The Bridge to Caracas

  “So there is still no conclusive link to Servito—there’s no chain of custody for the evidence. If you showed up in court with that money, the feds would immediately link it to you. Besides, two hundred and sixteen thousand is nickels and dimes to the government. They’re looking for hundreds of millions.”

  Exasperated by Turner’s contrariness, Mike raised his hands above his head, as if in surrender. “That’s it, Dan. With no disrespect to your considerable professional talents, we think we’re screwed. Servito holds all the cards. He decided he had enough money to retire and live happily ever after, so he sanitized his trail and left the country.”

  Turner’s lips tightened, his dark eyebrows furrowed. “Privately, I agree with you, but my job as your attorney is to advise you, in the strongest possible terms, to stay here and fight this thing.”

  “Not going to happen, Dan. It’s an exercise in futility to try to prove it here. The only way to do it is to find the man, and we think he’s in Venezuela.”

  Turner pressed his fingers against his temples. “If you two really want to go, I can’t stop you. The best I can do is stall the feds for a while. But eventually…”

  “Do what you can,” Mike said.

  “How are you going to get there? Have you made any plans?” Turner glanced up over his spectacles.

  “Not yet,” Mike replied.

  “The best advice I could give you both is to be extremely careful. Avoid using public transportation.”

  “Isn’t it rather difficult to make it all the way to Venezuela without using some form of public transportation?” Karen asked.

  Turner smiled. “I have a friend who owns an airplane. His specialty is covert transportation. He’s very private, very good and very expensive. He likes cash.”

  “Maybe he’d like some of Servito’s cash,” Mike said, surprised and delighted with Turner’s revelation.

  Turner scribbled on a small piece of paper. “Here’s his name and telephone number. He’s in Toronto at the moment. He likes his money up front and I’m sure he isn’t the slightest bit interested in where it came from. I’m going to leave this paper here while I go to the washroom. I don’t expect it will be here when I get back.” He turned to Karen. “Promise me you’ll make sure Mike doesn’t do anything crazy. I don’t want to lose a client.”

  “I will. I don’t want to lose him, either.”

  He turned to Mike. “Mike, I suspect Marc Peterson’s going to need a power of attorney before you go.”

  “He already has it.”

  “Then this meeting is over,” Turner said. He stood and headed for the door. After opening it, he turned to face Mike and Karen. “Is there any way I can convince you to change your minds?” he asked.

  “Only if you can convince the feds they’re making a gigantic mistake,” Karen replied.

  Turner grinned. “No guarantees.”

  “Then we’ll send you a postcard from Caracas.”

  CHAPTER 57

  That night, Mike sat at a stool in the kitchen of Karen’s penthouse and dialed the number Dan Turner had given him.

  After four rings, a man answered.

  “Is this Dale Casey?”

  “Yes. Before you tell me your name, I want you to tell me why you called.”

  “Dan Turner gave me your number. He said you have an airplane and that you—”

  Casey interrupted. “Good. I know who you are. Are you calling from a pay phone?”

  “No.”

  “Go to one and call me back as soon as you can. Then we’ll talk.”

  Mike hung up and turned to Karen. “Do you know where the nearest pay phone is?”

  “I think the closest one is on the corner, just south of this building. Why?”

  “He wants me to call him from a pay phone. I’ll be back soon.” Mike hurried from the penthouse and ran to the pay phone as fast as he could. He dialed Casey’s number again.

  “Yup.” Casey answered on the first ring.

  “I just talked to you ten minutes ago,” Mike said. “I’m using a pay phone.”

  “Good. Now I know this call isn’t bugged. I assume you want to go somewhere, anonymously.”

  “That’s correct. My friend and I want to go to Caracas.”

  “How soon do you want to leave?”

  “As soon as possible.”

  “We can take off at seven tomorrow morning. Is that okay with you?”

  “That’s great.”

  “I have some stipulations. The first is that the flight will be one way only. The second is that it will cost you twenty-five thousand, cash in advance. Is that a problem?”

  “No.”

  “Fine. Then my third stipulation is that you get to Pier Four at three-thirty tomorrow morning. Bring a flashlight with you. When you get to the end of Pier Four, flash it twice. I’ll take you to the Toronto Island Airport and drop you there, and my partner will take you from there to the plane. We’re going to have to hide you on the plane until we take off. They don’t allow flights from the island until seven… Do you both have passports?”

  “Yes. Canadian.”

  “Good.”

  “Is this a breakfast flight?”

  Casey chuckled. “No. Bring food with you. We’ll be in the air for at least five hours before our first landing.”

  “Got it.”

  “See you at Pier Four at three-thirty. Don’t be late.”

  Mike and Karen spent the remainder of the evening preparing for their trip into the unknown. Neither could sleep, and both were filled with anxiety over what they would find in Caracas and what might happen if they were discovered. Mike phoned his secretary and told her he was taking a short business trip to New York, and that his second in command should take over in his absence. He assured her he would be back soon. Karen advised the administration office of Toronto General Hospital that she was leaving for a week’s skiing vacation in British Columbia.

  CHAPTER 58

  Servito smiled when he saw the north coast of Venezuela.

  “Holy smoke!” Phillip exclaimed, straining to get a better view. “Look at those mountains, Dad. How high are they?”

  “Six, maybe seven thousand feet.”

  “Are they in Venezuela?”

  “Yup.” Servito pointed to his left. “See those three large islands down there?” Phillip nodded.

  “They’re the ABC islands: Aruba, Bonaire, and Curacao. There’s a large oil refinery on each one. Those refineries process the oil that’s produced in Venezuela.”

  Seconds later, Servito’s plane commenced its descent for its approach to the mountainside airport at La Guaira, a port city on the north coast of Venezuela. The airport had been sliced into the side of a mountain, high above the azure blue Caribbean Sea. The plane continued its descent to an altitude of one hundred feet and sped toward the runway.

  Phillip pressed his nose and hands to the window, amazed and terrified that his father would try to land in such a precarious place. “Go back up, Dad!” he shouted. “We’re going to fall into the water!”

  “Relax, son,” Servito said. “I’ve done this before. It’s easy.”

  After clearing customs, the ease of which was facilitated greatly by a substantial cash donation to certain officials, Servito and Phillip took a taxi from La Guaira along a magnificently engineered highway that climbed abruptly from the lush green coastline to the height of the mountain range, over three thousand feet above sea level.

  The taxi proceeded the five miles to Caracas, and then climbed a series of winding streets on the southern slope of the coastal mountains. When it appeared that the taxi had come to a dead end, it turned sharply to the right and into a long paved driveway, which was lined on both sides with tall royal palm trees. It stopped near the entrance to a magnificent and sprawling ranch-style mansion. Servito placed his hand on Phillip’s shoulder. “Welcome to your new home, son.”

  “Can we go in?” Phillip asked, struggling to open the taxi door.

  Servit
o depressed the door latch with his right hand and quickly opened the door with a sharp blow of his foot. “I’ll be with you in a second,” he said, and then turned to pay the driver as Phillip scampered to the front door. Servito joined his son with the key in hand. “Go on in, Phillip. Have a good look.”

  Phillip took several hesitant steps inside, and then stopped and stared at the south wall. It was constructed almost entirely of floor to ceiling windows and sliding glass doors. Beyond the glass wall was a large, sculptured swimming pool filled with inviting azure blue water. Beyond the pool was a black, wrought-iron railing that delineated the edge of a steep rocky cliff. The city of Caracas stretched beyond for miles until it disappeared into the horizon.

  Anxious to move after being confined for the long plane ride, Phillip opened one of the sliding glass doors and proceeded onto the concrete patio surrounding the swimming pool. He was exhilarated to breathe the fresh air and feel the warmth of the late afternoon sun on his skin. He continued to the edge of the cliff and stopped at the railing, leaning over to study the rocky chasm more than three hundred feet below. To his right, he could see a yellow cable car climbing slowly toward the summit of Mount Avila, which was the mountain next to theirs.

  “Come over here, son,” Servito shouted. “I want you to meet some people.”

  Phillip turned to see his father standing outside the sliding glass door that led to the kitchen. With him were two women and one man. All three had light brown skin and black, shiny hair. Young, attractive, and generously endowed, the women wore black skirts with white blouses and white aprons. The man, on the other hand, was large and menacing. He wore black trousers and a black shirt, which was unbuttoned enough to show the mass of black hair on his chest. A four inch scar decorated his left cheek, while a large gold skull and cross-bones pendant dangled from a thick gold chain around his neck.

  Phillip rounded the swimming pool and stopped about two feet away. His mouth opened involuntarily as he stared at the terrifying man standing next to his father.

  “Son, this is Maria, and this is Carla. These lovely ladies are going to live with us. Maria’s going to keep our house clean and Carla’s going to cook our meals.”

  Phillip nodded while both women smiled politely.

  Servito turned to the large man on his right. “This is Carlos. He’s also going to live with us. He’s here to protect us and keep us safe. He’ll make sure nobody comes into our house without our permission.” Servito returned to the house with an arm around the waists of his two female servants, his hands just beginning to raise their short skirts. Carlos folded his arms and watched silently as Phillip returned to the railing to look at the city once again.

  CHAPTER 59

  The shrill ring of an alarm awakened Mike and Karen from their restless sleep. It was 2 a.m. when Mike clamped his palm to the top of the clock. Although tired, his mind instantly focused. He turned to Karen and reached for her hand. “This is it, babe,” he said.

  Karen’s eyes were opened wide. “Any doubts?” she asked as she squeezed Mike’s hand.

  “All kinds.”

  “You still want to do it?”

  “With all my heart. You?”

  Karen grinned. “There’s no way I’m going to chicken out now.”

  The air was damp and cold, the sky clear and moonless, as Mike and Karen stepped out of the taxi at Pier Four. They carried bags over their shoulders, containing a change of clothing for each, toiletries, food, a flashlight, Karen’s chrome-plated revolver, and two hundred and sixteen thousand dollars of Jim Servito’s cash. They stared at the black expanse of water, barely able to discern the profile of Centre Island, even though it was less than a mile away. The water’s surface was as smooth as glass.

  Mike reached into his bag and removed the flashlight. He pointed it straight out at the water and turned it on and off twice. Within a few minutes, Dale Casey arrived in his eighteen foot Mercruiser, approaching without running lights to avoid being seen. He turned off the motor and allowed his boat to glide until it came to rest against the pier. “You people going to Caracas?” he asked.

  Mike jumped down four feet into the boat, and then turned to help Karen.

  “Welcome aboard,” Casey said. “Dale Casey’s my name. Discrete transportation’s my game.”

  The darkness made it difficult to see Casey’s face, but Mike and Karen could see he was tall, slightly over six feet. Mike extended his hand. “I’m Mike, and this is Karen.”

  “Do you have something for me?” Casey asked.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Your airfare. I don’t want to get into this thing and find out you don’t have the money.”

  Mike reached into his bag and withdrew five elasticized wads of bills, each containing exactly five thousand dollars of Servito’s cash. He handed them to Casey. “This should do it,” he said.

  “Thank you,” Casey said. “I’ll count it before we take off. Meanwhile, I’ll get you two to the plane.” He turned the ignition key and the motor started with a muted gurgling idle. As he slowly eased the throttle forward, the bow rose slightly and the boat accelerated toward Blockhouse Bay, which lay between Muggs Island and Centre Island.

  Within five minutes, the boat bumped gently against a wooden dock. Someone on the dock grabbed the bow rope and fastened down the line.

  “Liz, meet Mike and Karen,” Casey said.

  “Good morning. I’m Liz Casey, Dale’s wife. I’ll be the co-pilot and your stewardess for this morning’s flight. Can I help you with your bags?”

  Mike and Karen handed their bags to Liz, and then climbed from the boat. “See you soon,” Liz called to Casey as she pushed the boat away from the dock.

  “I’ll pick you up in forty-five,” Casey replied. The boat disappeared into the night.

  Liz turned to Mike and Karen. “Let’s get to the plane. It’s just beyond those trees.” She pointed toward a large clump of leafless trees, no more than a hundred feet from the dock and partially obscuring the lights of Toronto Island Airport and the city. When they emerged from the trees, they found the end of one of the airport’s runways. They walked the length of the runway, past numerous single and twin-engine airplanes parked near the well-lit terminal and adjacent hangar.

  “Damn!” Mike said, stopping abruptly.

  Liz stopped too. “What’s wrong?”

  “Can’t you see the security guards?” he asked, pointing to two uniformed men standing in the gaping opening in front of the hangar.

  Liz chuckled. “Don’t worry about them. Part of your airfare was used to ensure they don’t say a thing. We can walk right past them.” When they reached the hangar, the two security guards waved and smiled before turning away from the intrusion. Liz led Mike and Karen straight to the airplane, which was an almost new, twin-engine Cessna 421B, painted light gray with two parallel gold stripes running the length of the sleek fuselage.

  “It’s beautiful, Liz,” Mike said. He could hardly take his eyes from it.

  Liz frowned. “It ought to be. It cost a fortune to buy, and another one to keep. One day I’m going to convince my husband to get rid of it and get a real job.” She opened the cabin door and a set of steps were slowly lowered from inside. She turned and smiled at her passengers. “Climb aboard.”

  “No boarding passes?” Mike asked.

  Liz grinned and shook her head. She followed Mike and Karen into the plane. “The tricky part of this trip is for you two to stay out of sight until we’re in the air. Unfortunately, you’re going to have to lie on the floor for about three hours until the airport opens. You might want to catch up on your sleep while you’re waiting.” She shrugged, and then opened a compartment above her head and removed blankets and small pillows. “These should help,” she said, handing them to Karen. “Dale and I will be here about six. It takes about an hour to go through all the checkouts and get out to the runway. Hopefully, we’ll be in the air shortly after seven… and we’ll see you around then.” She turned and left
the plane, purposefully leaving the cabin door open.

  CHAPTER 60

  Phillip was awakened early by a loud conversation between Maria and Carla. They were talking just outside his bedroom, their rapid-fire Spanish periodically interrupted by loud laughing and giggling. He climbed from his bed, walked to the sliding glass doors, and witnessed the beginning of a perfectly clear day. He put on his new blue bathing suit and opened the glass door just wide enough to squeeze through.

  At the pool, he kneeled and timidly lowered his right hand into the water.

  “Last one in’s a rotten egg!” Servito shouted, standing behind Phillip in his new red and yellow swimming trunks.

  “It’s going to be you, Dad!” Phillip shouted. He raced to the shallow end, descended to the first of the four steps, and dove in. Seconds later, his head emerged from below the water. “You’re the rotten egg!” he shouted.

  Servito laughed, and then he dove in. They swam, laughed, and splashed each other. When they emerged from the pool, the morning sun quickly warmed their bodies.

  Carla, dressed in tight white shorts and a form-fitting T-shirt, appeared at one of the sliding glass doors leading to the main section of the house. “Breakfast is ready!” she shouted in broken English.

  Servito placed his hand on Phillip’s shoulder. “Go get dressed. I’ll see you in the kitchen in a minute.”

  Phillip arrived in the kitchen to find his father already seated at the massive wooden table. A breakfast of strawberries, scrambled eggs, bacon, and Belgian waffles with maple syrup awaited him.

  “Get over here and eat your heart out, son,” Servito ordered. “Carla’s the best cook in Venezuela.”

  Servito finished his breakfast and wiped his mouth with a napkin. He marched to the stove and placed his right hand on Carla’s left buttock. She giggled as he fondled her breasts with his left hand. When he kissed the back of her neck, she turned and playfully poked his ribs with her finger. He doubled up as if in great pain, and then turned to Phillip. “Hurry up, son. We’re late.”