Manuel Perez sat on the shaded veranda of the Sorentino, an expensive resort in Belize. He nursed a tall glass of tropical iced tea. He was clad in a light linen suit he had bought in Italy. It was of a weight that breathed easily with both the sun and the breezes that rolled in from the western Caribbean.
He was deep in thought. The woman at his table, a guest, had just presented a business proposal. She waited patiently for his reaction.
Perez looked across the off-white sands of the beach to where his beloved wife, Nicoleta, and their daughters, all equipped with snorkeling gear, romped in the water. With them was Maria, their bilingual mother’s helper and housekeeper and the children’s tutor. Maria had, as always, accompanied them on this one-week vacation.
At the door leading to the veranda stood the man the children knew as Tio Antonio, Uncle Tony. Uncle Tony always watched Perez’s back when Perez took his family on vacation. After all, a wealthy Central American entrepreneur needed personal security in these troubled times, even a conventional importer and exporter of fresh and dried fruit. So the Chilean bodyguard seemed to be a wise precaution.
The Sorentino was located on Ambergris Caye, the largest island along the Belize Barrier Reef. Perez had chosen it for this meeting for more than one reason. Before Perez and beyond his family was the most spectacular scuba-diving paradise in the world, including the Blue Hole. Once the meeting was over with this businesswoman, Perez and his wife could dive.
Yet as much as the diving and the meeting were important, so was security. Ambergris Caye was an island accessible only to private transportation. Representatives of the Sorentino had picked up the Perez family at the airport in San Pedro and whisked them away by private car and then brought them here by private boat.
Perez turned to the woman at his table, having mulled over her proposal for almost a full two minutes without speaking. “You have to understand,” he said in English, with almost no trace of an accent, “the job you are asking me to do is difficult. I would have to enter the United States and make many preparations. While I have some excellent contacts there, the target you suggest would not be easy. The Americans have greatly tightened their borders over the last decade, as well as their ability to pursue people on their wanted lists.”
“I would think a man of your ingenuity would have no trouble getting into the United States,” the woman said.
“Getting out would be the challenge. I have many friends in the underworld in the U.S. Russian, Latino, Mafia, Irish. Political underworld as well as criminal enterprises. Word travels quickly. Presumably a massive ‘unofficial’ reward would be posted for me if my work were successful. I would be hunted worldwide.”
The woman opened her mouth, but Perez raised a polite hand to silence her.
“I also have,” he resumed pleasantly, “many ethical issues about striking targets in the U.S. I have some affinity for the Americans and do not dislike them. I have worked for Americans, as you know. I have many friends there, some who do not even know the nature of my second business, some who do. Though it may surprise you, I do have a conscience. I’m not sure that I would want to bring the attention of American authorities upon me. Right now, they may have a vague notion of who I am. I’m not so certain I would want the extra attention.” He paused again. “Worse, the job would have to be undertaken in New York City,” he said. “That would draw even more attention.” He shook his head. “None of this is good.”
“Then you’re not interested?” she asked patiently.
As they did so often when he was deeply contemplative, Perez’s eyes returned to the sea. Then they returned to his family, three little girls who continued to splash in the surf, a beautiful wife whom he doted on, flanked by the pretty young Maria in a two-piece suit, which sometimes made him think thoughts he shouldn’t.
Another minute passed. Perez sipped more tea. Idly, he rubbed his right kneecap. There was some swelling today with the heat. Nothing incapacitating; the discomfort never was. He had some prescription painkillers with him. He would chew one later in the day. But certainly not in front of his guest. A weakness, a tiny flaw of any sort, was never to be revealed. Even Nicoleta didn’t know how much the knee sometimes vexed him. But then there was much that Nicoleta didn’t know.
The woman at the table understood enough to remain silent. Out of habit, Perez looked over his shoulder and saw Antonio standing exactly where he should be, by the door, arms folded, watching everything, and even keeping an eye on a couple of American blondes on the beach. Everyone who knew Tony knew that blondes could distract him for a moment or two. Everyone joked about it. Fortunately, Nicoleta was a brunette and Antonio kept his priorities in order. If only, Manuel Perez thought to himself, everyone were as dependable as Antonio.
Perez’s eyes drifted back to his children. Images of his own childhood came into focus. He could remember the squalor of a cement-block home, the blazing summer heat of Mexico, running barefoot in the streets as a young child, and the horrible car accident that had injured him. Rich people speeding through his neighborhood. The driver who had hit him never stopped. Why would anyone stop after hitting a slum kid? Who cared? The knee injury had prevented him from joining the Mexican Army, but it had never had any bearing on his ability to use a rifle. So it never cost him the chance to join a foreign army as an expert marksman. And the ability to use a weapon had acquired for him what a normal body and an education never could have: wealth, enough to start his own company. Wealth, enough to marry a woman of the caliber that he could only dream of as a teenager. And power. Now he had power, the type that comes from an impressive bank account, and ancillary respect that flowed from the shooting end of a rifle.
Now he had what he had always longed for. And he was close to making that final big play that would cement it all and make it secure for him. He looked at the resort as the memories of an impoverished boyhood faded. One needed to have an unspeakable amount of money to afford to live like this. He turned back to her.
“May I add some details?” she asked.
“Of course,” he said.
“We already have people in place in New York. Through our various corporations and shipping interests, we own an impressive portfolio of real estate, including one building that would afford you an excellent shot at the target. We would give you secure access to a rooftop, and we already have a construction project on the roof, which would provide the proper cover to shoot from. We can give you keys to everything. All you would need is to secure your own weapon and take your shot. Or shots.”
“One is usually enough,” he said. “But two or three could be a pleasant luxury.”
“As you would have it,” she said.
Perez thought further. “Sadly,” he said, playing his hand carefully, “I don’t think anyone will pay what I would want to make a hit like that in New York City. So for this reason, I might never accept a job such as the one you describe.”
“Name a figure,” she said. “If I can pay it, we’ll speak further. If it’s unconscionable, I’ll get up and leave and not waste any more of your time.”
He named an astronomical figure.
The woman settled back into her chair.
“I think we can do business,” she said.