No One to Trust - Iris Johansen [1]
“He got paid over a million dollars for the extraction of that executive he did for Folger’s coffee. Can you match that?”
“Nah,” Galen said, appearing at the doorway. “Not unless he’s suddenly gone on the take. And that’s not likely.” He strolled into the room. “How are you doing, Ben?”
“I’ve been better.” He shook Galen’s hand. “But things could look up for me if you’d cooperate.”
“I just came off a tough job. I’m on vacation.” He sat down in the visitor’s chair. “Logan and I are going deep-sea fishing.”
“You’ll be bored,” Forbes said. “I have something more interesting for you.”
“I could use a little boredom right now.” Galen grinned. “And my mum always said I didn’t play well with others. Particularly the feds. They always want to run the show.”
“Shall I leave?” Logan asked.
“Why should we run you out of your own office?” Galen asked. “This won’t take long.”
Logan leaned back in his chair. “Okay. Pretend I’m not here.”
That would be difficult to do, Forbes thought. John Logan was a powerhouse and not the least bit self-effacing. But then, that’s what it took to reach his position in the business world. It was strange looking at Galen and Logan together. They were as different as stone and quicksilver, and yet the closeness between them was almost visible. Forbes had heard the rumors about Logan’s involvement in some of Galen’s extremely dubious enterprises before Logan became a successful tycoon. Those experiences had clearly forged a bond with Galen that had stood the test of time. Could he use it? “Feel free to jump in, John. I know you contribute heavily to that drug rehab center in Los Angeles.”
Logan shook his head. “You’re on your own.”
Forbes sighed and turned back to Galen. “You wouldn’t have to worry about dealing with the U.S. government. No DEA intervention.”
Galen’s brows raised. “You’re DEA.”
“I’m working on my own on this one.”
“Uncle Sam won’t like that.”
“Tough. It’s part of the deal. It’s the first chance I’ve had to get Chavez in the last ten years.”
Galen’s expression didn’t change, but Forbes could hear a new tone in his voice. “Chavez?”
“Rico Chavez. The Chavez cartel. I believe you’ve had some experience with him.”
“Two years ago.”
“That’s when you lost your two men, isn’t it? You were trying to free William Katz, that coffee exec, from the band of rebels who were holding him for ransom, but Chavez turned loose his men to help them. You weren’t expecting him to do that.”
“Usually it’s the rebels protecting the drug lords down there. So you’re going after Chavez?”
“I’ve been after Chavez for years. I almost got him a few times. This go-round I may have a chance, if you’ll help.”
Galen’s gaze narrowed. “You want me to kill him?”
“No, I want him here in the States, where we can prosecute him. I not only want him, I want to know who’s doing his distributing in this country.”
“Chavez won’t come to the U.S. He’ll stay where he’s safe.”
“Unless he has a good reason to come here.”
Galen shook his head. “You’re out of luck.”
“Maybe not. I got a call two months ago from a woman named Elena Kyler. She said she was with a band of rebels in southern Colombia and wanted me to help her get out and give her protection once she’s in the U.S. She said she was in possession of evidence that Chavez would find compelling enough to draw him out of Colombia.”
“What evidence?”
“She wouldn’t tell me. She asked me to meet her at a house outside a small village near Tomaco and we’d discuss it.”
“Trap. Chavez wants to take your scalp, Ben.”
“I’m not stupid. I checked with my informants among the rebels and there is an Elena Kyler. Her father was Frank Kyler, an American mercenary who went to Bogotá over thirty years ago. He married Maria Lopez, a left-wing freedom fighter with the Colombian National Liberation group. They had two children, Elena and