Chapter IV

"I am one of those who think like Nobel, that humanity will draw more good than evil from new discoveries."

-- Marie Curie

Campos, Colima, Mexico

Matias lay in bed trying to shake the cobwebs of sleep and Scotch from his senior-citizen brain.  He remembered when this wasn’t so difficult, or maybe he was just too young to care.  On the positive side he woke up again, and to another fine day in a paradise which, after subconsciously checking, he finds himself still continent.  Continence was a constant woe for Matias as he grew older, and he was always happy when he woke up dry.  He found more and more of his old friends taking adult diapers as a matter of course, a natural part of getting older.  Like technology it was an idea he would not accept.  Something about wearing diapers made him think of the old poem by John Donne.

Perchance he for whom this bell tolls may be so ill, as that he knows not it tolls for him; and perchance I may think myself so much better than I am, as that they who are about me, and see my state, may have caused it to toll for me, and I know that.

“No man is an island, Matias, you old fool.”  He opened his eyes as he felt the world move beneath him, and finished the quote, “Never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.”  The ceiling was moving, ever so slightly, back and forth above him.  He look toward his feet, saw thick rope netting behind them, and realized he was still in the hammock from last evening. 

After several failed attempts to extricate himself from the net hammock, he was finally able to plant his feet somewhat firmly on the patio by straddling the thing, and now wondered if his balance was such he could stand and lift one of the legs over it.  He was still considering further options and working up the wherewithal to attempt the maneuver when Juan showed up to assist.

Juan stood next to the hammock, viewed Matias’ predicament, and read what he was about to attempt.  “Not good for your back, senor, if you fail.” 

“You are so right, my old friend, and probably not even good for it if I don’t.”  He rose up, albeit gingerly, listening to the mornings snap, crackle, and pop reminders of age as his spine realigned itself.  He stretched and looked toward the beach, looking for the source of a low engine noise coming from the saucer site. 

A small front loader was moving sand around the area Juan had staked off as the location for the new patio.  He also noticed Juan had already busied himself with covering the disc with copious amounts of sand prior to the workmen arriving.  One of them was busy dumping yet another load of sand in front of the already covered disc to mitigate the lie Juan had told them about the dune’s stability. 

He recognized the man on the machine as his neighbor, Julio, a retired contractor from down the beach that did daily odd jobs to keep busy.  Juan must have gotten up very early to see if he could borrow Julio’s small front-loader before he hauled it to his latest busy work.  And all this after he considered Juan must have been up half the night shoveling enough sand onto the disc to obscure it before fetching Julio and the small, tracked, mini-Cat.

He turned toward the parking area behind him and another engine noise.  Topping the drive from the road side of the hill was an old, white, Ford F-150 pickup.  The driver pulled in parallel to the rock lined drive as two laborers jumped from the bed and five more vacated the front and back seats of the extended cab.  They wasted little time unloading their toolkits, supplies, and coolers of water and food from the short bed.  A flatbed truck also topped the rise and pulled in behind the pickup.  This was loaded with the more substantial building materials; varying cuts of lumber, stacks of tile, bags of grout and concrete, screws, nails, and bolts.

Matias looked down at the hammock still bunched between his legs.  “A hand, por favor?”  He reached out and Juan took his arm to support him as he lifted on leg over.  “Thank you, Juan.”

“You are welcomed, senor.”  Juan motioned to the patio table.  “I have brought a continental comida, when you are ready.”  A small breakfast of fruit, juice, yogurt and a bagel was set out with a cloth napkin and utensils.

“You have been very busy this morning.”

Juan struck a bodybuilder pose.  “It is good to have purpose.”

They both had a laugh at his failed attempt at the pose and Juan headed for the stairs.

******************************

The noise of the front-loader died.  Juan jumped from the seat and began jamming metal fence stakes in the sand dune as Julio strung the caution tape from the top of one stake to the next until a circular “no man’s land” was completed.  Matias finished the small breakfast and saw that Juan had this project well in hand.  He stroked the stubble on his face and smelled an odor telling him a shower was in order along with the shave.  He gathered up leavings of breakfast and headed inside.

Matias’ back was to the unseen visitor watching him with a small set of binoculars from behind a palm tree at the top of the drive.  The man really wasn’t hiding his relatively large frame with the slim trunk of the coconut palm; it’s just that everyone else’s attention was on the work at the dune site.  His yellow sport shirt with the rolled cuffs stuck out on either side of the palm’s trunk like two yellow growths.

As the gray haired man on the upper patio disappeared from view, Larkin lowered the glasses long enough to stride across the driveway to the parked pickup truck.  He moved quickly and with and with an amount of grace unexpected for a man of his size.  Unfortunately this graceful movement, while attempting stealth, was more reminiscent of Hyacinth Hippo dancing the ballet number in Disney’s ‘Fantasia,’ sans the yellow tutu and opting for the more masculine yellow sport shirt.  The shirt accentuated his well-tanned skin; an Irishman that looked more the part of an elderly Mexican businessman that ate one too many tacos in his life.  The yellow also had the effect of those glowing safety vests you see road crews wear at night; he stood out like a beacon in the bright morning sun.  The truck, though, would easily block his him from view of those working below around the dunes.

 

The climb up the long driveway had him already winded.  He took another to catch his breath and wiped his brow with the back of a hand before bringing the binoculars up to get a closer look at the work going on below.  He took in the entire project at a glance and asked himself in a whisper, “What the hell are they building?”  Several of the men began heading back up the hill to begin unloading the flatbed truck.  The door to the pickup had been left open and, as Larkin backed out of view, he noticed a clipboard on the front seat of the cab.  He looked up quickly to check the progress of the workmen coming back up and chanced sticking his head in the cab just long enough to see the clipboard held a rough shop drawing of a patio on a stick framed base which housed a storage area.  He shook his head and looked confused.  A patio constructed on a wood frame instead of cinderblock or concrete, on a sand dune, in Mexico.  This made no sense for a Mexican to even consider, as the bugs would make short work of it, and patios on a shifting sand dune are complicated at best considering the constant earthquakes and the shifting sand.  It would have to be constantly leveled, not to mention the damage to any rigid patio surface material, like terra cotta tile or concrete, from the stresses put on it from being bent and tilted as the ground moved under it.  Wood is light enough to allow for ease of constant leveling but, remembering the contents on the flatbed behind him, the concrete, grout and tile would certainly be at risk of cracking and buckling. 

He toward backtracked toward the flatbed, quickly taking in the contents as he made to cross back to his palm tree vantage point.  The label on two, three-quarter meter square, cardboard boxes caught his attention and he stopped a moment to quickly scan the labels of both.  The labels occupied his attention as he left the palm tree opting to back track the rest of the way down the hill to the weathered Altima.  Lamina de Aluminio.  Two cases of wide aluminum foil.

******************************

Intelligence personnel from different countries operate as differently as the number of countries that employ them.  For any given situation some would choose to go in one direction, some in another, some would not move at all, and yet others wouldn’t even deem it necessary to show up to the party.

Ivan Chaliapin watched from his vehicle as Larkin came back down the hill to the road that fronted the hacienda property.  He had not been gone very long, less than an hour, and had returned shortly after the trucks had arrived which led him to believe he had what he came for, seen all there was to see, or covert surveillance was nigh impossible from where he’d gone with all the activity and people that had arrived.  He watched the big man get into his vehicle and slowly pull away from the brush that blocked it from the view of anyone on the hill above.  As the car accelerated down the road Ivan reasoned that the old man wouldn’t have left if there had been anything still worth observing, so… better to follow and see where that takes him than to waste time looking at something that will probably be here later.  Ivan made several quick notes in   small pad on the passenger seat and pulled around the corner from where he’d parked down the road in order to watch the activity unobserved.  He sped off in the direction taken by the old, blue, Nissan.

A slender young man with a pale complexion watched, from the top of a small rise several hundred feet west of the parking lot atop the hill, as the two vehicles below him sped away.  He stepped out from his hide behind some rocks at the base of a large white cross, which overlooked the beach and ocean to the south, and the two lane road on the other side of the hill to the north on which the two cars had just gone east. 

He turned his attention back to the hacienda where men from the beach had finally topped the hill and were beginning to unload the flatbed truck just thirty or so meters distance. Pushing his dark, polarized, sunglasses back up to the bridge of his nose, he adjusted his black cap and gingerly set off down the slope through the brush, to see if he could find a closer vantage point from which to watch the activity on the dunes.

 

The young German’s short sleeve shirt was now a shredded rag after already fighting through the thorny brush that was native to this part of Mexico.  If not for the heat, he would have worn his leather jacket which would have provided more protection for his scratched and bleeding skin, but he cringed at the thought of what these thorns would have done to supple leather, and taking the shirt off was inviting suicide by thorn bush. 

He jumped behind the closest palm tree as the sound of another vehicle topped the drive above, and watched the top half of a black SUV appear, moving toward the house and out of sight around the construction trucks, to reappear and park diagonally in front of the pickup and overlooking the beach.  He was just able to make out, at the great distance, head and shoulders of, what looked to be, a very pretty Mexican woman getting out from behind the wheel of the vehicle.  She did something at the door before closing it and turned toward the stairs leading up to the patio.

*****************************

Sanchez had watched from a good distance down the road, as the old spy parked and the spy’s shadow quickly turned up a prior side street only to return and park the Opal at the corner so the driver could continue surveillance.  She was content, at this point, to maintain her distance.  She pulled over the roads white fog line and hunkered down in her seat, preparing the Nikon for further use while keeping an eye on the boys.  She was so focused on the camera and the activity in front of her that she missed the motorcycle which did a quick traverse behind her, heading up a rutted, narrow dirt road, toward the beach.  She had watched the old spy make his way up the drive, at a relatively good clip for a man of his size.  She kept a close eye and camera lens on the driver of the silver Opal until they both saw Larkin return.  The Nissan sped off down the road with the Opal still following at a safe distance. 

The vehicles continued away from her, toward a natural gas processing plant a kilometer or so in the distance.  The plant sported one of those poisoned gas bleed off towers with an “eternal flame” that burned off bad gas not fit for processing.  This was probably the Liquefied Natural Gas, or LNG, processing plant, more commonly referred to as gasification, where they returned the LNG back into its original gaseous state.

She could see the tower and the flame above the palm trees from where she was parked and, if she remembered correctly, this road dead ended down by the plant.  They had widened the canal into the lagoon at that point in order to accommodate the larger LNG tankers and this and required the removal of the only bridge across the canal.  You now had to go back the other direction and through the village of Campos to get to the highway that continued toward Colima.  That meant they would certainly have to come back by her to get off of this new peninsula separating the lagoon from the sea. 

She nibbled her lower lip for a second as she studied the digital message just received on her phone.  Looking once again down the now vacant road, she placed the phone in her breast pocket and started her vehicle.  Larkin’s tail was of more concern than the old spy was, but the owner of this hacienda was of even more interest to her considering the digital report she had just received on her phone.  She made for the drive and started up the hill.

******************************

Elena Sanchez stood at the opened door to the SUV and placed her Heckler & Koch .357 USP on the driver’s seat while she adjusted the holster around her waist so it was comfortable on her hips.  She picked up the USP, ejected the twelve round magazine for inspection, reinserted it and put the pistol in the holster before locking and closing the door.  She turn toward the steps and started for the upper patio.

Sanchez had little need to sneak around.  She was a government agent of the Republic, after all, and an agent of the CISEN wielded the authority vested in them by the Republic, with very little government oversight.  They were above reproach, above corruption and, almost above the law.

Sanchez reached the top of the stairs and was greeted by a spacious tiled patio with a large rectangular pool in the center.  Off to the right was a covered patio with several sets of wicker settees and chairs set in semi-circles to afford everyone an ocean view while they conversed.  She moved to the concrete railing in front of one of the lounge areas and picked up a set of binoculars that had been left atop it.  She focused down the beach a bit and slowly worked her view back up to the workers on a dune directly in front of the hacienda, near the shoreline.  They looked to be constructing a frame for something.  She placed the binoculars back on the rail and took a seat on the settee facing the water.  There was a cool breeze coming in from the south and it was amplified by the shade over this part of the patio.  The breeze felt so good she undid another button on her white blouse just as she felt a trickle of perspiration disappear down the slight cleavage of her breasts.

Off to her left, Matias came onto the patio pushing open the screen door with his butt while busily toweling his hair dry.  He turned and saw the attractive young woman sitting on his settee and watching the ocean.  It brought him up short just as the screen door slammed shut behind him.  Startled, the young woman snapped her head toward him while she quickly stood and moved a hand toward her pistol, but stopped short of actually touching it.

It was a standoff.  Elena’s hand hovered above her pistola; Matias had the jump on her with an already wetted towel.  They eyed each other, waiting for the next move.

Sanchez smiled, cocked a mischievous eyebrow, and waggled a finger at his waist.  Matias almost looked down before he remembered he’d only donned a towel, and that was on his head.

“Senor,” Sanchez began, “I certainly hope this isn’t the way a capitan of the Republic’s navy greets all of his female visitors.”

Matias quickly wrapped the towel around his waist.  He couldn’t help as his eyes wandered down her attractive form, coming to rest on the automatic pistol at her hip.  Blushing, he waggled his own finger toward the gun.

“Not many capitans of the Republic’s navy have female visitors so ‘well appointed’ that show up uninvited, senora.”

Sanchez adjusted the belt so the pistol was farther behind her.  “My apologies, senor, allow me to introduce myself - Special Agent Elena Sanchez, National Security.”  She smiled again.  “I would shake your hand, but, I’m afraid your ‘appointment’ might be struggling to maintain a sense modest propriety, Si?”

Matias tightened his jaw and caught his breath as he thought he felt the towel slip.  Was it his imagination?  He grabbed the tuck point between thumb and forefinger while forcing a smile of his own.  Sanchez put a hand over her mouth to help stifle a laugh and spoke into her fingers.

“Senor, your attempt to maintain a sense of modesty has made you blush, and me regret catching you in such a compromising condition.  Should I come back at a more opportune time, perhaps?”

Matias spouted, “No!” realizing too late it sounded much too anxious for a man of his age.  He thought how she was young enough to be his granddaughter, if he’d had one.  “No, please, sit.  Any sense of modesty I may have claimed, packed up and left the patio screaming.  Please, allow me to slip on slacks and a shirt?  It will take but a moment.”

She gave him a slight bow of her hand.  “Of course, senor.  Please, take your time.  The view, of the ocean,” she added quickly, “is beautiful from up here.”

She saw the captain blush again at her unintended slip just before he turned and disappeared back inside.  She smiled.

Matias reappeared ten minutes later dressed in khaki slacks, white guayabera shirt, a pair of huarache sandals and carrying two cups of rich, dark coffee.  Matias sat at the other end of the settee and offered Sanchez one of the cups. 

“So, tell me, what have I done to garner the attention of the CISEN?  Is black acceptable?”

She accepted the cup.  “Gracias Capitan Avendano.  Black is very acceptable, you must have read my mind.”  She took a tentative sip of the rich brew, closed her eyes and savored the robust flavor.  

“Fresh ground Mexican bean?”

“Yesterday as a matter of fact, yes.”

She looked around her.  “It is very beautiful here.  Did you build all of this, Capitan?”

He leaned back, taking a sip from his cup.  “Si, over the course of several years, prior to my retirement from the navy, unfortunately.  Now I just sit around and contemplate the never-ending parade of life from this settee.  Please, call me Matias.  I have not been a ship’s captain for many years.”

She nodded toward the beach.  “I see the construction continues… Matias.”

He glanced over the railing at the work party carrying the last of the material from the trucks.  “A small fiesta patio, closer to the water.  My man, Juan is contracting it for us”  He tried not to look away when her eyes turned to meet his, fearing she would detect the small lie, but his effort made him feel all the more guilty for it.

Sanchez gave him a playful look, which he noted took in his full head of grey hair, and smiled. “You party a lot, do you?”  She took another sip of coffee while he squirmed at her obvious, yet subtle, shot across the bow concerning his age.

“Uh, yes, the occasional affair, no…I mean party, with quiet dancing, uh…”  Flustered, he finally had to look away in order to try and regroup.  She put her cup on the table and rescued him from his discomfort. 

“As to my visit,” Matias’ attention was immediately back in her court and focused on the attractive agent, “it seems you have attracted the interest of several foreign intelligence operatives.  Why do you think that might be, Matias?”

His brow furrowed at her statement as it caught him totally by surprise.  The furrowed brow and complete look of bewilderment did not go unnoticed.  She continued, “I see this information is news to you.”

He nodded his head.  “Yes!  Absolutely! I have no clue why foreign agents would be interested in an old ship’s captain.  I certainly haven’t been involved in the affairs of the Republic’s navy for quite some time.”  He caught himself stealing a glance at the construction site and continued his gaze passed it and out to sea.  Despite his effort, this also did not go unnoticed.

Sanchez picked up her cup and took another sip as she, too, looked down at the construction.  “Very peculiar, this is, wouldn’t you agree, Matias?” 

Not expecting an answer to the rhetorical question, she put the cup down and retrieved a business card from her the breast pocket of her blouse.  “Well, I will not take up any more of your time, senor.”  She handed him her card.  “If you can think of anything that might help explain their interest in you, please do not hesitate to give me a call.” 

She rose to leave and Matias rose to accept her offered hand saying, “I have plenty of time for you to take, my dear, take up as much as you desire.”  She smiled again and he walked her to the top of the stairs as he offered, “Please, feel free to stop by, anytime.”  He knew it was a mistake as the invitation left his lips.  She turned back around halfway down the steps.

 

“I may just take you up on that, Matias.”  She winked before she turned and continued to the bottom and across the lot to her SUV.  He watched as she back up and started for the entrance to the drive down the hill.

Before she reached the top of the drive Sanchez caught movement off to her left, in the bushes down toward the beach.  She slowed to have a better look, but saw nothing.  The feeling of being watched raised goose flesh on her arms.  She shook her head trying to convince herself she had seen nothing, and knowing better.

Matias went to the opposite side of the patio and watched as the agent’s SUV stopped at the bottom of the drive before making a right turn toward the gasification plant, a kilometer further down, at the end of the road.  He wondered if she knew it was a dead end.

He moved quickly back to the ocean side and an old ship’s bell mounted on the wall near the door.  He grabbed the clapper and struck the bell twice, looking to see if Juan had heard.  Juan glanced up the hill to the hacienda, saw Matias, and immediate made his way toward the ATV. 

Matias went inside to his bedroom and retrieved a flat, polished, wooden box from the upper shelf in his closet.  Lifting the lid he pulled out the pristine, fully engraved brushed stainless steel, Colt Model 1911, Combat Commander with bone grips.  Next to the pistol’s foam rubber cutout were two nine-round clips of ammo.  He pulled one from its cutout and inserted it in the handle, charging the weapon and chambering a round.  He made sure the safety was on and put the other clip in his slacks pocket.  The gun had not been touched since he had received it as a retirement gift from his officers and crew.  He knew how to shoot the weapon but he simply had no reason to, until now.

He turned at the sound of footsteps behind him to find Juan in the doorway.  Juan saw a pistol pointed at his abdomen and swallowed hard.  He gave his captain a concerned look.  “Trouble, senor?”  Juan slowly lifted his own pistol, which he’d just retrieved from his bedroom, pulling the slide back to charge it.

Matias realized he was aiming at his friend on reflex and lowered his weapon.  “Apologies, my friend.  We may be expecting unwelcomed visitors, probably due to our little secret.”

Juan nodded understanding and tucked his pistol into the front of his jeans. 

“Government?”

“Not ours.”

Juan smiled.  “Fatal accidents have been known to happen when dealing with trespassers.  They are often mistaken for cartel kidnappers.”

“Si, especially in Mexico.  However, let us try to take an ‘ask questions first’ approach, just in case these trespassers are better trained than us.”  Juan cocked an eyebrow and grinned at the thought of anyone being better trained.  Matias saw this and told his friend, “It is our turf, and we know they’re coming.  Let us at least attempt to be charitable, okay?”

“Si, mi Capitan.  I will make all the necessary preparations to receive our ‘guests’.”  With that, Juan turned and left Matias to make his own preparations. 

Matias put the empty wooden case back on the closet shelf just as the phone rang.  Placing the pistol on his nightstand, he picked up the receiver, “Hola.”

“Matias?”  The mature female voice betrayed the owner’s breeding as one of wealth and position in spite of the playful tone.

“Guten Morgen, Frau Baronin!  Ich da ein Problem?”  Matias recognized Elke’s voice and also now recognized that the line might be tapped.  There was a notable silence from the other end.

“Si, Matias.  No, no problem that I cannot remedy on my own.  I was wondering if you have had any luck with my problem.  I have been studying it, in depth, on my end and I’m not certain what all I have.”  He knew she caught on and was being cautious with what she said.

“You have been utilizing your massive library of information, I assume?  Have you been putting all the books back and cleaning up after yourself?” 

“Yes!  Yes, my library, it is a shambles.  I have some new information I think you will find interesting before I tidy things up.  I will try to send you a printout of my humble findings.  I wish I could bring it myself; I could use a vacation.  We could sit at the little cafe you took me to downtown.  We could have a bite to eat, at noon, to discuss things like we used to.  Is Senor Tesoro still the chef?”

“Uh, yes… I believe he is, as a matter of fact.  I would enjoy a visit immensely.  We will have to plan to get you across the Atlantic sometime very soon.”

“Ja, mein lieber Kapitan, very soon indeed!  For now, I should finalize my thoughts and get them in the tomorrow’s post.  I will hope to see you soon for lunch, mein Kapitan?”

“Si!  It is a plan!  Thank you for calling Baroness.  I have been remiss on my end and will try to phone you more often.  I will await your information and then consider your problem, once again, with great focus.  Thank you for the call.”  There was the slight sound of a blown kiss and the line disconnected.  He stood for a moment just holding the phone and staring at the tiled floor, as he considered the conversation.  There was no ‘Senor Tesoro’ at the café she mentioned, or any other café he was aware of.  Maybe she was trying to tell him that the Tesoro, the treasure, the answer he sought, was at the café?  “Well,” he said aloud, “I’ll have to see if this café is an X on the treasure map.”  He checked his watch and saw it was about 9:30, so he had two and a half hours before ‘lunch’ would be served at Elke’s café.

Matias went back to the closet and removed a soft-sided, brown leather briefcase.  He fished the ammo clip from his pants pocket and placed it in the main compartment of the case.  He also placed the pistol inside and found it fit like a glove.  He left the briefcase unzipped took it into the great room, placing it where he could get to it easily if needed.  He noticed two hooks on the wall where an old coach gun used to reside.  Movement from the kitchen and Juan appeared with the missing 12 gauge, double barrel coach gun.  He reached under the coffee table and snapped in into mounts he had installed years earlier as a security precaution.  Extra shells were in the occasional table drawer disguised as a pencil box.  Juan stood and turned to address Matias as he moved the pencil box to the coffee table.

“I have unlocked the emergency tunnel and only left the bolt holding the door.  The M-16 is loaded and leaning against the wall next to the opening with two spare magazines.  The Beretta 12 gauge pump is in the kitchen, out of sight, beside the refrigerator.  Reach under any piece of furniture of sufficient length and you will probably come up with a machete taped beneath.”

Matias looked concerned.  “Machetes, Juan?”

Juan hung two old straw hats on the coach gun’s empty hooks and showed no emotion as he addressed his captain’s concern matter-of-factly, “No arm - no gun.  Do not swing timidly to wound, swing hard to… dis-arm.” 

At this comment Juan displayed a slight grin and Matias shook his head at how cold hearted his old friend could be, but he also knew Juan considered this his task as the ‘Capitan’s Numero Uno,’ his ‘Number One’ on this ship’s bridge.  He felt it his job to protect the captain at all cost, as he has always done.  Matias looked briefly at the burn scars, closed his eyes, and nodded approval.

“You have done well, as always, my friend.  You have more work to do down the hill and I must go into town for a few hours.  Be on your guard.”  Matias knew this last was a silly reminder for Juan who was always on guard.

“Si, senor.  I will wait for you to leave and set the alarm system before I go below.” 

Matias zipped the leather brief case and took his car keys off the hook by the patio door.  “I will call you if I find myself to be longer than a couple of hours.  Any longer than that without a call…” 

Juan nodded understanding and held the screen door open for him.  “Drive carefully, senor.”

Matias had a feeling that driving was going to be the least of his problems this day.

********************

As she remembered, the paved road ended two miles east from the hacienda.  Sanchez continued off the tarmac onto a dirt road continuation which ended several hundred feet further at a long, high, bulkhead of boulders which made up this side of the canal and acted as a breakwater as it continued several hundred meters into the sea. 

She found herself slowly winding through a confluence of trails and other narrow dirt roads, the leftovers of routes used constructing the rock reinforced bulkheads of the short canal that would allow transit of large Liquefied Natural Gas tankers from the Pacific into the lagoon for offload at Mexico’s new, the state of the art, LNG gasification plant.  Fishermen usually peppered the breakwater into the ocean, but this was midweek and no one could be seen, except a white Opal.  She pulled her SUV under a tree some distance from the old vehicle.

Watching the Opal for several minutes, she felt certain there was nobody inside.  She had a fairly unobstructed view of the bulkhead, except for the very top which was some four to five meters above her. A quick scan of it yielded only two fishermen, she had originally missed, atop the levy directly in front of her, now seen because they stood to cast their lines into the canal.  There was no sign of either driver, or of the other vehicle that had left the hacienda earlier, prior to her visit with Matias.

She got out and climbed over the boulders, slowly making her way up to the fishermen.

These were older gentlemen more interested in telling stories and drinking beer than the occasional bite on a line.  After patiently listening about the poor luck they were having, she got down to questions about the Opal. 

The fishermen informed her that a gentleman had driven up in a blue car and sat there for a few minutes.  Because of their high vantage point they also saw a white car pull in from the paved road, but lost it in the sparse trees.  The driver of the blue car, a heavyset, older man, finally got out and walked toward the ocean and the breakwater.  Minutes after that, the white car pulled up next to the blue one and another gentleman followed the older, heavier man out to the breakwater.

 

The two fishermen assumed it was some sexual liaison, which was none of their concern, so they went back to fishing.  Only the older man was seen to return, but they admitted they’re attention was on fishing and not on other people’s business.  They did see both of them at the end of the breakwater, but from this distance they couldn’t see much more.  About thirty minutes later the blue car drove off, the fishermen figuring he must have slipped by them from below, and the other man hadn’t returned yet, that they’d noticed.  She thanked them and they respectfully tipped their straw hats to the beautiful woman, making eyes at each other and smiling as she turned away.

 

Elena stood on the edge of the bulkhead of boulders and looked down at the white Opal.  Her gaze shifted to the beach and the breakwater to her left, which was, at most, a quarter kilometer walk.  She nibbled her lower lip for a second then started the short hike to the sea atop the bulkhead, knowing full well the two fishermen were tracing hourglasses in the air behind her.

********************

Matias backed the classic 1958, Volkswagen, Karmann Ghia, slowly out of the garage keeping a vigilant eye on both side mirrors to ensure he allowed enough clearance through the opening.  The cherry red paint, tan rag top and interior, were all in like-new condition.  The car was always kept in storage with a cloth cover over it when he was stationed at sea, which was most of his career, and when brought out he rarely drove it on the bad Mexican roads, only on the carreteras, the highways.

Even the, hard to find, wide whitewall tires were like new and the chrome luggage rack mounted on the back was without pitting, flaking, or corrosion usually seen on vehicles this close to the coast, and considering the proximity of the hacienda to the salty Pacific air, Matais took great pride in this.

Once the sports car cleared the garage he initiated a three point turn and began his leisurely drive to el centro de Manzanillo.

The German couldn’t get close enough to the beach project to find out anything of use, so he had worked his way back to the safety of the large white cross on the hill.  When he saw the vehicle backing out of the garage he hurried back to his motorcycle and started it as he rolled it down the hill to the dirt road he’d left, just in time to see the red sports car, rag top now down, pass by the entrance to the dirt road and heading back toward town. 

At a glance he recognized the older, gray haired gentleman as the driver.  He waited for the car to get some distance away then pulled out to follow.  Because of the care Matias took of his vehicle, he was constantly aware of other vehicles on the road around him.  He noted the cycle on his side mirror as it pulled out some distance behind him, with a plume of dust from the back wheel.  Matais made a mental note to advise his neighbor that dirt bikes were ripping up his property again.

********************

Sanchez unbuttoned her blouse again, just enough to allow more access to the cooler ocean breeze.  The walk had been longer than she expected and it was hot… and she was thirsty.  She wiped the perspiration from her brow with the back of her hand and hoped the walk was worth the effort.

 

The path below her ran parallel to the bulkhead and she kept checking it as she walked.  Soon it narrowed to the point where it only accommodated a single person or was being overgrown with the thorny brush of the region.  She noted it was also strewn with empty pop cans and water bottles dropped by a society just coming to grips with waste management and ecology. 

The sound of crashing waves became more than just a dull rumble and the path soon emptied onto the beach with as much flotsam as sand.  She looked down both sides of the bulkhead and down the vacant beach to her right.  Where sand met water is where the bulkhead became breakwater, and she kept walking until she was almost to the end of it.

There was no sign of the other driver, only a spill of something at her feet which she almost stepped in.  Oil?  She noticed a small rock in the middle of the wet spot that had something red on it.  She squatted down and felt the liquid between her fingers.  She smelled the coppery aroma - definitely blood, and too much of it for a fishing accident, unless you slipped with your knife.  There were no fish intestines either.  She stood up and looked again around the base of the breakwater at the waterline.  There!  She would have missed it again had she not been specifically looking for it and a tidal swell hadn’t lifted it a bit.  Less than a meter beneath the water, drifting in the undulating current, and the body was barely being held under by the ballast of what few small rocks had been readily available to weight it down.  Obviously not enough to sink it to the bottom and a mistake too late to correct after you’d already thrown the body in.  Good news for her, bad news for whoever botched the job of sinking it. 

She looked back toward the two small figures in the distance and knew she would need the assistance of her new fishermen friends and their tackle to secure the evidence.  She started back as she considered the body and the old spy.

“You have screwed up, old man.  God only knows what you’re up to your neck in.  Perhaps you should have retired.”  Sanchez fished the cell phone from her pocket to call in the body and report a possible crime scene.  She noted that the fishermen weren’t getting bigger very fast which meant the walk back was going to seem longer.