Julia,” Cal said grimly. “I want you to leave me the file and recorder. Then first thing in the morning, you’re going to put the government money back where it belongs. I’ll take care of everything else.”
“I really wish I could leave this to you. I’m intelligent enough to realize that I’m way out of my league with this espionage business. But you heard them. They’ll kill Jason if I don’t show in Caracas.”
“You’re not going,” Cal repeated, his voice hard, his features set.
“Yes, I am,” she insisted, trying not to let him hear the fear in her voice. Whether she liked it or not, she had to go. “Please don’t force me to hire someone else.”
Cal reached across the counter and grabbed her arm. “You have no idea what Delgado is capable of.”
“No, but you do.” She glanced down at her arm, but didn’t tug free this time. “And I have firsthand experience of what you are capable of.”
Julia heard Cal’s sharp intake of breath. But she hardened her heart, and finished her argument.
“I pulled Delgado’s file, Cal. I’m hoping you’ll fill in the gaps.”
Cal dropped his hand from her arm and grabbed his cup, ignoring the handle. He took a long sip. “Okay, so what do you know?”
“Cristo Enrique de la Delgado. Age fifty-five. Cofounder of the Trifecta Cartel. The largest drug cartel in South America.”
“That’s public knowledge—”
“At one time, Delgado was one of three partners,” she continued, as if she hadn’t heard him. “The others being his best friends, Esteban Alvarez and Felipe Ramos. All three men were born aristocratic but relatively poor. According to Colombian social standards, at least. Rumor has it that while in their early twenties, the three men decided to break into the drug-dealing business during a horse race in which all three lost their shirts. Hence, the nickname Trifecta Cartel. With their contacts in the upper echelon of society, success was inevitable.”
“Because you know his background, doesn’t mean you understand the man,” Cal retorted, not realizing until too late that he’d said something similar when he betrayed her months before.
“I’m learning to,” she commented, her tone stiff, telling him she remembered also.
“Ramos is now deceased,” she continued. “Murdered four years ago. His yacht blown apart from plastic explosives, killing everyone onboard including his three children, his wife, top lieutenants … and his mistress. A few months later, Alvarez was shot by an unknown assailant. Godfather style, in a restaurant. Somehow, he managed to escape with a bullet in his neck. The injury caused permanent vocal damage.
“At one time, Alvarez believed Ramos’s death was carried out by Delgado’s enforcer, Solaris, but was never able to prove his suspicions.”
Cal’s eyes narrowed on the name for a brief moment. Julia would’ve missed the movement if she hadn’t been watching him so close.
“Do you know Solaris?” she asked, going with her instincts.
“No.” The word was clipped, but the jade in his eyes sharpened into glass slivers.
She didn’t believe him. With a slight lift of her shoulder, she let it go. For the moment. “Since then, Alvarez and Delgado have split the business, absorbing their late partner’s share and went their separate ways.”
“Jon Mercer’s people have been keeping them under surveillance,” Cal commented. He took another swallow, this time his eyes rested on his tea, masking his thoughts. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Delgado has been married twice. His first wife, Camilla, died in a car accident just after their daughter, Alejandra, turned four.”
“Yes, and some believe that Cristo killed Camilla because a doctor told him she could no longer have children,” Cal inserted.
“Alejandra is now twenty-five, graduated from Harvard Law School and just passed her New York State Bar examination.” Julia paused. “She actually seems quite normal.”
“Define normal.”
She ignored him. “No indication or evidence that she is involved with her father or the family business.”
“That’s smart, not normal.”
“His second wife, Rosario, is still alive,” she said. “They’ve been married fifteen years this past November. A society girl who likes to entertain.”
“And sample her husband’s merchandise,” Cal added dryly.
“If you follow the South American society papers,” Julia agreed. “Cristo seemed to have mellowed in his second marriage. It took five years for Rosario to give birth to his son, Argus.”
“She almost didn’t make it. Rumors were already starting that Cristo was getting ready to replace Rosario for a younger, more fertile model when she confirmed her pregnancy.”
“No information on the boy, other than he’s ten,” Julia explained, keeping her voice neutral.
“Cristo keeps his son under wraps. Cut off from the outside world.”
“Argus means everything to his father.” Fear chilled her. Julia gripped her mug with both hands but its heat did little to warm them. “Shall I go on?”
“Do you know Delgado’s shipping itinerary? Who his suppliers are? Where his compounds are located? Why he takes pleasure in watching people die?”
“Do you?” she shot back.
“Your ex-husband did. And now he’s dealing with the consequences.”
“He’s dealing with.” She pointed a finger at him. “You’re using the present tense. You don’t believe Jason is dead, either, do you?”
“I told you, I’m supposed to verify his death,” Cal said, then sighed. “Even with Delgado’s nasty habit of uploading his executions for public consumption, Cain hasn’t been able to find any clips of Jason.”
“Which only supports my theory that Jason isn’t dead.”
“If Jason is still alive—and that’s a big if—Delgado isn’t advertising it yet because he wants something more important. And apparently, he wants it from you.”
“The ten million dollars.”
Cal snorted. “To Delgado, ten million is pocket change. Besides, he could get the money from you without bringing you to Venezuela just by transferring the funds.”
“I’m sure he’ll show his hand, once I meet with him,” Julia insisted.
“The hell you will. You have no experience in the field.”
“I might not have experience, but I’ve had training.”
“Basic defense training in case of a terrorist attack is
