The American Agent (An American Agent Novel Book 1) Page 7

  19

  "Keep your focus, Alex," Reed said from the van, his voice ringing with an electronic twang. "Remember why we’re here."

  Alex drew near to Carmen Sanchez, his primary focus on her mane of ebony hair, so healthy, that it reflected a slight sheen from the lighting in the den of Coraco's mansion.

  With his hands tucked behind his back, Alex remembered how calm he was moments before. He channeled all the smoothness he could muster as he nestled up beside her.

  "So...you get into all this art stuff?" he asked.

  Carmen glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, her chin angling in his direction. "Not at all," she replied. “I find most art is for art’s sake. Real men express their feelings with words and deeds, not hiding behind finger paintings.”

  She turned to face him, a diamond necklace draped across her collarbone. She seemed surprised that he had the moxie to speak to her.

  "Neither do I," he replied.

  "Why are you here then?" Carmen raised an eyebrow.

  "Ohh...just to admire the real art in this room...the heavenly art." Nice recovery.

  "Flattering. And your name is?"

  "Alex."

  "Do you have a last name, Alex?" Her voice held firm, that of a woman in control of her surroundings.

  "Preston."

  "Nice to meet you, Señor Preston." Her eyes were drawn away to something or someone behind Alex. "Oh, Alfred."

  That didn't take long.

  Carmen strutted past him and embraced Coraco, adding a gentle kiss on the cheek. The tycoon basked in the light of her attention. A moment later, she turned her head, cutting her eyes back toward Alex. She leaned close to Coraco’s ear and mumbled something. Her lover’s countenance brightened.

  "So, Mr. Preston," Coraco said, "Alex Preston, is it?"

  So that's what Carmen whispered to Coraco. "That's right...of Preston Enterprises."

  Coraco narrowed his gaze. "So, what is it you do at Preston Enterprises?"

  "In short, we fight to preserve wildlife around the globe. Of course, I have a weak spot for marine life in particular." Alex clasped his hands in front of him. "I like to lock horns with the world's fishing industries to discourage overfishing and certain illegal activities like whale and dolphin fishing. The ocean is where the food chain begins...and quite possibly where it might end one day."

  "How noble." Coraco's tone denoted an air of indifference. "Are you into art, Mr. Preston?"

  "Not really, but then again, it depends on what kind of art you're referring to." Alex made eye contact with Carmen. She grinned ever so slightly.

  "I dread to disappoint you, but this work of art is not for sale." Flaming darts shot from Coraco's dark eyes. "By the way, I don't remember putting your name on the invitation list."

  "Oh, it’s on there, alright. Maybe you should check with your security guard at the front gate? He’s the one who let me on the property."

  "I may do that...later...but now, I have more important business to attend to. If you will excuse us, we have some mingling to do. Make yourself at home, but don't get too comfortable." With that, Coraco and Carmen turned and walked away.

  "I think you got under his skin," Wilson said in his ear.

  "That was the idea," Alex replied. "I think I'm gonna do some mingling myself."

  20

  Where have they disappeared to? Alex wondered as he made his way back into the great room, the party's festivities still sounding out around him. Wine glasses clinked. Laughter and a variety of voices echoed in the high ceiling. He hoped to catch Carmen alone again...and he was in luck. Coraco had deserted her once more. Framed by a set of open French doors, she stood on the balcony, staring up at the night sky, her silky hair flowing down her back.

  Alex leaned against the door frame. "Magnificent view."

  Carmen twisted around, her hands on the railing. "I've loved the stars since I was a child."

  "The stars are nice too."

  Her lips curled into an appreciative smile. "Mr. Preston, you can put away your charm. I'm not available."

  "Too bad." He left the door post and sidled up next to her, brushing her arm. "You look bored."

  "You're very persistent."

  "Maybe I hate to see a beautiful woman abandoned by her man? He's not smart letting you out of his sight."

  A gentle laugh. "He's not going to be happy when he sees you talking to me again."

  "I'll take my chances. I could care less what he thinks, but speaking of Coraco...I was wondering what kind of work he does? Besides, collecting art?"

  "Why do you want to know?"

  "Wondering what kind of man it takes to get your attention."

  "There is no certain type of man that catches my eye. You only have to be the right man at the right time."

  Alex held her eyes for a few seconds, staring deeply, like he was trying to look into her soul, adding a touch of a grin at the end.

  "You may be the right man.” She gave a playful shrug. “Maybe? But this is definitely not the right time." She sighed and raised her gaze to the stars again. "To answer your question, he deals mostly in real estate; hotels, restaurants...that sort of thing. He's a business man with many interests. But my guess is that you already knew all of that."

  "What about his other interests?"

  "Oh, there are other things."

  "Really? Let me guess…you don't know the true depths of what he's involved in, do you, besides the obvious?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean...that Coraco might not be the man you think he is. It might be best for you to walk away from him."

  "And who would I run to?" She stifled an elegant chuckle. "You?"

  "Maybe?"

  "Mr. Preston..." Carmen removed her weight off the rail, leaving one hand for support.

  "Alex."

  "Alex, it has been a pleasure speaking with you. Maybe...," her voice rose with a possibility, "...if we had met at another time or another place. But we both know there's no need to go there. It would be a wasted thought. I'm afraid I'll have to be saying, adios. Or as they say in your country, goodbye." And with a smooth waltz, she left him alone on the balcony, her diamond studded dress catching a glimmer of moonlight as she faded away.

  Alex sighed, letting his gaze wander up to the stars once more. "She's clean. I don't think she knows much of anything," he said to his surveillance team. "I'm on the move again."

  He climbed the staircase on the right side of the foyer, guests sprinkled along the steps. When he reached the interior balcony overlooking the chandelier and water fountain, he stopped, pretending to inspect his cuff-links, wondering which way to go. Right or left? He was searching for Coraco's office. His instincts told him to go right. There were several doors down the long hallway. But the one at the end of the hall attracted his attention. If Coraco had an office on this floor, it would have a window with a view. He moved down the empty corridor, stopped at the door, and tried the knob. Locked. He removed his wallet and withdrew a credit card. An interior door wouldn't have a heavy duty lock like an exterior door. He inserted the card into the jamb, tinkered it back and forth, working it into position. And with a little finagling the locking mechanism gave way, and the door opened.

  Alex slipped inside, closing the door with a click.

  His instincts were right. An office.

  "I'm inside," Alex whispered.

  He studied the layout. On a desk, positioned facing the door, a lamp illuminated the room with a soft glow. Dark hardwood covered the floor. Behind the desk, a large window overlooked a courtyard. And a set of bookcases took up an entire side wall.

  Alex nosed through some of the books, searching for anything that might be hidden in one of them. He stumbled across a Spanish history book, a book on the Cold War, and another book, The Art of War. More likely the Art of Terror, he surmised. But to his dismay, he found nothing of interest.

  So with a casual glance, he turned his attention to the desk, wondering what secret
s it might hold.

  21

  Alex rummaged through Coraco's desk drawers, not finding much but office supplies: a stapler, scotch tape, and a phone list of the party's guests. Could be useful, but at the moment it wasn't much to go on.

  "Can you access his computer?" Wes asked in his ear.

  "I'll try." Alex plopped down in Coraco's lofty chair and hit enter on the computer keyboard. As expected, the screen lit up. "I need a password."

  Footfalls thudded outside the office door. "Someone's coming," he told Wes.

  Alex ducked beneath the desk and pulled the chair close. Luckily, it was a big desk.

  He chided himself for leaving the computer screen lit up. Coraco would know right away someone had been in his office.

  First, the door opened and closed, ensued by footsteps. Not any footsteps...high heels clacking on the hardwood floor. A woman. Maybe Carmen needed something in Coraco's office? But then, visible next to the chair, this woman wore a red dress, a shear split up the middle revealing her inner thigh.

  She typed on the keyboard. "Crap."

  That voice sounded familiar. If it was who he thought it was; he couldn't allow Wes and the gang to see her. For good measure, he removed the bow tie.

  "What are you doing?" Wes cried out.

  Alex didn't answer, but waited until the woman moved away to another part of the room. Then he pushed the chair aside, stood, and placed the bow tie face down on the desktop.

  "Put the tie back on," Wes said. "We've lost our visual."

  Alex didn't reply. The woman's back was to him as she snooped through the bookshelves.

  While ignoring Wes’s nagging complaints, one foot at a time, he tiptoed up behind her, drew his gun from under his coat...pointed it to her back. When the barrel touched her spine, she stiffened, like a statue.

  "Who are you?" Alex said. He was sure of the answer. "And what are you doing here?"

  "I'mmmm," the woman started, her vocal cords tightening, voice weakening, trailing off to a creak as she turned and met eyes with Alex. She faltered, forcing him to reach for her arm to prevent her from falling to the floor. With her feet under her, the woman slinked away, bumping into the bookcase behind her. "You...you...how?"

  "Sssshh." Alex placed a finger to his lips.

  "It-it-it can't be you. You-you're-you’re dead. How can it be?"

  "It's a long story, Sam. I know you think your mind is playing tricks on you, but I can assure you that I'm alive and well. I'll tell you everything I can later. The question is...what are you doing here?"

  "I work for the C...I can't tell you that. I could get into serious trouble," Samantha said, her face ghostly pale.

  "The CIA...since when? How in the world did they get you to leave Georgia? I thought you never wanted to leave Savannah?"

  "When you died...I couldn't...I mean since your alleged death. It's obvious you're not dead. And I don't feel like answering your last question."

  "Who recruited you?" Alex asked. "He wasn't a bald stocky man with a cane by any chance?" He flashed back to his staged funeral when the men with the umbrellas approached Samantha and handed her what looked like a business card.

  "Maybe. What's that got to do with anything?"

  "A lot. I can't believe they would do this to me."

  "Do what?"

  "Use you to gain leverage on me," Alex replied. "Look. We can discuss all this later." He glanced around the room. "I need to do one more thing. I promise, I'll explain everything later. I don't care what they think, even if they're eavesdropping on us right now."

  Alex gazed around the room as Wes continued to complain in his ear. The next thing on his list had to be behind one of the paintings. He walked over to a frame that hung next to what appeared to be a closet, took his gun, nudged it to the side. Not there. Moving to the other side of the office, he set his sights on another painting. After nudging it...nothing. There was one more work of art near the door. The wall gave it away with a corner extending out in a box shape from floor to ceiling like there might be room for a hidden recess.

  He eased to the corner, removed the canvas from the wall and set it on the floor, leaning it against his thigh. Bingo. A safe.

  "Third times a charm." He holstered the weapon. "Here, take this." He passed the frame to Samantha. She propped the painting on top of her foot to hold it off the floor.

  Alex reached inside his coat.

  "What are you doing?" Wes chimed in.

  "I'm at the safe. Give me a minute."

  "Huh? Who are you talking to?" Samantha asked.

  "Someone you probably know."

  "Who is that?" Wes said.

  "None of your business."

  "Everything is my business."

  “Shut up or I’m walking out of here right now.”

  Wes went quiet.

  Alex removed the earpiece from his right ear, looked back at Coraco's desk, and tossed it in the trash can. The perfect shot. The device rattled to the bottom of the waste basket.

  He positioned the safe cracker near the L-shaped handle and turned the knob, listening to each click with the hypersensitive earbud. Rotating to the left, then to the right, and back to the left again, he stopped the knob on the final decisive click. For some reason it didn’t unlock. So he made several more attempts, growing more frustrated with each try...until finally the door opened.

  "What are you looking for?" Samantha asked.

  "Oh, the normal bad guy stuff, evil plans of terror, gorilla masks, you know."

  "Not funny."

  "Gold mine!”

  "What'd you find?"

  "Bank statements. Nothing tells a tale better. See." Alex showed her the documents. “Alfred Coraco withdrew twenty-five million, then deposited it into a Swiss bank account to a...Zjing Lee."

  "Sounds Asian."

  "Wait a minute. His name was on the party list I found in Coraco's desk. And the only Asian I've seen tonight was the one I saw before I entered the mansion. Could be North Korean? Chinese? Not sure, but I'd be willing to bet it was him."

  "You're right," Samantha said. "You don't go around giving someone twenty-five million without an awfully good reason."

  "Or an awfully bad reason. It proves nothing on the surface, but it makes him look guilty. And it makes me want to take a harder look at Coraco, to see what he's hiding.”

  “What’s your gut telling you?”

  "That I’ve gotta find out what Coraco's hiding in his warehouse," Alex said, the smoldering heat of conviction channeling his gaze on Samantha. "The only problem is...I'm afraid I'll find what I'm looking for."

  22

  Coraco’s voice echoed in the hallway, followed by laughter and chit-chat from several other people. Alex and Samantha glanced at the door. After tonight, he’d recognize the billionaire’s voice in a crowd of people anywhere.

  "Put the papers up," she said.

  Alex shoved the non-essential documents back into the safe, but folded and crammed the bank statements into an inside pocket of his tux coat. "The painting?"

  Samantha handed the frame over, and he hung it back on the wall, a little crooked.

  "Quick," he said.

  Alex dashed over, unlatched the window and opened it. The voices neared the door. Keys jingled as he slithered through the opening, his feet finding purchase on the ledge.

  "Hurry," he motioned to Samantha, "unless you'd like to be fed to the sharks before the stroke of midnight."

  "Like they'd take the time to do that. They'd probably just shoot us."

  "You're probably right."

  The whites of Samantha's eyes grew large, eerily visible in the dark. She froze for a second, and then her body sprang into action, a leg poking through, then her head and shoulders ducking outside into the night air. Once she was clear, Alex pulled the window down, leaving a gap the width of two fingers. With barely enough room to stand, they eavesdropped from the ledge as Coraco and his guests entered the room.

  A light switched on, the illu
mination visible through the window and curtains.

  "Mr. Pennington, Mr. Winslow, come in," Coraco said, a mild breeze competing with the light sound of his voice.

  After a pause, a door opened, maybe the closet. Then latches popped, reminding Alex of a briefcase.

  "Gentleman, this is our final order of business tonight," Coraco said, amidst a creaking noise like hinges springing open. "I hope ten million pounds will help you sleep better tonight, Mr. Winslow."

  The man's voice quivered in reply, "I'm sure it will."

  The hinges squeaked and then it sounded like a lid closed shut. "Mr. Pennington, inform the flight lieutenant that he will receive the same compensation when his duty is fulfilled."

  "Certainly," the man identified as Pennington answered.

  A few more seconds passed, and then Coraco said, "Someone must have misplaced their tie."

  Alex cringed, remembering he set his bow tie on the desk. Then he thought about the guest list he’d been looking at. He’d forgotten to put it back in the drawer.

  "If there are no further questions,” Coraco said, “you may consider this meeting adjourned."

  "Of course," the voice of Pennington replied. "We'll be in touch."

  "Good. Enjoy the party. The night is still young."

  Shoes clacked on the hardwood floor—the sound of Coraco’s guests leaving the office.

  After they were gone, Coraco blurted out to someone who remained behind, "Check the surveillance footage. Someone's been in my office. And while you're at it, see to it that the two men down the hall get a proper dismissal. Do you follow?"

  "I'll take care of it myself,” an unidentified man said.

  The drapes rustled with a slight breeze from the partially opened window.

  “Unbelievable,” Coraco said.

  Alex edged away from the window. Motioned for Samantha to do the same.

  They moved away just in time as Coraco flung the window open, obviously looking for the people that had broken into his office.

  Seconds ticked by, and Coraco huffed. Then he slammed the window shut and locked it.