Thorpe's Candle

CARTAGENA MEETING

The armor-plated Mercedes limousine pulled up to the entrance of Demente on an unassuming street corner in the Getsemani neighborhood of Cartagena. Famous for its aged steaks and exotic seafood, Demente was the gathering place of the rich and the ultra-rich like Pablo Escandoza. Each month, he traveled to Cartagena to meet with Alejandro Ramirez, the Director of Banco de National, the largest bank in Colombia, and one of many financial institutions owned by Escandoza. The two men would often dine at Demente.

As Escandoza scrutinized the wine list, Ramirez, a short, balding man in his late fifties said, “I have not seen you smile so much since the day you made the cover of Fortune magazine. Have you finally convinced Teresa Castillo that she would be much happier sleeping with you than one of the lesbian fashion models she collects like coins?”

“I should be so lucky,” Escandoza said with a sigh. “I’m afraid, Alejandro, that Teresa will spend the rest of her life never wanting or needing what lays between my legs.” He flicked his finger and the wine steward who had been waiting a short distance away stepped forward. Escandoza picked an ’89 Chateau Latour Blanche and also requested a bottle of Don Perignon to start the evening.

“Very good.” The steward bowed before scurrying away.

“Then we truly have something to celebrate?” Ramirez said.

“It is so close, my friend, that I can almost taste it.”

“So the last of the hold-outs have put down a deposit?”

“The Blackstone’s little demonstration in the sky over Hawaii was more than enough to convince both our customers in South Africa and Iran to commit.”

The steward returned and opened the bottle of champagne. After he poured the golden liquid into the crystal flute, he waited for the drug lord’s approval.

“Exquisite,” Escandoza said with a warm smile.

The steward filled Ramirez’s glass and then Escandoza’s before leaving the two men alone.

“So what’s the latest news from Greenland?” Ramirez asked.

“The salvage company OceanQuest has located the plane and is about to start drilling. The apparatus they will use to recover the korium is being transported to the site with a crew of locals, all handpicked by Rainer Knebel.”

“So this man, Knebel, is with the Afrikaner Resistance Movement?”

“An offshoot. One with some very wealthy donors who want things back the way they were. Notice how everyone wants to take their countries back. Anyway, Knebel insisted on protecting his investment in person. He not only arranged for the accidental demise of OceanQuest’s project director, but he presented an impressive resume to the director of OceanQuest. It was convincing enough for him to secure the position as new project director. Now the man in charge of the whole recovery operation is our business partner, so to speak.”

“He sounds very clever,” Ramirez said. “I look forward to meeting him.”

“So do I, my friend.” Escandoza sipped the champagne. “Once Knebel recovers the korium and eliminates all witnesses from the picture, he will personally escort the ore back to Colombia. I may even consider offering him a permanent position with my organization. We will need resourceful men like him when the delivery process begins.”

“I would like to see the faces of the OceanQuest recovery team when they find out Knebel’s true identity.” Ramirez leaned back in his chair.

“That would be a treat,” Escandoza said with a confident smile. “As in all of life, the secret to success is to never let them see you coming.”