added.
“On vacation in Chile,” added Grimes with another smile.
“Mountain-climbing, is the official story,” said Hayes.
Henry swallowed his last forkful of beans and wiped his mouth. “I don’t get the connection. Chile isn’t exactly the Antarctic.”
“The connection isn’t necessarily with Chile,” said Hayes. “The man can get plutonium. He has all the right contacts.”
“From a mountain in southern Chile you could send a radio signal to Antarctica,” remarked Grimes. He got up and walked to the counter, where a cook was busying himself with cleaning the dishes. Grimes leaned over the counter and looked around. “You got any pie back here, Mac?”
“Some apple, sir,” said the cook.
“Hate apple pie,” said Grimes. “Ice cream?”
“Vanilla and chocolate, sir.”
“Fuck it. Just give me a coffee.”
Henry scratched his head, then fanned a curl of smoke that drifted in front of his eyes. “Wouldn’t South Africa, his part-time home territory, be a better base of operations?” he asked once Grimes had returned with coffee.
“New Zealand’s a lot closer,” said the SEAL.
“But that’s the first place we’d look,” observed Hayes.
“But what would make him a suspect if I don’t finger him?” asked Henry.
“Old Rudolfo’s just playing it safe,” said Grimes.
“Never do the obvious – and cover your tracks whatever happens.”
“I don’t know.” Henry shook his head. “Seems real convoluted to me.”
“Not your problem to figure ’em.” Grimes laughed.
“Just finger ’em.”
Hayes chuckled. “Very good, Kai. You oughta go into speech writing.”
“No blood in it, sir,” said Grimes without expression.
#
Rudolfo Suarez always arose at 4:30am, no matter what part of the world he happened to find himself in on any particular day. How he did this was a mystery to his employees, but they never asked him about it. Rudy didn’t like questions.
Today Suarez was on the internet by 5am. He sat in front of his tent, waiting for the sun to come up. Not far away, a small dish antenna slowly traced the path of a barely visible communications satellite, a mote in the sky moving among the stars.
He was camping with four of his men high in the Andean mountains, a hundred miles from the coastal city of Arica on a peak the locals call Nevada Sajama, over 21,000 feet above sea level. From there he could see almost as far as the Pacific Ocean to the west. The area teemed with tourists and archaeologists drawn to the famous sites of Machu Pichu and Tijuanaco. Suarez was part Chilean and owned a home in Arica, on the Peruvian border. His business had him moving all over the world, but it was here in the Chilean heights that he felt most secure and in control. He mused on the spirits that he believed haunted the Andes and called to him. Sometimes, while giving orders, his men would have to wait for him to consult a spirit or two. No one ever laughed.
Once, when he was a boy camping in the mountains with his father, a condor had landed only five feet from him. It had spoken to him, he believed, and told him he would rule the world one day. His father had laughed when little Rudolfo told him of the magic condor. He explained to the boy that the bird was probably sizing him up for a meal. “Don’t stay quiet too long when they’re around.”
Now Suarez’s eyes looked up from the computer screen and scanned the horizon to the south. He knew the US Navy and everyone else must be on high alert.
He smiled.
Remo, his assistant, noticed the smile as he emerged from his tent, yawning and stretching the sleep from his body.
“Clear today,” he said, testing his boss’s mood.
“Always,” replied Suarez as he began typing a message on his laptop.
Like the others in Rudolfo Suarez’s private guard, Remo Poteshkin was tall er than the boss, so he was careful never to approach his employer while Suarez was seated. No one looked down on Rudy. At a safe distance, he
“On vacation in Chile,” added Grimes with another smile.
“Mountain-climbing, is the official story,” said Hayes.
Henry swallowed his last forkful of beans and wiped his mouth. “I don’t get the connection. Chile isn’t exactly the Antarctic.”
“The connection isn’t necessarily with Chile,” said Hayes. “The man can get plutonium. He has all the right contacts.”
“From a mountain in southern Chile you could send a radio signal to Antarctica,” remarked Grimes. He got up and walked to the counter, where a cook was busying himself with cleaning the dishes. Grimes leaned over the counter and looked around. “You got any pie back here, Mac?”
“Some apple, sir,” said the cook.
“Hate apple pie,” said Grimes. “Ice cream?”
“Vanilla and chocolate, sir.”
“Fuck it. Just give me a coffee.”
Henry scratched his head, then fanned a curl of smoke that drifted in front of his eyes. “Wouldn’t South Africa, his part-time home territory, be a better base of operations?” he asked once Grimes had returned with coffee.
“New Zealand’s a lot closer,” said the SEAL.
“But that’s the first place we’d look,” observed Hayes.
“But what would make him a suspect if I don’t finger him?” asked Henry.
“Old Rudolfo’s just playing it safe,” said Grimes.
“Never do the obvious – and cover your tracks whatever happens.”
“I don’t know.” Henry shook his head. “Seems real convoluted to me.”
“Not your problem to figure ’em.” Grimes laughed.
“Just finger ’em.”
Hayes chuckled. “Very good, Kai. You oughta go into speech writing.”
“No blood in it, sir,” said Grimes without expression.
#
Rudolfo Suarez always arose at 4:30am, no matter what part of the world he happened to find himself in on any particular day. How he did this was a mystery to his employees, but they never asked him about it. Rudy didn’t like questions.
Today Suarez was on the internet by 5am. He sat in front of his tent, waiting for the sun to come up. Not far away, a small dish antenna slowly traced the path of a barely visible communications satellite, a mote in the sky moving among the stars.
He was camping with four of his men high in the Andean mountains, a hundred miles from the coastal city of Arica on a peak the locals call Nevada Sajama, over 21,000 feet above sea level. From there he could see almost as far as the Pacific Ocean to the west. The area teemed with tourists and archaeologists drawn to the famous sites of Machu Pichu and Tijuanaco. Suarez was part Chilean and owned a home in Arica, on the Peruvian border. His business had him moving all over the world, but it was here in the Chilean heights that he felt most secure and in control. He mused on the spirits that he believed haunted the Andes and called to him. Sometimes, while giving orders, his men would have to wait for him to consult a spirit or two. No one ever laughed.
Once, when he was a boy camping in the mountains with his father, a condor had landed only five feet from him. It had spoken to him, he believed, and told him he would rule the world one day. His father had laughed when little Rudolfo told him of the magic condor. He explained to the boy that the bird was probably sizing him up for a meal. “Don’t stay quiet too long when they’re around.”
Now Suarez’s eyes looked up from the computer screen and scanned the horizon to the south. He knew the US Navy and everyone else must be on high alert.
He smiled.
Remo, his assistant, noticed the smile as he emerged from his tent, yawning and stretching the sleep from his body.
“Clear today,” he said, testing his boss’s mood.
“Always,” replied Suarez as he began typing a message on his laptop.
Like the others in Rudolfo Suarez’s private guard, Remo Poteshkin was tall er than the boss, so he was careful never to approach his employer while Suarez was seated. No one looked down on Rudy. At a safe distance, he
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