CHAPTER 67

“Luis Martinez is dead, Mike,” Blankenship announced over the telephone. “His wife found his body on the ground beside his car last night. He was decapitated.”

“My God! How could that happen?” Mike asked, guilt wracking his heart and mind, horrified that a man had died as a result of his poor planning.

“I have no idea, and nor does anyone else. Luis had no enemies—everyone loved him. It’s the strangest damned thing.”

“Did he have any cousins?”

“I don’t know. Why do you ask?”

“I got a call an hour ago from a man named Pedro Montoya. He said he was Luis’s first cousin. He also said he works for the City of Caracas and that he’s prepared to help us get the information we want.”

“You want me to check him out?”

“I’d be grateful if you would.”

“It’s the least I can do. I’ll call Luis’s wife and a friend of mine who’s in city politics. What did you say his name is?”

“Pedro Montoya.”

“Are you at your hotel?”

“Yes. We’ll be here all night.”

“Good. I’ll call you when I have something.”

Mike hung up and turned to Karen. His face was white as a sheet. “Luis Martinez is dead. He was murdered.”

Karen covered her distraught face with both hands. “Oh, no! How did it happen? Did Adi say?”

Mike shook his head and turned away. “He told me Luis’s wife just found him beside his car last night.”

“Jim did it! I just know he did it!” Karen declared. “Every time we get close to him, somebody gets killed.”

“That’s a hell of a stretch, babe. How could your husband have known where to find Luis Martinez?”

“I don’t know, but it’s one hell of a coincidence,” Karen insisted. “What about Luis’s license plate?”

Mike closed both eyes and nodded, privately chiding himself for letting Luis use his own car. “You’re right,” he conceded. “How could I have been so stupid? I’ll never forgive myself.” He wrapped his arms around Karen. “I’d give anything to change what happened, babe. Sending Luis in there was the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.”

After midnight that night, Mike and Karen were awakened by the cry of the bedside telephone in the otherwise silent night. Reluctantly, Mike reached for the receiver. “Hello,” he groaned.

“Mike, it’s Adi. Sorry to bother you so late, but I have some extremely interesting information. I spoke to Luis Martinez’s wife tonight. She told me Luis didn’t have a cousin by the name of Pedro Montoya. In fact, she said he didn’t have a cousin at all. Also, I just got off the phone with a friend of mine. He’s a solicitor for the City of Caracas, and he confirmed that there’s absolutely no record of Pedro Montoya on the city’s payroll.”

“Thanks, Adi. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the call.”

“My pleasure. Good luck to you and Karen. Please let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”

“I will. Goodnight, Adi.” Mike deposited the receiver in its cradle. “Pedro Montoya’s a fraud, babe. He’s not on the city payroll and Martinez’s wife has never heard of him.”

“Then it’s obvious that Pedro Montoya is Jim, or one of his henchmen.”

Mike nodded in the darkness.

“What are we going to do about the meeting tomorrow?”

“Find out what his game is.”