The Threat

“That’s bullshit,” Dan shouted, clutching his head. Ihlemann, at the front desk, looked startled. She was due any day and spent most of her time with her feet up on a chair, alternately cranky and dazed. “The colonel, the police guy — Desrolles. What the hell is this?”

Desrolles, reached after a couple of calls, was smoothly regretful. Yes, he’d thought all legal requirements had been taken care of, all responsible officials notified. That was his job as liaison. Unfortunately some preconditions to the raid had been overlooked, both in the Ministry of Justice and in Key West. Haitian law, like that of the United States, did not permit troops to kick down doors. A tainted arrest could not proceed to prosecution. True, Colombia had requested extradition. However, Don Juan did not hold a Colombian passport. He was a naturalized citizen of the Cayman Islands, which had obtained a court order in Port-au-Prince for the release of their national. His government, the delicately accented voice imparted sadly, had no alternative.

“How much did he pay Aristide?” Dan wanted to know. Bloom covered his hands over his eyes, mouthing Hang up, hang up.

“I don’t believe I heard you correctly, sir. Are you speaking about the democratically elected president of Haiti? Which your administration has urged to respect the rule of law?” When he didn’t answer the colonel went on. “You achieved your goal, Mr. Lenson. You caused Don Juan and the other leaders to lose much respect. As well as increasing their costs of doing business. They are very angry now with the U.S., with your president — possibly even with you. I would step very carefully in pursuing these men.”

Dan slammed the phone down. Bloom said, “That was pretty goddamn unwise. Insulting him.”

“They took money to let him go.”

“Absolutely. Shook him down and waved bye-bye. But it wasn’t Dickie Desrolles’s decision. And look at the plus side — Haiti needs the bucks.”

Something else occurred to Dan. “The mechanic — the guy who worked on his plane, gave us the flight plan. Brave as hell—”

“Found him this morning. In Bucaramanga.” Bloom looked back to where Ihlemann was eating at her desk again. Eased the door closed. “Head, arms, and legs severed with machetes. Suicide, the local cops say.”

“Oh no. How did they find out about him?”

“Somebody talked who shouldn’t have. But Dickie’s right about them being mad. Now they have to make things right. But again, look at the plus side.”

“There’s no plus side to this, Miles.”

“Sure there is. Now Tejeiro wants the cartel’s balls on his rearview. He fired the guy at the Foreign Ministry who protested, and replaced him with a hard-liner. And another thing: One of the boys we picked up in Haiti’s starting to sing.”

Bloom told him again, as if he still had to, that this was totally close hold and shoe-shakin’ secret. “One of the second-rankers broke under joint FBI-DEA interrogation. He’s giving chapter and verse on operations. He also mentioned something about Washington.”

“As in, D.C.?”

“He heard Nuñez talking to Francisco Zuluaga — his moneyman — during the flight. ‘Habrá un viento muy caliente en Washington este primavera’—‘There’ll be a hot wind in Washington this spring.’ And they both laughed.”

Dan turned that over. “What’s Zuluaga say it means?”

“Zuluaga’s not talking. According to the agenda it was what the heavies were getting together to discuss. Viento de la primavera—spring wind. Or maybe metaphorical, like a springtime wind.”

“If it’s on the agenda, there’ll be supporting documentation.”

“Not in the documents or on the hard drives. Believe me, we looked. Had the best computer forensics guy in the business go through them. He found evidence about the flight plans and so forth, though. That helped back up our presentation to Tejeiro about how his son died.”

They’d discussed it for a while, then called the office of the White House counsel to see if there was anything they could do after the fact. A staffie was happy to pee on their hopes. Once the Baptist was out of Haiti, he was in the clear. The U.S. had no extradition agreement with the Caymans, but that didn’t mean Nuñez was limited to that country. Taking advantage of the slowness of Latin American legal procedures, using cover identities where he had to, Nuñez could stay on the move indefinitely. Bloom suggested putting a price on his head. The staffer said that might be possible. He’d look into it. Sooner or later the guy would go back to Bucaramanga. Until then, he was at large.

Dan tried to tell himself Bloom was right. They’d embarrassed the cartel. Cost it money, and the cloaking device. You couldn’t obsess over a loss. Not at the pace the Eighteen Acres operated at. The cookie had crumbled, and it was on to the next battle. He wasn’t happy. But he couldn’t think of anything else he could do.

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