Ghosts of Havana (Judd Ryker #3)(55)

Sunday entered Lafayette Square, the park directly across from the White House. The square was not yet filled with tourists or protestors. At this early hour, it was mostly government workers on their way to EEOB or the U.S. Treasury or the West Wing. This was a stupid place to meet, he thought. Too many eyes and ears. Too high a chance of running into someone who might recognize him. Or her.

He circumnavigated the park twice, then, satisfied no one was watching him, settled on an empty park bench overlooking a statue of President Andrew Jackson, riding a horse and surrounded by cannons. He slipped on sunglasses, pulled a Boston Red Sox cap from his jacket and placed it on the bench.

After a few minutes, a petite, dark-haired woman sat down next to him and opened the Washington Post. She flipped through the paper, then stopped on the sports page.

“What’s the score of last night’s Red Sox–Yankees game?” Sunday asked the woman while looking straight off into the distance.

“The Nationals beat the Mets, five to four,” she said, and turned the page again.

“Thank you for coming on short notice,” he whispered.

“I’m not supposed to be here,” Isabella Espinosa said. “In fact, I’m not here.”

“Yes, ma’am, understood,” Sunday replied without making eye contact.

“The only reason I even took your call was because I owe Judd a big one.”

“I’m indebted to Dr. Ryker, too.”

“Let’s make this quick,” she said.

“Did you find anything on Ricky Green?”

She shook her head.

“Nothing at all?”

“Doesn’t mean there isn’t something there,” Isabella said, “just that I couldn’t find it.”

“Maybe witness protection?”

She shook her head again. “I can’t get access to that. And if I could, telling you would be a felony.”

“What about Ricardo Cabrera?”

“He was in the system. Low-level drug trafficker. Grabbed in Operation Everglades.”

“What’s that?”

“Massive interagency drug sweep. The Feds flooded Everglades City. It was the biggest cocaine bust in South Florida history. I’m talking FBI, DEA, IRS, the U.S. Marshals, Customs. Even the Coast Guard and DOD got involved. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“So you were there?” Sunday asked.

“I sure hope not,” she said.

“I don’t understand.”

“I was a kid. Operation Everglades was in 1983.”

“They caught Cabrera way back in eighty-three?”

Isabella nodded.

“And then what?” Sunday asked.

“Then nothing. He just disappeared.”

“Cabrera’s been gone since 1983?”

“Him and the cash.”

“What cash?” Sunday raised his eyebrows.

“During the bust, the Feds seized almost a million in cash. But some of those arrested later claimed that there was more. A lot more.”

“How much?”

“One of the ringleaders who went to prison was later caught on a wiretap claiming that los federales had stolen two hundred million cash that he had hidden in the Everglades.”

“Why would anyone hide that much cash in a swamp?” Sunday asked.

“The Everglades have always been a magnet for criminals. It’s close to the Caribbean and far from authorities. In the 1920s, rumrunners used to bring the stuff into the swamps from Cuba and Jamaica. In the 1980s, it was cocaine and marijuana. Whatever the mob runs into the United States. Makes sense they would try to keep their operations in a place that’s remote and impenetrable, but also not far from the source. And close to Miami. That’s the Everglades.”

“Anyone ever find the two hundred million?”

“Probably never existed,” Isabella said. “Just another Florida swamp legend. They still catch guys trying to find it. Modern-day treasure hunters.”

“More pirates,” Sunday said.

“What pirates?”

“Never mind,” Sunday said. “It’s quite a coincidence that Ricardo Cabrera goes missing at the same time as a huge amount of money, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know.” Isabella shrugged. “What’s your interest?”

“I’m trying to find Ricky Green. Could he be . . . Ricardo Cabrera?”

“Can’t help you,” Isabella said.

“You already did.”





50.


GUANTáNAMO BAY NAVAL BASE, CUBA

FRIDAY, 8:51 A.M.

Judd stared down at the page in front of him.




TOP SECRET/EYES ONLY: JUDD RYKER


Via Station Jtf-Gtmo

Take the blue and white Chevy Bel Air taxi from the Northeast Gate at 10.00. You will meet your contact at a neutral location. Seek release of innocent Americans. Maximum approved offer: $1 million and baseball exchange. No prisoner exchange. No change in US policy. Find a good faith gesture and explore breakthrough on other issues. Good luck. –LP


Landon Parker? What the hell is this? What kind of instructions are these? And what happened to Oswaldo Guerrero? Judd tried to open the door, but it was locked.