The Argentine Triangle: A Craig Page Thriller Page 35

  Once Craig was inside, the pilot said, “I’m sorry, sir. We did everything we could.”

  “It’s not over yet,” Craig said stubbornly. “She might have missed the rocks below and been carried up in the water. People have survived worse. Fly over the area below. We may be able to pick her up there.”

  “We have a problem doing that,” the pilot said, sounding sympathetic. “We’re low on fuel. We have enough for one pass over the water below the Falls. Then we have to head back. I can’t take a chance on having to put this baby down in what’s now become enemy territory.”

  Craig was ready to argue, but he held back, hopeful they would find and pick her up on the first pass. The rear tail gunner moved up close to Craig. The two of them peered out as the chopper flew over the swirling, foaming water—an implacable foe that had no intention of relinquishing what it had taken.

  “Not much chance anyone would make it going over those Falls,” the gunner said to Craig.

  “She’s alive,” Craig snapped back. “I know it.”

  Leaning out of the helicopter, Craig focused hard on the white water below the Falls. They were so low that spray drenched his face. He struggled to see through a dazzling series of rainbows. No matter how hard he looked, Craig didn’t see any sign of Gina.

  “Make another pass,” he called to the pilot. “We can’t let her die.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. We don’t have the fuel for that. We’re out of here.”

  Craig stood up. “Then I’ll fly the damn chopper myself.”

  He started toward the front of the helicopter. Before he reached it, the gunner raised his machine gun and smashed the handle against Craig’s head. He knew he was blacking out, but that was all he felt.

  EPILOGUE

  June the Following Year

  In Mendoza, at a girls’ Catholic school, a young woman, concealing her beauty in a matronly black dress that extended almost to her ankles, with a small gold cross around her neck, her hair braided behind her back and tied with a rubber band, walked into a classroom and stood behind the teacher’s desk.

  “Tell us about the United States,” a twelve year old in the front row with curly brown hair and a bright, shining face asked.

  “Our world is here,” the teacher replied. “Today, we’ll talk about General Jose Martin and our own wonderful history. There is nothing the United States has that we do not.”

  Her response was met with a collective groan from the students.

  “Please, Miss Galindo,” another girl said.

  “No. I won’t change my mind.”

  The students looked at her with disappointment, but she didn’t care. Gina felt more at peace than she had in years. After going over the Falls, she had miraculously avoided hitting a rock. The current had carried her a mile downstream and then into a clump of trees. Unconscious, she was rescued by two fishermen.

  Now, she was back home where she belonged.

  At Linate Airport in Milan, Craig sipped a double espresso in a café while waiting for Luigi’s plane from Rome to arrive. Tomorrow they would begin the grueling three day rally race centered in Stresa and looping around Lake Maggiore.

  As he sipped, he thought about Nicole. When he returned from Iguazu to Buenos Aires, they had one final meeting at her house. She thanked him for saving her country from the horror of Estrada’s rule. He told her that he never could have succeeded without her help. She handed him a gift-wrapped bottle of grappa made in Mendoza. “When you drink it, think of Argentina,” she said.

  “I’ll also think about a courageous woman who runs a shoe store.”

  He pulled from his bag a copy of the International Herald Tribune, still in the plastic wrapper it had when it arrived at his apartment in Milan, and glanced at the front page. Under Elizabeth’s byline, he read that President Treadwell had suffered another heart attack and died. Vice President Doug Worth had been elevated to the presidency.

  Craig leafed aimlessly through the pages until the word Argentina caught his eye. A headline read: “British geologist concedes error about Brazilian diamonds.” In the article, the geologist, Dr. Jeremy Barker, admitted that he had reached a faulty conclusion on insufficient evidence. “There are traces of diamonds in the area, but not in sufficient quantities to be commercially viable.” He apologized for any damage this may have caused.

  About the Author

  Allan Topol is the author of nine novels of international intrigue. Two of them, Spy Dance and Enemy of My Enemy, were national best sellers. His novels have been translated into Japanese, Portuguese, and Hebrew. One was optioned and three are in development for movies.

  His most recent novel, The Russian Endgame, is the third in a series of Craig Page novels, following the successful China Gambit and Spanish Revenge.

  In addition to his fiction writing, Allan Topol co-authored a two-volume legal treatise entitled Superfund Law and Procedure. He wrote a weekly column for Military.com, is a blogger with The Huffington Post, and has published articles in numerous newspapers and periodicals, including the New York Times, Washington Post, and Yale Law Journal.

  He is a graduate of Carnegie Institute of Technology, who majored in chemistry, abandoned science, and obtained a law degree from Yale University. As a partner in a major Washington law firm, he practices international environmental law. An avid wine collector and connoisseur, he has traveled extensively researching dramatic locations for his novels.

  For more information, visit www.allantopol.com.