The Viking Funeral

Chapter 34

QUEEN BEATRIX AIRPORT was on the eastern side of Aruba. They taxied up to a Customs shed located between the Mantoor executive-jet terminal and the regular commercial-jet boarding areas.

Out of the window of the private jet, Shane could see a handsome, forty-five-year-old dark-skinned man in white linen trousers and a flowered shirt leaning against the fender of a black, seven-passenger Mercedes SUV. His sandaled feet were crossed at the ankles, his arms laced comfortably across his chest.

Jody had promised that there would be no Customs or Immigration check, so Shane left his Beretta strapped to his ankle. Except for Victory, the rest of the Vikings were also packing. Shane wasn't sure what had happened to the weight lifter's Uzi. He just hoped Jody hadn't returned it to him and that it wasn't hidden in his gym bag.

Shane followed Lisa, Jose, and Jody off the plane into the humid tropical morning. The rest of the Vikings trailed behind with their small satchels and stopped near the waiting man.

Jose gave the man a bear hug. Then Lisa took her turn, administering a couple of pecks on his swarthy cheeks. Jose turned toward the Vikings, who had arranged themselves in a semicircle, squinting in the nine A. M. tropical sun.

"This is Sandro Mantoor," Jose said. "Sandy is going to take us to the hotel." All of this was spoken in perfect Ivy League English. "Sandro and I attended Harvard Business School together." He added proudly, "We were in the same Eating Club."

They all exchanged names and handshakes, Sandro exposing two rows of porcelain-white, orthodontically perfect teeth. "I've arranged for our best villas at the La Cabana Beach Hotel. I think you will be quite comfortable there." "Sandy owns the hotel." Jose smiled proudly. "But you'll come to see the Mantoors own almost everything on this island." Then, to prove his point, Jose grinned up at the Mantoor Aviation sign hanging on the front of the private-jet terminal.

"Isle de Mantoor," Lisa said happily. "I've arranged for a second vehicle to take us to our accommodations. Customs and Immigration have already been dealt with, so we can leave without delay," Sandro informed them. "Jose, perhaps you and Ms. St. Marie could travel with me. I have a few things to discuss before the meeting this afternoon."

"Of course."

Jose, Sandro, and Lisa got into his Mercedes and pulled out just as an identical SUV arrived. Shane noticed that both vehicles were brand-new, with dealer plates in chrome holders that read: MANTOOR IMPORTS. The island's motto was inscribed on the yellow and red license plate: ONE HAPPY LITTLE ISLAND.

They all got into the second SUV, Jody choosing the passenger seat next to the driver- a large, Germanic man who said his name was Eric.

Shane was jammed in next to Lester and Victory in the second row. Tremaine had slightly more room in the back.

The capital city of Oranjestad was only five miles away, and they arrived minutes later. The outskirts of the port town were surrounded by tin-roofed shacks, happily dressed in bright Caribbean colors-red with green trim, or yellow with blue. Boxed palms lined the streets and swayed in a brisk trade wind. As they neared the center of town, the red, tin-roofed houses gave way to traditional Dutch and Queen Anne architecture. The port was picturesque, with quaint, brightly painted, stern-tillered fishing boats anchored in the magnificent horseshoe harbor, waiting for dusk. A medieval fort and a lighthouse were on opposite ends of a pair of stone jetties.

Then they were in the center of town; they passed the First Mantoor Bank and Commerce Company, located in a two-story Dutch turn-of-the-century manor house. It dominated most of one block in downtown Oranjestad. Mantoor Travel, a Donatella Mantoor Corporation, sat on Main Street, along with the Fredrico Mantoor Shipping and Freight Forwarding Company. Farther down the street was the King Venezuelan Shipping Line-a Daveed Mantoor Corporation, and so on.

Eric kept up a running dialogue in a thick Dutch accent, pointing out sights: "The Mantoor family is, how you say… Tradition of Aruba. She is a business dynasty formed by late grandfather, Elias Mantoor, yah. Elias, he come here, was Lebanese Christian… Migrated to Latin America over hundred years ago. He do… How you say… trading all along da Caribbean coast. Dere on corner is Mantoor Corporation headquarters." Eric pointed to a plantation-style house on two acres taking up an entire city block in the center of town. "Used to be colonial governor's mansion until Elias, he buy in 1896, for corporate headquarters. Da Mantoor family all become citizens of Netherlands, like me, with Dutch passports. Sandro Mantoor… One day soon, he make the control for all this. The great-uncle, Milos… He very ill." The spiel continued like that until Eric turned into a floral-landscaped, tree-lined drive.

The La Cabana Beach Hotel and Casino was a beautiful Dutch Colonial structure: rococo white wood railings, fronted slanting wooden porches like delicate lacework. Huge paddle fans turned in the open lobby, swirling hot tropical air lazily around inside the exposed-beam entry.

Shane was given the Orchid Suite. He went inside, closed the door, and set down his gym bag. The room was large, beautifully appointed, and done restfully in light blue and white. He looked through the sliding glass doors to the Caribbean waters just a few yards beyond. A twenty-five-knot wind was snapping the palm fronds just outside his window. The crescent white-sand beach was teeming with sun-bathers. Bodysurfers competed for wave space with half a dozen streaking sailboarders who shot diagonally back and forth across the turquoise lagoon. Paddle balls and Frisbees flew recklessly. Sailing above it all were a few hang gliders, crisscrossing over this frantic activity like colorful winged creatures circling for a spot to land.

"Pretty cool, isn't it?" Lisa interrupted. He spun around and found her standing in his bathroom door. She had changed into white shorts, sandals, and a pastel orange blouse tied in a knot at the middle.

"Are we roommates?" he asked.

"Actually, my room is next door… But I scammed a key to yours, so I guess we get to be whatever we want." She crossed the room and kissed him lightly on the lips, then pulled away, spinning slightly to her right, showing herself to him. Certainly seductive and inviting, but Shane thought it was also a little too choreographed.

He was being manipulated. This suddenly seemed like the too-planned dance of a professional… And in that moment, the spell she had cast over him was broken. She suddenly seemed sad, comic, and slightly desperate.

"We'll have to save our party for later. I've got a meeting with the Harvard Marching and Chowder Society in ten minutes. When we do this again, I don't want us to have to rush." She smiled. "What did you think of Sandy?"

"The Mantoor family is something," Shane said. "What don't they own around here?"

"You don't know the half of it. Aside from their legitimate businesses, the Mantoors control the trans-shipping of all drugs and parallel-market product in this duty-free zone. They're the new pirates of the Caribbean. The Mantoors and Paco Brazos control most of the negotiations for black-market product down here."

"And who is Paco Brazos?" Shane asked.

"He's a Colombian nightmare-a 'San Andresito.'"

"A what?"

"The San Andresitos are the five families that control all the smuggling into Colombia. They get that name from black-market malls called San Andresitos that are located all over Colombia. The malls are owned by the Medellin cartels. Paco's malls are owned by the Bacca family, the same people that Jody's L. A. drug cash came from. Our smokes will be sold in their malls, and that's how the cartel gets its money back. The five smuggling families-the San Andresitos-operate out of a desert town called Maicao. Since we're running such a huge load of cigarettes, and no one or two families can place that much product, Paco Brazos has subcontracted the deal to include his competitors. But he's charging the other families a big commission, and this could cause a problem. The other San Andresitos don't want to pay him. That's why I'm off to meet Sandy, Jose, and Paco. We're trying to hose these guys down. Then at four, Jose and Paco are meeting with the rest of the San Andresitos to do the deal." She walked toward the door. "These smugglers make me a little nervous. I can hardly wait to finish this and get back to L. A."

"Do we all go to the four o'clock meeting?"

"No. Just Sandy and Jose. I won't be there, either, because-"

"Because as an All-American Tobacco executive, you don't really have a clue what's going on, right? You're just selling duty-free cigarettes."

"Don't be a shit, darling."

She smiled, planted another kiss on her fingertips, and wiggled them at him from the door, then turned and walked out of his room, a sexy package designed for trouble.

After she left, Shane sat on the bed and thought about what she had told him.

The problem was, he didn't seemed to care anymore. He felt a heavy layer of depression just off the edge of his psyche… A rolling fog of guilt and darkness. It was threatening to overcome what was left of him… To make him completely disappear.