UC: UNDERCOVER:
ACHILLES HEEL
By Wendy
Don't own them, just borrowing them
Bogota
The balding old man finished examining the papers in his hand before slipping his glasses off and acknowledging the bodyguard that stood in silence at the doorway. "You can let him in now, Dominic."
Nodding his compliance, the bodyguard pulled out his weapon and opened the door to call the waiting guest. "Mr. Ortega will see you now."
Stepping aside to let the man enter, Dominic never took his eyes of the stranger as he stepped back to usual stance of protection, his weapon still in his hand.
"Nice place you have here, Mr. Ortega." The stranger greeted the older man.
Though Ortega had checked his visitor out, he was still wary of the man who had gone to so much trouble to meet him. "My compound suits my needs. Much land. Land that a man could get lost in, if I have a mind to make it so."
The unveiled threat was not lost of the younger man, who quickly got to the point of his visit. Turning to the guard, he showed him the folder he was about to pass to Ortega, before stepping over to the desk and sliding it across the desktop. "I come bearing gifts."
Ortega studied his visitor first. He knew a lot about the man before him. You don't get to be as old as he had gotten by being careless whom you let into your home. But what he didn't know was what this man actually wanted from him. "A gift, Mr. Creel? Gifts have a habit of expending a price. What would your price be for this gift that you give me?"
"Two million dollars," a smile creased the craggy features of Creel's face. "American, of course."
"Two million?" Ortega shot Creel a distorted smiled. "That is a lot of money for some paper, Mr. Creel."
"I assure, Mr. Ortega, I am offering more than paper. May I take a seat?" Creel asked, gesturing to an empty leather chair beside him.
Ortega nodded, as he picked up his glasses and opened the file.
Creel watched with some satisfaction as the old man's face clouded over, his lip's taunt as he read the folder's contents. "As you can see, Mr. Ortega. I bring you more than a gift. I bring you closure. I heard about your loss and the price you've put on the man's head that caused that loss"
Ortega slammed the folder closed, his fingers digging into the folder, as he threw his glasses on to the desk. "You can get me this man?" Ortega's voice was hard, yet brittle as he remembered what was taken from him.
"I will rid you of this man for the two million I spoke of," Creel smiled.
Ortega lovingly picked up a picture frame that faced away from his visitor, and stared into the sweet face of his only son Rafael. A son murdered in cold blood, and a son that would never to be held by his mother again. His wife had become a shell of her former self since their child's execution and it was with her blessings that he wanted someone to pay.
"No," Ortega said grimily as he replaced the photo frame tenderly back onto the desk. "You bring him to me, 'alive', Mr. Creel, and I will give you one million today and three more, when I have spit in his face and watched him die."
Creel's smile broadened, "Four? For that sir, I'll gift wrap him myself."
"Dominic will see to the arrangements," Ortega nodded to his guard. "But one thing before you go, Mr. Creel?" the old man asked, letting Creel know that the visit was now over. "This man is good. He has much at his disposal to protect himself. What makes you so sure that you can deliver him to me?"
Creel pushed himself up from the chair, his confidence evident in each move of his body, "I know how to get that logical brain of his off balance. Don't you worry, Mr. Ortega, I have the advantage here, I happen to know Frank Donovan's Achilles heel."
TBC
ACHILLES HEEL
By Wendy
Don't own them, just borrowing them
Bogota
The balding old man finished examining the papers in his hand before slipping his glasses off and acknowledging the bodyguard that stood in silence at the doorway. "You can let him in now, Dominic."
Nodding his compliance, the bodyguard pulled out his weapon and opened the door to call the waiting guest. "Mr. Ortega will see you now."
Stepping aside to let the man enter, Dominic never took his eyes of the stranger as he stepped back to usual stance of protection, his weapon still in his hand.
"Nice place you have here, Mr. Ortega." The stranger greeted the older man.
Though Ortega had checked his visitor out, he was still wary of the man who had gone to so much trouble to meet him. "My compound suits my needs. Much land. Land that a man could get lost in, if I have a mind to make it so."
The unveiled threat was not lost of the younger man, who quickly got to the point of his visit. Turning to the guard, he showed him the folder he was about to pass to Ortega, before stepping over to the desk and sliding it across the desktop. "I come bearing gifts."
Ortega studied his visitor first. He knew a lot about the man before him. You don't get to be as old as he had gotten by being careless whom you let into your home. But what he didn't know was what this man actually wanted from him. "A gift, Mr. Creel? Gifts have a habit of expending a price. What would your price be for this gift that you give me?"
"Two million dollars," a smile creased the craggy features of Creel's face. "American, of course."
"Two million?" Ortega shot Creel a distorted smiled. "That is a lot of money for some paper, Mr. Creel."
"I assure, Mr. Ortega, I am offering more than paper. May I take a seat?" Creel asked, gesturing to an empty leather chair beside him.
Ortega nodded, as he picked up his glasses and opened the file.
Creel watched with some satisfaction as the old man's face clouded over, his lip's taunt as he read the folder's contents. "As you can see, Mr. Ortega. I bring you more than a gift. I bring you closure. I heard about your loss and the price you've put on the man's head that caused that loss"
Ortega slammed the folder closed, his fingers digging into the folder, as he threw his glasses on to the desk. "You can get me this man?" Ortega's voice was hard, yet brittle as he remembered what was taken from him.
"I will rid you of this man for the two million I spoke of," Creel smiled.
Ortega lovingly picked up a picture frame that faced away from his visitor, and stared into the sweet face of his only son Rafael. A son murdered in cold blood, and a son that would never to be held by his mother again. His wife had become a shell of her former self since their child's execution and it was with her blessings that he wanted someone to pay.
"No," Ortega said grimily as he replaced the photo frame tenderly back onto the desk. "You bring him to me, 'alive', Mr. Creel, and I will give you one million today and three more, when I have spit in his face and watched him die."
Creel's smile broadened, "Four? For that sir, I'll gift wrap him myself."
"Dominic will see to the arrangements," Ortega nodded to his guard. "But one thing before you go, Mr. Creel?" the old man asked, letting Creel know that the visit was now over. "This man is good. He has much at his disposal to protect himself. What makes you so sure that you can deliver him to me?"
Creel pushed himself up from the chair, his confidence evident in each move of his body, "I know how to get that logical brain of his off balance. Don't you worry, Mr. Ortega, I have the advantage here, I happen to know Frank Donovan's Achilles heel."
TBC