The Argentine Triangle: A Craig Page Thriller Read online

  “It’s quite late, Mr. Bryce,” she said.

  Bryce tried to sound polite. “I know that, but we’re working on something very important. I’m the head of the American delegation. Don’t you know that?”

  “I’m sorry, sir. I’ll connect you right away.”

  Again the phone rang and rang without any answer. That lying bitch had to be with Gorman. He’d find a way to get even with him.

  The song was a tale of passion and unrequited love, its tones melancholy and bittersweet. “It’s over between us / you said / in a goodbye of sugar and ice.”

  As they reached the dance floor, Craig took charge. She followed where he led, anticipating his movements, her hair swinging freely, her face a mask of sexual desire, her eyes focused on him. With a fervor they moved, their bodies slapping together recklessly, generating a sense of mutual desire. Her face flushed, she raised her right leg high, pressing it against his left side, their bodies entwined. Roughly, he clasped her ankle, held it for a couple of seconds, while her chest pressed against his and their faces were an inch apart. Then he released her and their bodies unraveled.

  As she pulled away, no longer content to follow, she challenged him for the lead. They were in her country. Lust had given her a self-confidence she had never known before. She stalked him in their ritual of desire. At first surprised by her aggression, he quickly backed down, yielding to her as the predator. Other couples had stopped dancing and were watching in awe the strangers, gliding around the floor. The temperature in the room was high. That combined with their intense motion and the alcohol they had consumed through the evening made their skin glisten with perspiration.

  When they came together now in the dancers’ embrace, they were equals. Suddenly, she stopped dancing and squeezed him tight. “Oh Barry, I’m so happy. When I’m with you, I don’t want anything else.”

  From deep down inside, a little voice whispered to him, “I hope you know what you’re doing. Don’t let her be destroyed.”

  The music overrode that voice as they resumed dancing. When the music stopped, without any warning, she leaned up and kissed him hard on his mouth. Pulling away, her face was flushed with desire. “Let’s go back to the hotel,” she whispered.

  In the back of the cab, she leaned her body close to his. As soon as the wheels began turning, she fell sound asleep, snoring softly.

  When they got out of the cab in front of the Alvear, she woke up. Cautiously, he led her through the revolving door into the lobby. She held his arm to steady herself.

  Except for an armed guard and a tired looking clerk behind the desk, the lobby was deserted as he expected at three in the morning. No sign of Clay or Schiller.

  Craig’s suite was on the eighth floor. As he pushed six, her floor, Craig, who had quite a bit to drink himself, wasn’t sure how this would play out.

  When the elevator stopped on the sixth floor, she suddenly looked pale. Walking along the corridor, she handed him her room key.

  “Open the door fast,” she said.

  As soon as they were in the room, she cried out, “Oh God, I’m going to be sick.”

  She ran to the bathroom. Standing near the door, he heard her throwing up.

  White as sheet, she emerged from the bathroom minutes later.

  “Can I get you anything?” he asked.

  “Please go. I don’t want you to see me like this. Just leave.”

  She ran back to the bathroom and threw up again.

  Once she returned, she stretched out on the bed. “Please, Barry. Leave me. I’ll be okay.”

  He left her room.

  Back in his own suite, he showered and dressed, then packed everything he needed for a trip to the United States. He called American Airlines and booked first class to San Francisco via Miami on a morning flight. In the lobby, he stuffed several thousand dollars in a briefcase but left the rest of the cash and the guns in the vault box.

  In a loud voice, he told the clerk on duty at the desk to let Mr. Fernandez, the hotel manager, know that he had to make a quick trip to San Francisco, he’d be back within the week, and please continue to keep him registered in the suite because he left many of his possessions behind. Then he shouted for the doorman to get him a cab to the international airport. He wanted to leave behind lots of witnesses so Schiller would think he had gotten what he wanted—Barry Gorman leaving the country.

  After a few hours of sleep, Bryce, cursing under his breath, was ready to go on the offensive against Gina. After all he’d done for her. Shit, he’d given her all that jewelry. Bought the Watergate apartment. Arranged for the arms shipments to Argentina as she had asked. He had a right to more than lies and deceit. He’d find a way to get even with her and that investment banker, Barry Gorman. Colonel Schiller didn’t like the man and was suspicious of him. That goaded Bryce, now convinced that the two of them were shacked up together somewhere.

  He picked up the phone in his room and called Barry Gorman’s suite. It rang and rang with no answer. He repeated the process with Gina’s room. Same result. That confirmed Bryce’s suspicions.

  His next call was to the hotel manager. “This is Edward Bryce. The head of the American delegation,” he said in a sharp intimidating voice. “I’m trying to locate Barry Gorman. Can you help me? It’s quite important.”

  “Mr. Gorman left this morning for San Francisco.”

  That rocked Bryce back on his heels. “Are you certain of that?”

  “Very. He left me a message. He’ll be back within the week. I’m keeping his suite. The doorman arranged a cab.”

  “Humph,” Bryce snorted. “What about Gina Galindo?”

  “I just saw her go into the breakfast room off the lobby. Shall I ring her for you there?”

  “No, I’ll go see her myself,” Bryce responded.

  With the green face of jealousy, fire in his eyes, a man on a mission, his gray hair messy, his shirt buttoned unevenly, Bryce took the elevator to the lobby. Outside of the glass enclosed patio dining room was a magnificent buffet. Caviar on ice was surrounded by accouterments. Ice buckets with bottles of champagne. Platters of exotic fruit—kiwis, mangoes, raspberries, and papayas. Silver chafing dishes of quiche, sautéed fish, eggs benedict, and baskets of fresh bread waiting to be sliced.

  Bryce charged past the hostess at the desk and looked around, his eyes squinting in the bright sunlight pouring in from outside. He spotted Gina sitting alone at a table next to a wall, reading La Nación and the article she had filed yesterday after her visit to the border area in the north. In front of her was a cup of tea and some toast.

  Snarling, he plopped down in the empty chair across from her at the table for two. “You weren’t in your room last night.” He hissed angrily. “I called several times. I even knocked on the door.”

  She waited several moments before responding in a soft voice. “You’re right. I called my girlfriend Rosie to tell her I was in town. She said that she’s having trouble at work with her boss. Some older guy who’s always letching onto her. So I went over to her house to comfort her.”

  Bryce wasn’t buying that. “You told me you were too tired to go out.”

  “Rosie’s my closest friend. I had to help her. It was the Christian thing to do.”

  Bryce knew a bald-faced lie when he heard one, and he intended to expose it. “I’m no idiot,” he said. “You were out with Barry Gorman. At least admit it. Then we’ll be done with it.”

  She pulled her head back, a sad expression on her face, looking as if she might burst out into tears at any second. “How can you talk to me like that?”

  “I’m not blind. I saw how you were with him last night at dinner.”

  Acting wronged, she reached into her bag and pulled out her cell phone. Placing it down on the table close to the astonished Bryce, she said, “Rosie’s number is 3020-6742. Call her yourself and ask her where I was. She speaks good English.”

  Bryce started to reach for the phone, then realized he was about to make an ass out
of himself. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Please forgive me for being jealous. It’s just that you mean so much to me.”

  She responded with a pout. “I don’t like having my honor questioned.”

  “You’re right,” he said. “I’ll make it up to you. Yesterday I passed by the jewelry store next door. In the window they had earrings. One large emerald surrounded by diamonds. If I buy them for you, can we forget about all of this?”

  “I guess so.”

  “The earrings would look beautiful on you.”

  “If you insist,” she said reluctantly.

  “I do. I’ll buy them for you before we leave for the airport.” He glanced at his watch. “Let’s go up to my room. We still have time for a quickie.”

  “I’m really sorry, Edward. I don’t have time. I’d still be upstairs sleeping, but I have to be at the newspaper for a meeting with my editor. From there, I’m going to the airport.”

  “Cancel the meeting.”

  “You know I can’t. I could lose my job.”

  He sighed. “Alright. I’ll see you on the plane. We’ll have a special date in Washington. I’ll give you the emerald earrings then.”

  “Okay.”

  He left her at breakfast and returned to his hotel room where he took Barry Gorman’s card out of his pocket and called the number at the Philoctetes Group in San Francisco. He heard a recorded message. “You have reached the office of Barry Gorman at the Philoctetes Group. Mr. Gorman is out of the office on business. Please leave a message and someone will return your call.”

  Bryce hung up without saying a word.

  Perhaps he had been wrong. He wanted to believe that everything was as it had seemed. Barry Gorman was an American investment banker in Argentina in search of opportunities. He and Gina had merely been making conversation at the dinner. She did go out to meet her friend Rosie. If Gorman were interested in Gina, he would never have rushed off to San Francisco early this morning. She was still his Gina; and she was in love with him. The rest was the jealous paranoia of a man his age, worried he would lose a beautiful young woman.

  To be sure, Colonel Schiller had said he was suspicious of Gorman, but Schiller had nothing specific he could point to. He and Schiller had exchanged phone numbers. “We should stay in touch,” the colonel had said. “And notify the other if we learn anything about Barry Gorman’s deception.”

  San Francisco

  Once the plane from Buenos Aires touched down in Miami, Craig would have liked nothing better than to hop on the next plane to Washington and meet with Betty there, but he decided that Schiller or Bryce, with his White House access, might determine that he had changed his ticket. Out of an abundance of caution, he completed the ticketed itinerary.

  Five hours later, the instant he stepped into the terminal in San Francisco, he called Betty on his cell phone. “We have to talk,” he said tersely.

  “Where are you?”

  “San Francisco Airport.”

  “You want to get to a secure phone?”

  He had been flying for almost twenty hours after a sleepless night. The last thing he wanted to do right now was get on another plane, but he didn’t have a choice.

  “We better do this in person. I can get into Dulles about four this afternoon.”

  “Good. Come right to my office.”

  His next call was to Tim Fuller. In a weary voice, he said, “How about meeting me when I arrive on UAL 844 from San Fran at four this afternoon. Then drive me to one of the Virginia suburbs to meet a friend. Bring along any reading material you have for me.”

  “I’ll be there, pal.”

  Ready to collapse with exhaustion, he boarded the plane and fell fast asleep.

  Washington

  Feeling refreshed after sleeping for four and a half hours on the plane and dousing his face with cold water, Craig bounded out of the terminal at Dulles Airport and into the back of a Cadillac with Vince behind the wheel.

  My God, he thought, has it only been seven days since I left Washington for Buenos Aires? It felt like an eternity.

  Tim Fuller was in the back seat with a pile of papers on his lap. “CIA headquarters, I presume?” he asked Craig, who nodded. Fuller barked their destination to Vince then hit the button raising the thick, soundproof glass and giving them privacy in the back.

  Tim pointed to the transcript on top of the pile. “You’ve been busy, pal.”

  Craig was in no mood for jokes. “What do you have for me?” he said sharply.

  “When Gina returned from Buenos Aires to the Watergate, she immediately called her friend Rosie in Buenos Aires.”

  Fuller handed him what looked like a twenty page transcript. He glanced at his watch, then out of the car window. In one of the strangest traffic situations anywhere, they were speeding along a US government road, leading to and from Dulles Airport, while ordinary commuters, prohibited from using it, were in rush hour gridlock on a parallel State of Virginia highway. The fun would end for them in a few minutes when they were on a local road leading to the Agency’s Langley headquarters. Even with that, they should be at Langley in twenty minutes. “Did you read it?” Craig asked.

  “Every word.”

  “Good. Summarize it for me. We don’t have much time.”

  “Better yet. Read pages four and five. They have all that matters for you. The rest is schoolgirl gossip.”

  Craig flipped through the transcript to page four and began reading.

  Gina: I had to give Edward Bryce your phone number. Did he ever call you?

  Rosie: Never heard from him.

  Gina: Good. I figured that’d get him to stop pestering me. Thanks for covering for me.

  Rosie: You don’t have to thank me. You’d do the same for me if I was fortunate enough to be seeing two men.

  Gina: You make me sound like a loose woman.

  Rosie: That’s not what I meant. I’m just a little envious.

  Gina: The only reason I ever dated Bryce was because it was important for Argentina. I’m almost finished with all that, which is good because I think I’m in love with Barry Gorman.

  Rosie: He’s the rich American investment banker?

  Gina: Uh-huh. Ah, I can’t stand Bryce. He thinks if he gives me more jewelry, I’ll love him.

  Rosie: That doesn’t sound so bad.

  Gina: The next time I see you, I’ll give you a pair of emerald and diamond earrings.

  Rosie: You’re kidding.

  Gina: Absolutely not. Bryce bought them at the shop next to the Alvear. He’s planning to give them to me in Washington.

  Rosie: That’s not right. To give them to me. They’re yours. You earned them.

  Gina: That’s the whole point. I don’t want anything to remind me of that old man.

  Craig closed up the transcript. “No smart aleck comments. What else do you have?”

  “Estrada called her about an hour after she finished talking with Rosie. He was pressing her to stay close to Bryce. He’s anxious to find out whether Treadwell will agree not to intervene if Brazil attacks Argentina again and Estrada’s army gives them a pounding.”

  “Did she agree to do it?”

  “With reluctance and after a lot of coaxing. He really leaned on her with a lot of shit about her great father and all that. He promised her that in another week, she’ll be able to tell Bryce to fuck off.”

  Something big was happening in the next week, Craig decided.

  “Oh and one other thing,” Fuller said, breaking out in a broad grin. “Once he lets her break off with Bryce, he’s given her permission to do anything she wants with you. Even marry you. He’ll walk her down the aisle and give away the blushing bride.”

  “You’re kidding. He said that?”

  Fuller nodded. “You think I’m creative enough to make that up? Would you like me to be your best man?”

  “Go fuck yourself.”

  Fuller patted the transcript. “You can read it for yourself.”

  They were pulling up to the Gat
e House at CIA headquarters.

  “I’ll take your word for it,” Craig said.

  “It gives new meaning to the term shotgun wedding. If I were you, I’d be careful when I returned to Argentina.”

  Craig grabbed both volumes of transcript and exited the car.

  “What brought you back to the United States?” Betty asked Craig as he walked into her corner office on the seventh floor and plunked down on her desk the two volumes of transcript Tim had given him.

  “The action has shifted to Washington. Bryce’s taking Estrada’s request for the US to stay out of the fray back to Treadwell. Meantime, I thought my health could use a change from beautiful, sunny Buenos Aires.”

  “You mind explaining that? It was a little too elliptical for me.”

  “Sure. One picture is worth a thousand words.” He unbuttoned his shirt. The bruises were now black. He wondered what color was coming next.

  “Good God,” she blurted out. “Schiller?”

  “His people.”

  “You should get a doctor downstairs to take a look.”

  He thought about his afternoon and evening with Nicole after the beating. “I already had somebody check me out in Buenos Aires. No serious damage. I’m a lot luckier than Dunn. But I’m not here simply to run away from Schiller.” He paused thinking about the colonel and his goons. “Although it’s nice not to be watching my six o’clock all the time. Anyhow, I figured it was time to come back here, meet with you, and reassess where we are.”

  “Good timing. I was trying to decide how to get in touch with you.”

  He rebuttoned his shirt. “What happened?”

  “Barry Gorman received a phone call at the Philoctetes office in San Francisco.”

  He held his breath. “And?”

  “The call immediately rolled over to our telecommunications unit downstairs. The caller listened to the recording, ‘This is the office of Barry Gorman,’ and so forth, didn’t leave a message, and hung up. We traced it. The call came from the Alvear yesterday morning. With a little help from B. J. Walker at the Embassy in Buenos Aires, we established that the call came from Edward Bryce’s room. So you have to assume he’s suspicious of your cover.”