove to a department store and used the Cullen credit card to buy a pair of blue jeans, three s.h.i.+rts, some underwear and socks, and a soft-sided bag to carry it all. I stopped at a pharmacy and picked up a toothbrush, toothpaste, and some other things, and then I headed south on the 5.
It was about noon when I entered Tijuana. The Mexican customs light flashed green at the San Ysidro border crossing, so I didn't have to stop. Ten minutes later, after traveling past the traffic circles on Padre Kino and following Cuauhtemoc Norte to the airport entrance, I parked on the third level of the garage and walked into General Abelardo L. Rodriguez International Airport.
I took AeroMexico flight 177 to Mexico City on a Boeing 737. We arrived at 10:50 that night. I had a leathery steak and a cold potato at Sanborns, which is always open in the airport, and then I sacked out in a sagging chrome-and-leather seat at my departure gate. At 7:45 in the morning, the gate attendants arrived, and at 8:45 I was sitting in an economy-cla.s.s aisle seat of a Brazilian-made Embraer 195 as we pushed back from the Jetway.