“Don’t get terse with me, Charlie. We’ve given you everything you’ve asked for. That was Matt Garrett gathering frequent flyer miles with you.”
Garrett? That’s not possible.
“Slippery little bastard,” Takishi said. He did a superb job of hiding his surprise … and shock.
“I told you. The real question is, what did he see?”
That was tricky territory for Takishi. First, he didn’t know what Garrett had seen, but he had definitely seen something. And if he’d caught sight of, for example, the main battle tanks on the railhead, then there were problems. The Rolling Stones had been led to believe that they had purchased a small-arms-manufacturing facility.
They didn’t know that Takishi and Prime Minister Mizuzawa had taken the funds and, with true Japanese efficiency, created the facilities to make tanks and helicopters. That would, Takishi determined, come as a bit of a surprise to his musician buddies.
“All I know is he saw the inside of my airplane, if it was Garrett,” Takishi said. They’ll know soon enough what he saw, he determined.
“Take it however you wish, but we are in the final stages, and we need your action to happen exactly as discussed. Things are still a bit iffy on this end. Momentum seems to be gathering, and unless you are successful, the train might run away, as they say.”
“Don’t worry about my end of the deal.” Takishi laughed. “If Garrett saw anything, he’s probably confused as hell anyway. I’ve got soldiers down there guarding the plant and even a couple of armored vehicles.” Perfect, Takishi thought.
“Okay, Takishi. Now let’s get off this phone. Any further questions?”
“We are getting satisfaction. Good-bye.”
Takishi flipped his phone shut and continued to watch the men conducting a preflight inspection of the Gulfstream. It appeared that Keith Richards was on schedule. But if Matt Garrett was indeed on my airplane, what should I do, he wondered? Stay or go? Is Garrett a threat to me?
Possibly. Do I have anyone on this island who can kill Garrett?
Of course.
Over the course of the past two years, he had worked in clandestine fashion with Keith Richards, the only member of the Rolling Stones to span two administrations. The money had begun flowing nearly a year ago, money Takishi promptly began funneling to Talbosa and his loose band of Muslim insurgents.
Better than Iran-Contra! Takishi thought. At least the Contras were on the American side. The Rolling Stones were funding the Abu Sayyaf to start a war in the Philippines so the Americans could fight there instead of in Iraq.
“Makes sense to me.” Takishi chuckled.
The smile left his face as he thought of Garrett and whom he needed to call. Yes, he would take his chances and let Keith deal with Garrett while he got on with orchestrating the big picture.
Anyway, perhaps he had mortally wounded Garrett.
Chapter 16
Matt knocked on the wood door of the small A-frame house that served as a manager’s residence on-site at the Airai View Hotel. He heard heavy footfalls and the sliding of a chain against metal.
A pistol poked through the gap in the door as a voice said, “You rang?”
“Pino, it’s Matt Garrett. Put down the pistol.”
“I could shoot you and have you stuffed like one of those bears,” Pino said, laughing as he opened the door. Matt watched him as he flipped a cell phone shut and stuffed it in his pocket.
“I wouldn’t be too comfortable to lie on,” Matt said. “And the thought of your fat ass humping some chick on my back makes me want to puke.”
“Now that you have exchanged proper bona fides, I will let you in.” Pino laughed again. He was a short man, nearly as tall as he was wide. Thick black hair was cut just above his ears, which were small compared to his rotund face. “Cherubic” wasn’t necessarily the right word, but it was close enough.
They hugged, and Pino backed away.
“You’re shot?”
“Yes. Just a nick, though,” Matt said, entering the small residence. “Is the missus home?”
“No, she’s working the floor tonight. Do you need a doctor?”
“I might,” he said absently, touching his wound. “There are Americans here tonight, right?” He guessed that the Gulfstream was an official U.S. government aircraft. Palau had become a U.S. protectorate after World War II, and the American government had just signed up for another fifty years of providing for its defense, whatever that might entail.
All Matt had seen were high-ranking government officials using the island and the hotel as a stopover point for long hauls to points west.
“Yes, Rathburn’s here. Are you here to see him?”
“Yes,” Matt said, searching his mind for the name Rathburn. He thought he might be in the Depart-ment of Defense. “I need to see him tonight if possible.”
Pino looked at him with suspicious eyes.
“Here, have a seat,” the Palauan said. Pino’s house was an odd mixture of rattan island furniture, photos of high-ranking U.S. officials hanging on the walls, and furniture that looked as if he had purchased it from a 1970s Sears and Roebuck catalog. Lived in, was how Matt thought of it.
Matt sat in an old corduroy La-Z-Boy recliner while Pino took a bottle of astringent and a damp paper towel to the open wound on Matt’s shoulder.
“Son of a bitch.” Matt grimaced at the stinging.
“This is more than a graze, Matt. I need to call the U.S. doctor. Is it okay?”
Matt looked at his arm, and said, “Call Rathburn’s assistant and get him over here. Then we can talk about the doctor.”
Pino looked at Matt.
“You have no idea who Rathburn is, do you?”
“Not a clue. Defense?” Matt offered.
“Yes, and his assistant is a ‘she,’ not a ‘he.’”
“Whatever, I need to talk to her. My comms are broke. I’ve got some huge shit to give her.”
Pino sat across from Matt on the sofa, and said, “I’ll call her if you let me get the doctor.”
“Okay, whatever. Get the damn doctor. Hang it on your Web site that I’m here. Whatever. Just get me Rathburn or his assistant.”
“Hey, douche bag, you came to me for help, remember?”
Matt felt himself fading a bit. Between not sleeping for two full days and the loss of blood, he knew that he needed help.
As his mind spiraled, his last thoughts were that there were others that needed aid more than he; Peterson, for example. While it was too late for the dead Special Forces officer, Matt thought, the rest of his team desperately needed some assistance.
Matt’s mind spun into sleep, pulling with it the soft music emanating from Pino’s stereo. “I can’t get no sat-is-fac-tion …”
Chapter 17
“How long has he been out?” Meredith Morris asked the doctor.
“About an hour,” he said. “I gave him four full IVs, cleaned his wound, and pumped some antibiotics in him. That he lasted this long is pretty amazing.”
Meredith looked at the doctor, and said, “I’ve got it from here, thank you.”
Understanding his cue to depart, the doctor walked out of Pino’s guest bedroom and into the night.
Meredith sat in the chair next to the bed, wondering about this man, whom she had only read about. She looked at her watch; it was past midnight. Pino had summoned her from her suite in the hotel and she had taken nearly an hour to get dressed and walk the half kilometer to the house.