Thorpe's Candle

EL DORADO

The priest adjusted his vestments for the third time and rearranged the small bottles of anointing oils. The young couple and their infant were late, and the priest was too busy to be kept waiting. So who were these people anyway? Who has so much influence that he was ordered by his monsignor to conduct the ceremony after hours when the church was closed to the public? His patience wore thin.

The smoke from the candles hung thick in the cavernous interior of the Cathedral Primada. Beams from the setting sun shone through the stained glass like transparent heavenly pillars. The Colombian Ministry of Antiquities was renovating the four hundred and thirty-year-old building. Scaffolding reached high into the dark overhead recesses. Preservation of the historical landmark represented a small symbol of stability in a country ripped apart by internal strife, government corruption, and open warfare between the military and rivaling drug lords.

The priest glanced at his prayer book again to confirm he had the correct section, the one on Baptism. He looked at his watch. Twenty minutes late. He would give them another five, and then he would lock up and go home.

“Good evening, Father.”

The voice startled the priest. He jumped and spun around. His mouth dropped open as he stared into a face the color of ash. Cold black eyes looked blankly at him. Pale blond hair resembling corn silk hung down to the stranger's shoulders. The man's thin lips barely moved when he spoke.

Dressed in a black suit and white shirt, he said, “My apologies if I surprised you. I hope our tardiness has not put you to any inconvenience.” He extended his hand. “I am Colonel Felix Blackstone.”

The priest hesitantly returned the gesture and found the bony hand to have the warmth of a headstone. “Well, it's all right I suppose.” His voice was shaky. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough.” He gave what the priest thought was a smile. Then Blackstone turned and nodded. From a side door, three men appeared followed by a young couple. The girl held a newborn in her arms. They came forward and stood by the baptismal fount. The mother smiled broadly and made cooing sounds at the tiny child. The father had his arm around his wife's waist and helped support the infant. The three men, each holding an automatic machine pistol, stood back as their eyes searched the empty cathedral.

“Are we ready to begin then?” the priest said nervously.

“Soon.” Blackstone picked up the small bottles of holy water and anointing oil and casually examined them. The mother continued to play with the baby while the young father beamed with pride as he looked down on his handiwork.

Then a side door opened. The priest saw a man walking toward them. Standing 5' 10”, barrel-chested, and slightly heavy-set, the stranger wore a gray silk suit and open collar shirt. Under a head of bushy brown hair was a youthful face. The priest guessed the man's age at mid-forties. He walked with a slight waddle and his smile revealed a solid but stained set of teeth. He repeatedly brushed his hair out of his eyes. The priest recognized him as the notorious drug lord, Pablo Escandoza.

“Forgive me, Padre,” Escandoza said, “but I'm always running late these days.” He shook the priest's hand. “I'm sure God will accept my grandson into his fold even if I am never on time.” Then with a quick brush of his hair, he nodded to Blackstone.

“Now we can begin,” the colonel said.

A light rain fell as the limousine pulled away from the curb and headed along Avenida Jimenez through the center of the city. Escandoza glanced over his shoulder to see his daughter, her family and bodyguards get into their limo and blend into the downtown traffic in the opposite direction. Colonel Blackstone sat in a backward-facing seat and stared into the rain patterns formed on the dark bulletproof glass. Sitting beside Blackstone, talking on a cell phone, was Teresa Castillo. Escandoza watched her, his eyes drifting from her dark hair that fell around her shoulders to the flawless skin of her arms and finally to her long, bare legs flowing out of a short skirt. He trusted her completely to run his personal and financial affairs. She was a brilliant corporate attorney who had worked for him for over five years. Sadly, he thought, no man including himself would ever have her — her lovers were all women just as beautiful as she.

As Teresa spoke in hushed tones, he glanced at Blackstone. Unlike Teresa, Escandoza trusted Blackstone for a totally different reason — he paid the former Soviet naval officer incredible amounts of money to do whatever was needed. Blackstone was a mercenary on a world class level. His fees rivaled the budgets of many third world countries but he always delivered whatever he was commissioned to do. Blackstone would be there as long as the money kept flowing into his Luxembourg accounts.

Teresa ended the call. “The rumors are spreading about the Korean freighter lost in the typhoon with the Cuban korium shipment. Everyone is demanding assurance that we have another source and can still deliver the final product.”

“I don’t blame them.” Escandoza brushed the hair from his eyes. “With the amount of money at stake, I would be getting nervous, too.”

“Also,” Teresa added, “General Cho landed an hour ago. He's on his way to Lake Guatavita.”

“Let’s see how he justifies having the lab in North Korea without any korium,” Escandoza said.

“How are the Americans reacting to losing their men?” Blackstone asked, keeping his eyes on the rain on the glass.

“According to my sources, they have not tied together the Cuban mine and the lost Korean freighter.” Teresa directed her answer at Escandoza. She never bothered to hide her distaste for the Colonel. “But it is only a matter of time before they do. Their satellite surveillance will show the freighter leaving the port in Santiago de Cuba two weeks ago.”

Escandoza said, “The Koreans can't reveal what was on that ship, and the Americans can't talk about it either or the press would start asking questions. Next thing you know, someone would find out about the existence of their Deep Scan and Project Candle Power. The can of worms, as they say, would be opened wide.”

“And our operation?” she asked.

“A setback, admittedly. It is a shame the ship went down in a typhoon. Not much you can do about that. We'll just have to go to our alternate source, won't we, Felix?”

“I have already started assembling a recovery operation,” Blackstone said.

“I hope we haven't bitten off more than we can chew,” Teresa said. “We're sitting on a fortune in sales and no product to deliver.”

“Don't be so pessimistic, my dear. Remember that our customers are standing in line to place an order. This is just a minor delay. They will be patient, I assure you. The rewards outweigh the delay a thousand fold. Once we recover the alternative source of the ore, we will take over production of the devices, something we should have done in the first place.”

“And if the Koreans object to having the lab in Colombia?” she asked.

“They have no choice. Dr. Thorpe works for me, not them. The lab goes where I say he goes. They'll just have to trust us.”

“The Communists don't think that way,” Blackstone said. “They thrive on mistrust.”

“Then so be it. The bottom line is, they no longer have a say so.”

“But if they agree to let us complete the production here,” Teresa said, “won't they insist on supervising the operation?”

“Perhaps, but they will be in my back yard operating under my rules.”

“And if they try to double-cross us?” she asked.

Escandoza reached out and patted her tanned knee, his eyes sparkling. “Then we chop their little yellow slant-eyed heads off.”