Not Without Cause. Kay David

his voice deep, his manner alert. “Reynolds here.”

      “I’ll call you when I get there,” she said. “Don’t try to contact me. You won’t be able to.” She hung up before he could ask any questions.

      CHAPTER TWO

      SHE HIT THE END BUTTON then dialed a second number. It was an hour earlier in Peru where Armando Torres lived, but he answered as quickly as Dean Reynolds had.

      “I’m taking some time off,” she said. “I thought I should let you know.”

      “That’s good.” His calm acceptance of her announcement was typical. Nothing ruffled Armando, except his new wife. They’d met when she’d come to his clinic near Machu Picchu in search of some answers to questions from her past. He’d helped her find them and they’d fallen in love in the process. “Are you going somewhere warm where the water is blue and the drinks are cold?”

      “I’m going to Guatemala,” she answered. “Does that count?”

      A small silence built. “Since there is no other reason to visit that godforsaken country, I must assume you’re an aficionado of antiquities and I didn’t know it.”

      “I’m not, but a friend of mine is having some problems. I’m going down there to see if I can help.”

      “You have a friend besides Julia?” His voice lightened. “I don’t believe it!”

      Meredith chuckled. Armando had met her best friend, Julia Vandamme when she and Jonathan Cruz had married a short time ago. Cruz had saved Julia from a very bad situation in Colombia before stealing her heart.

      “This is a friend I don’t usually claim, but I think he’s gotten himself into some trouble. I can’t walk away.”

      Armando’s voice stayed neutral. “Trouble in Guatemala can be deadly. It’s not a nice place.”

      “That’s why I wanted you to know where I’ll be. Whatever happens, it won’t be easy.”

      “Maybe you should send Stratton instead?”

      Stratton O’Neil had left the Operatives, but he still helped them out on occasion. He was very good in tricky situations.

      “I’d like to send him,” she said now, “but this is something I have to do.”

      “Are you sure?”

      She looked out to the courtyard where a late night shower had left diamonds glittering on the leaves of the ferns. All her windows faced the courtyard. There were no openings to the street and the world beyond, a metaphor for her life, she’d often thought.

      “I don’t really like Guatemala,” she mused. “I don’t understand the country but yes, I’m sure. I don’t have a choice.”

      “Meredith, por favor, we always have choices. You know that better than anyone,” he chided her gently. “You have had to make some hard ones yourself.”

      “You have, too, my friend.”

      “Maybe so, but that is life, eh?”

      “I suppose.”

      He hesitated, as polite as ever, but his concern overrode his reserve. “If you have a lack of enthusiasm about this situation, perhaps it is best to reconsider?”

      “I’ve already committed myself. That isn’t an option.”

      “Which only serves to make my point.”

      “You’re right,” she said. “But I said I’d help.”

      “I understand,” he conceded. “Some obligations must be met, regardless of their cost.”

      “Thanks for listening. You’re a good friend, Armando.”

      “Return the favor by staying safe.”

      “I’ll do my best.”

      THE RAINY SEASON WAS supposed to stop at the end of May but someone had forgotten to tell Mother Nature. Water glistened in black puddles when Meredith stepped outside the terminal at La Aurora International in Guatemala City the following night, a cool breeze accompanying the errant drips still falling from the edge of the roof. She pulled her sweater close as she passed five men in military garb. They each carried an automatic weapon slung casually over the shoulder and they watched Meredith as she headed toward the waiting taxis, a single light bag in her hand.

      The president of Guatemala had been overthrown in the late fifties and since that time, the government, such as it was, had been under the command of a parade of generals and dictators, each more corrupt than the previous. In the eighties, the country had turned into a killing field. Things had gotten better in the late 90s, but no one forgot what it had been like and most expected it would return. The poverty was staggering.

      The address she gave the taxi driver was in the Zona Viva, an area of town comprised of restaurants and hotels with plenty of upscale houses as well. Traffic was heavy despite the lateness of the hour but they got there eventually. She tipped the driver an amount reasonable enough to be acceptable but not enough to be remembered, then climbed out of the car in front of a hotel. Walking briskly, she lost herself in the crowd of pedestrians coming toward her. Four blocks later, she turned south. The commercial buildings became villas and fifteen minutes after that, she stopped and tapped twice on a wooden fence. A gate, unseen until that point, swung back, a slice of light spilling out from behind it to the darkened sidewalk. Meredith slid inside and the lock clicked behind her.

      She’d never been in this particular house but it was so similar to the ones she always used that she barely noticed its comfortable furniture or generous rooms. The only thing she cared about was privacy and anonymity. Having to worry about someone recognizing her was the last thing she wanted. She made a quick check of the windows and doors, then had an even quicker conversation with the man who’d opened the gate. He knew better than to ask any questions and twenty minutes after she’d arrived, Meredith was settled in. The maps she’d requested were on the kitchen table. She made herself a cup of coffee and sat down with the phone.

      The first number she dialed was Cipriano Barrisito’s. She’d called him from the States before leaving and told him what she needed. She listened to the phone ring and thought about the tasks that faced her.

      His voice was slick and deep when he answered. He was a fixer, a man who hung on the edges of both good and bad, doing whatever needed to be done for whoever had the money. “¿Bueno?”

      “It’s me,” she said. “I’m here.”

      “That’s good. Was your journey a smooth one?”

      “I’m still in one piece,” she said. “Will I see you tonight?”

      “Actually, I’m sending my cousin, Rosario. When I told the family that I needed some information of a certain type, she came to me.” He laughed. “You know how it works. She has a friend, who has a friend, who has a friend….”

      Barrisito’s “family” consisted of a dozen or so hookers he ran in the center of town. They represented only one facet of his organization, but when he needed to know something, the women were where he went first.

      Meredith murmured her assent, but when he spoke again, his tone was guarded and uncertain, a fact that made her nervous. “I’m not sure we can shed any light on the problem, though.”

      She hid her reaction by mock surprise. “Your family is always so friendly and helpful, mi amigo. I find that hard to believe. What are you saying?”

      “The situation is…fluid, as you like to say in the north. The friend you inquired about seems to be out of town at the moment. Perhaps he’s joined the other gentleman you mentioned?”

      As was her way, Meredith had explained as little as possible when she’d called Cipri earlier. She needed to locate Brad Prescott, she’d said, and Jack Haden might be able to help. Was he around?