Conquistador, page 4
“Sounds good,” said Mitchell. “I’ll give Mister Longman’s contact a call to set up a time to meet him later.”
“There’s no need to do that, Mister Mitchell,” said a small Filipino man in his mid-forties, with a broad smile and thinning hairline. He was dressed in a rumpled, cream-colored suit with a loosened tie hanging around his neck.
“And why shouldn’t I?”
“Because I’m already here.”
Mitchell held out his hand. “Good day, mister…?”
“Garcia,” replied the man, shaking Mitchell’s hand. “My friends call me Eddie.”
“Please, call me Ryan. How did you recognize me?”
Garcia held up his phone. On it was a picture of Mitchell. “Mister Longman sent me pictures of you and Mister Jackson, so I would know what you looked like.”
Jackson held out his hand. “Call me, Nate.”
“Gentlemen, if you will follow me, I have a car waiting outside.”
They walked out of the terminal and crossed the street to the parking lot where Garcia’s Robin’s-egg-blue BMW was parked.
“My God, Eddie, how old is this car?” asked Jackson, looking at the rust spots all over the car’s exterior.
“I’ve had it for close to twenty years now,” responded Garcia with a smile. “It still runs, so why replace it?”
“I dunno, maybe because it looks like it belongs in a scrap heap with the rest of the aging jalopies.”
“Trust me, we’ll blend in better with this car than a brand-new, shiny BMW.”
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” said Mitchell.
“We’ve got a license to spend money, yet so far we’ve done everything as cheap as possible,” quipped Jackson.
Mitchell ignored his friend’s bellyaching and looked over at Garcia. “Eddie, we’re booked in the same hotel Julia Cruz was staying in when she went missing. How long will it take us to get there?”
“This time of the day, the traffic isn’t too bad,” said Garcia. “I’d say no more than forty-five minutes.”
“Okay, let’s get a move on. I’d like to speak with the head of hotel security and see if we can view the security tapes from the night she went missing.”
“I tried to see the tapes, but was told in no uncertain terms to go away. The man running security is a lazy pig. I knew him when we were both in the police force. I hope you have deep pockets, because I’m sure nothing short of a couple thousand dollars will get you what you’re looking for.”
“Bribes are nothing new in our profession. Just introduce us and I’ll let Mister Franklin do the talking for me.”
The ride to the resort took them to the opposite side of the island. As they drove through the open gates of the hotel, Mitchell noticed a surveillance camera covering the road. Eddie pulled up in front of the lobby. Two young men in gray uniforms ran over to take Mitchell and Jackson’s luggage.
“While you two check in, I’ll pay a visit to my former colleague and negotiate a price for you,” said Garcia.
“Be careful and make sure he understands it’s half now. He’ll get the other half only after we’ve had time to study the disc,” said Jackson.
Garcia nodded and tossed his car keys to one of the hotel’s valets.
“Nice looking hotel,” said Mitchell, looking around at the lavish accommodations. “It must cost a small fortune to say here. I’m glad someone else is paying for our visit.”
Less than five minutes later, there was a knock on their door. Mitchell looked through the peephole and saw Garcia and another man standing in the hallway. The man was short and wore thick glasses on his bulbous nose. Mitchell opened the door.
“Gentlemen, this is Wally Ramos, head of security for the hotel,” explained Garcia.
Mitchell didn’t offer the man his hand in greeting. “I understand you have surveillance footage from the night Julia Cruz went missing.”
Ramos smiled. “That is correct. You do realize I am taking a great risk in letting you see this. If the police ever found out, I could go to jail.”
It was a tired old line Mitchell had heard dozens of times in the past to make gullible people pay more. He doubted the police had even seen the information stored on the disc. It wasn’t uncommon for some resorts to withhold evidence from the police, as an investigation might hurt their ratings. Mitchell smiled thinly and said, “We can compensate you for your troubles.”
Ramos reached into a pocket and brought out a plastic container holding a disc. “This is the footage from the cameras overlooking the back of the hotel. It will cost you five thousand U.S. dollars to watch it.”
“Three thousand, and not a penny more,” said Jackson
Ramos went to put the disc away. “Thirty-five hundred?”
“Done,” said Mitchell. “Pay the man half, Nate.”
Mitchell reached over and grasped the disc. “Come back in an hour, Mister Ramos. I’ll give you your disc back, along with the remainder of the money.”
“Most certainly,” replied Ramos, smiling as he counted the money in his hand.
Garcia showed Ramos out and bolted the door shut behind him.
Jackson opened up his laptop and waited for it to boot up. He looked up at Mitchell. “I didn’t get an overly trustworthy vibe from our friend. What if this disc proves to be useless?”
“There’s only one way to find out. Let’s take a look,” said Mitchell.
It took several minutes of fast-forwarding the disc until they found an image of Julia Cruz walking past the pool. They watched as she knocked a beach ball back to a young man, and made her way to the beach. A white-jacketed waiter appeared. The man kept his back to the camera, so his face couldn’t be seen.
“He’s good,” noted Garcia. “I bet he’s not even a hotel employee.”
A minute passed before the server returned with a drink in his hands. They watched as Julia took a sip. After a few seconds, a man walked out of the shadows on the beach and stopped in front of Julia. The camera was unable to record his face. Next, Julia was picked up by two men and taken out of view.
“Well, that wasn’t very helpful,” said Jackson. “We didn’t see a single person’s face.”
“No, but we can debunk the police’s theory that she’d run off with a man, and confirm that she has been kidnapped,” replied Mitchell. “Also, those people knew precisely where to stand so their faces wouldn’t be recorded. I wonder who told them that?”
“I’ll have my cousin run a check on Ramos’ bank account,” said Garcia. “Julio’s a bit of a hacker and is good at what he does. No one ever knows if he has been poking around in their computers. If there have been any significant deposits made recently, maybe we can track the money back to the kidnappers.”
“My thoughts, exactly.”
Jackson said, “What do you want me to do with the disc?”
“Make us a copy,” said Mitchell. “We’ll send the pertinent parts back home. Perhaps the folks in the IT office can do something with it.”
“Can do.”
Mitchell took a seat. “Okay, let’s do some spit-balling. We know she’s been taken hostage, yet almost five days later there have been no ransom demands made for her safe return. Why not?”
“It’s most odd,” said Garcia. “By now, I would have expected a video to have been sent to Mister Cruz, demanding millions of dollars for his sister’s life.”
“What about the rebels?” asked Jackson. “Have they tried anything this far north recently?”
Garcia shook his head. “No, the fight is mostly confined to the Sulu Archipelago. There have been a few kidnappings of foreigners on Mindanao Island, but the last one was over three years ago.”
“Okay, if we eliminate Islamic insurgents, who are we left with?” said Mitchell.
“I don’t know,” responded Garcia. “But I bet I know who does.”
“Who?”
“I have a contact who knows Johnny Estrada.”
“Who the hell is that?” asked Jackson.
“He’s the local Godfather. Nothing—and I do mean nothing—happens on Palawan Island without his knowledge,” explained Garcia.
“Can you arrange for us to meet him?” said Mitchell.
“Sure. When?”
“Tonight.”
“If he’s going to help us, he’s going to want to be reimbursed for his time.”
“Tell him I’ll pay him fifty thousand dollars for information that leads me to Julia’s kidnappers.”
Garcia reached for his phone. “Let me make a few calls and I’ll see what can be done.”
Jackson popped out the disc and placed it back in its case. He stood up from the table and said, “I’ve forwarded the feed showing Miss Cruz and her kidnappers back home.”
“Thanks,” said Mitchell.
“Before we go and meet this Johnny Estrada, you might want to call the general to let him know what we’re up to. Just in case our bullet-ridden corpses wash up on some beach tomorrow morning.”
“Nate, have I told you in the past couple of days how much of a pessimist you are?”
“No, but meeting some shady criminal in some darkened back alley is not my idea of a good time.”
“Cheer up, Nate. What’s the worst that could happen to us?”
Jackson picked up a pen and pad of paper. “Shall I write you up a list?”
7
Garcia’s beat-up BMW slowed down before turning onto a road leading to the docks at Puerto Princesa. A security guard saw the car coming, put his newspaper down and stepped out of his wooden shack. He yawned as he waved at the car to slow down.
Garcia applied the brakes and came to a halt. He rolled down his window and held his left hand out of the car. The guard never said a word. He shook Garcia’s hand and ambled back to his cabin. A couple of seconds later, the metal gate opened, and Garcia drove inside.
“How much did you pay him?” asked Mitchell.
“One hundred dollars,” replied Garcia. “It’s the usual fee.”
“Where exactly are we going?” asked Jackson.
“There’s a warehouse at the other end of the dock, where Mister Estrada has an office. Apart from being the biggest criminal on the island, he also runs several legitimate import and export businesses.”
They drove past several tall stacks of sea containers waiting to be loaded onto a freighter before they came to a halt outside of a warehouse. The place was dimly lit. Two men stood next to a side door. Uzi submachine guns hung from their shoulders.
“Are you sure we’re going to be okay meeting this guy?” said Jackson. “I don’t like going into situations like this unarmed.”
“Relax, Mister Jackson,” responded Garcia. “We’re going to be searched before we get inside that building. It’s good that you two don’t have a sidearm on you. It’ll make them less nervous.”
“Okay, let’s do this,” said Mitchell, as he opened his door and waved at the men.
One of the guards brought a Motorola to his mouth and spoke into it. The side door opened, and a man stepped outside. He called out in Tagalog to Garcia.
“Mister Estrada is waiting inside,” explained Garcia.
After a thorough pat-down, they were led inside by three men who kept their Uzis trained on them at all times. The warehouse floor was covered with expensive cars. Mitchell spotted a red Lamborghini Gallardo, a white Mercedes-Benz SLS, and a half-dozen more cars. Any of the vehicles could easily fetch a quarter of a million dollars or more on the black market.
“I see you like my collection,” said a man as he stepped out of an office. He had a cigar hanging from his mouth, and was dressed in a white suit with polished, Italian leather shoes. The well-dressed man had a full head of white hair and a weathered face.
“I know a few people back home in the States who would love to crawl around your warehouse for a couple of hours,” replied Mitchell.
“You should give me their names,” said the man.
“I doubt they’d be able to afford a single one of these magnificent and obviously stolen cars, mister…?”
“Sorry, where are my manners. My name is Johnny Estrada. You need not introduce yourselves. I have read your files and feel I already know you, Captain Mitchell and Sergeant Jackson. I have never met any former United States Army Rangers.”
Mitchell said, “I take it Mister Garcia told you why we requested this meeting.”
“Yes, he did. Do you have the money?”
Jackson reached up to take the money out of a jacket pocket, and got three submachine guns jammed in his face. He froze like a statue and said to the nearest guard, “Uh, you can take it out if you want.” The young man took the envelope and walked it over to his boss.
“I shan’t insult you by counting the money in front of you,” said Estrada. “Your files say you are both trustworthy men.”
Mitchell looked Estrada in the eyes. “Do you have information that could lead us to Julia Cruz?”
“My sources tell me that Miss Cruz was kidnapped by…” Estrada’s voice trailed off as the sound of a helicopter’s engine grew louder by the second.
The hair on the back of Mitchell’s neck went up when the chopper seemed to stop right above the building. He yelled, “Take cover!” a split second before all hell broke loose. Bullets tore through the glass windows and the wooden roof, raining down on the people standing out in the open. Mitchell dove to the floor, and rolled underneath a workbench. He brought his hands over his head to protect it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jackson grab Garcia and drag him away from the line of fire. Estrada’s bodyguards ran to surround him. Two were cut down before they could reach their patron. Mitchell never saw if Estrada made it to safety or not.
Mitchell turned his head and looked over at the sports cars. His eyes fixed on a silver Ferrari four-seater. To stay where they were was suicide. Gunmen were undoubtedly on their way to finish the job. Mitchell waited for the helicopter’s door-gunner to adjust his aim. Just like a sprinter hearing the starter’s pistol fire, he bolted out from under his cover and ran straight for the Ferrari. Mitchell yanked the driver’s side door open and slid down into his seat. He saw the keys were in the ignition, started the car, and threw it in gear before jamming his foot down on the gas pedal. Mitchell spun the wheel around in his hands and drove away. He came to a screeching halt next to a truck his friends had hidden under. Mitchell reached over and opened the passenger-side door. He yelled, “Get in!”
Jackson grabbed hold of Garcia and threw him in the back of the vehicle. As he jumped onto his seat, he looked back and said, “Hold on.”
Mitchell placed his foot on the accelerator while he pulled up on the hand brake. The rear tires spun on the cement floor, creating a cloud of black smoke. Mitchell looked for the nearest exit and released the hand brake. With a loud squeal, the car sped off. Mitchell raced through the gears as the Ferrari sped toward the closed doors. He never slowed down. With his hands clenched tight on the wheel, Mitchell smashed through the doors, sending them flying open. He turned the wheel around and felt the car’s tires grip the asphalt. Mitchell left the vehicle’s lights off.
“Where’s the chopper?” he asked Jackson.
Jackson leaned over to take a look. “It’s still hovering above the warehouse. I don’t think he saw us leave.”
Up ahead, barely three hundred meters away, was the metal gate. Mitchell wasn’t going to stop for anyone. He kept his foot jammed down on the gas pedal.
“Wait, I spoke too soon,” said Jackson, as the chopper’s spotlight lit up their car.
To Mitchell, what happened next seemed to unfold in slow motion. With less than fifty meters to go, a forklift charged out of the dark from between two buildings and struck the Ferrari. The initial sound of crumpling plastic and metal was drowned out by the pop of the air bags inflating. Sent spinning out of control, the car flew off the dock and out into the darkness. With a sudden, jarring halt, they hit the water.
“Everyone still alive?” called out Mitchell as the car began to sink engine first into the pitch black water.
“I’ll live,” replied Jackson.
“I think I pissed myself,” added Garcia.
“Wait until the water is over our heads before trying to open the doors,” said Mitchell, watching with a feeling of dread as the car sank ever deeper.
Mitchell took a couple of deep breaths before taking one last one, as the cool water rose above his head. He turned and pulled back on the car’s door handle. With the pressure equalized inside and outside of the Ferrari, the door opened. Mitchell was about to swim to the surface when the water above his head was lit up by the helicopter’s spotlight. A second later, the water looked like it was boiling, as the door gunner emptied what he had left on his belt into the water. Mitchell turned and saw Jackson help Garcia out of the back of the vehicle. He grabbed his friend’s arm and pointed to a pier only a few meters away. All three men swam as fast they could before coming up for air under the jetty.
Mitchell popped his head up and looked back to where their car had gone down. The searchlight switched off, plunging the water back into darkness. The helicopter banked away from the dock and flew out over the sea. Police sirens wailed in the distance.
“We don’t want to be here when the police arrive,” said Garcia, treading water. “Trust me, if they can’t find the people responsible we’ll be the ones held accountable for what happened here tonight.”
“Do you have somewhere we can go?” asked Mitchell.
“Yes. We can lay low at my second cousin’s home on the outskirts of town. We should be safe there until I can get back in touch with Estrada. I don’t want him to think it was us who set him and his people up.”
“Say, did you happen to see who was driving that forklift?” said Jackson.
“No. I was too busy driving,” replied Mitchell.
“It was our friend from back at the hotel.”
“Ramos?” said Garcia.
“The one and only,” said Jackson. “He’s up to his neck in this kidnapping for ransom…if it is one.”
8
