Chapter Sixteen

Javier filled his lungs with air, and slowly opened his eyes, finding himself this time in what was definitely a modern hospital room. He was hooked up properly to bits of monitoring machinery beeping gently over his head, and there was another blasted needle in his arm providing some kind of clear liquids in a slow drip. He felt like that mule had come back and kicked his ribs again – and his upper thigh, too. But most importantly, he was, "Still alive," he commented aloud.

"Don't sound so surprised!" came a dry rejoinder from his right. He turned his head that way to find Paulo sitting on a wide visitor's chair, grinning at him over an open laptop.

Javier grimaced back. "These days, I'm surprised every morning," he admitted sourly. As he fumbled for the bed controls, Paulo put his laptop aside, stood, and reached to put it into his hand. "Gracias." Head and torso raised halfway, he accepted a drink of water through a straw.

Paulo then picked up something small from the table next to the water glass, and handed it to Javier without showing him what it was. It clinked as it – they – fell into his open palm: two smashed bits of metal that Javier identified with surprise as bullets.

"Two? I only remember catching one."

"This time. They took the old one out from next to your ribs, too. It wasn't doing any more damage now, but..."

The two South Americans had been speaking Spanish, of course, and Javier reflected suddenly, as he delicately put the bullets back on the table, how pleasant it was to use his mother tongue instead of English. But the two bullets raised another concern. "I can't afford this," he admitted, looking around the room with sudden alarm.

Paulo laughed. "You've been in the US too long. Socialized medicine, remember? And whatever extras the hospital might want to charge you for, the company will cover." At Javier's puzzled look, Paulo shrugged, then said pointedly, "Well, you were wounded on the job, after all. Even if it wasn't exactly in the course of your normal duties. I'd be a pretty poor excuse for a human being, let alone a company president, if I let the hospital saddle you with costs for saving my life." He paused. "That's two debts I owe you."

Javier was unexpectedly touched. He fumbled for a moment, then managed to thank his boss again. But as he did so, another thought broke through, and he looked around at the beeping equipment, panic seeping around the edges. "I've got to get back to the ship. They're going to sail – "

"They sailed yesterday, with a new cook from the union. Isaac was quite upset – he says you are an excellent cook. But shipping schedules can't wait." At Javier's bewildered look, he added, "You've been here two days."

"Oh, fuck." Ignoring Paulo's confused amusement, Javier nearly banged his head back on the pillow in irritation. "Dammit." He fumbled to explain. "I liked that job. I was good at it. And I felt like I was getting somewhere."

"Where are you trying to get to?"

"A new life. A new career – or an old one, really. I used to be a private chef. I'd like to get back to it. I was hoping... the ship's cook would lead to something."

"Well, maybe it will. I have an idea – but I'll go over that later. However, I'll remind you, you did save my life. I'm not going to abandon you. At the very least, I give you my word, I will get you back onto one of my ships as chief cook – if not the Mariposa, another one."

Javier was feeling a little overwhelmed by the man's gratitude. He'd been saving his own skin, actually – Paulo's was a byproduct. But he wasn't going to turn down any favors. He managed another thank you, which was waved away like the others, then countered with the information that Javier's steward, Jiho, had packed all his personal belongings, which were now sitting in a suitcase in the little closet next to the bed - and Paulo had made sure Javier's phone (which Paulo had rescued from his pocket before the ambulance took him away) was there, too.

"First, though," Paulo went on, turning slightly to hitch one hip onto the bed next to Javier's knees, which he shifted to make room. "I need to ask you something serious." Deep breath for emphasis. "What made you think the attack was an attempted assassination? I talked to the police about it, but they are certain it was just a robbery, or maybe a kidnapping attempt. Why do you think it was a hit?"

Javier looked into the distance, thinking back. What had it been? He shook his head, dismissing the police theory. "They all had latex gloves on, and caps or hoods for their hair. The one I took the gun from had no wallet, no ID – and no tags on his clothes." He looked back at Paulo. "They were being careful not to leave any traces behind – but none of them wore masks. They didn't care if you saw them – you weren't intended to survive."

"Or you weren't," Paulo reminded him of the alternate theory, but Javier shook his head.

"No one would be going after me. Nobody knows I'm here. – Wait a minute..." He remembered the second assailant, who had struck him as familiar. Where had he seen him before? In a second, it came to him, and he told Paulo: "He was one of the guys on the dock the other night with Lee Hyun – in fact, he was the one handing him a package – it must have contained the gun."

"There, see? The two incidents are connected. Maybe they were coming after you for foiling the pirate attack."

Javier scoffed. "How would they know? The only people who know I was involved were the ones on the bridge – and you. And Lee. Is he still in custody?" Paulo nodded. "Has he said anything, do you know?"

A disgusted grimace crossed Paulo's face. "He said he'd racked up some big gambling debts, and was told this was how he could work them all off at once. He claims he didn't know any names, or any details, other than who he owed money to – and that was in Manila."

Javier waved a dismissive hand. "Then how would they have found out about me – especially in just two days, in time to set up a hit on me at the warehouse? They couldn't have known I'd even get off the ship – unless the Captain was in on it, and that I will never believe." Paulo shook his head in agreement at that. "Then it had to be you who was the target. So again: who hates you that much?"

"I have been asking myself that for two days, and come up with nothing. I can think of no one." (Javier could have told him that no hit victim ever suspected those close to him – who were the ones most likely to have set it up – but he didn't.) Paulo took a breath. "The only possibility is... I told you that I'm very much against drug trafficking. I refuse to have any of it on my ships. There have been contacts, offers... and threats, when I refused."

"Recently?"

Paulo thought. "No, not really. Nothing for the past few years. I thought they'd given up."

"Who was it? Big cartels?"

A nod. "As far as I could tell. I've never really looked into it. I couldn't say for sure. But they were talking about large amounts of drugs."

Javier looked away, thinking hard, then shook his head again. "That doesn't really make sense. One, it's been too long. And two... this was a shoddy, cheap operation, even the so-called pirate attack. Not much money. A big cartel, even an Asian one... they would have spent a LOT more money on it, and made a big point of it." Another thought occurred to him. "Is your habit of flying to trouble spots well known?"

Paulo made a face. "I suppose. In the industry – especially in my company, it would be known."

"How often does it happen?"

"A few times a year. But I travel about twice a month – that's why I have a private jet. For meetings, and inspections, with customers, or different port facilities." He paused, giving Javier a curious look. "What are you thinking?"

"I keep thinking about that one little speedboat, against a big cargo ship like the Mariposa. There's no way they could have thought they'd succeed, even with an inside man. It would never happen." He took a breath. "I think it was designed to fail – or at least, if it succeeded, that would be extra. I think it was designed just to get you here, to Hong Kong, so they could do the hit."

"Bait? To lure me into a trap?"

Javier nodded.

The two men were silent for a minute. Paulo turned to stare out the window, absorbing the idea, while Javier studied his profile. Against all his expectations, he found he really liked this man, and realized he really didn't want to see anything happen to him – and not just because of his till-now-vague promises.

"The thing is, Paulo," he began hesitantly. He didn't want to drag him further down. "If I'm right, and this was a hit... it failed. And whoever set it up, whoever made the contract... they'll try again. If they hate you enough to try once, and it fails, they'll do it again. They'll keep trying." He shook his head. "You're not safe, just because you survived this time."

Paulo nodded slowly, as if he'd been thinking the same thing. Then something else occurred to him. He turned back to Javier, brows furrowed. "How do know all this? How do you think of these things?"

There it was, the question Javier had been dreading. He turned away, unable to look Paulo in the face.

"Diego? Javier?" Paulo added pointedly, as he remembered the other name.

That brought Javier's gaze reluctantly back around. Against his better judgment, his years of hiding who he was, he felt compelled to tell the truth. He wanted this man to be his true friend. "You say you value trust, and honesty," he began in a low voice, and Paulo nodded. "Well, here it is. The truth. I know... because it's what I used to do."

Paulo's jaw dropped. Whatever he'd been expecting, it wasn't this. "You were a hitman?" he breathed.

Javier nodded. "I was," he re-emphasized. "I realize you only have my word for this, but I swear, I'm done. I quit – months ago. And I'll never do it again." The realization he'd come to on those long, lonely nights on the Mariposa was set in concrete. "Like I said a few minutes ago, I'm starting a new life – at least, I'm trying to." He looked away again, at the wall, waiting for the axe to fall.

"That's a big change," Paulo commented. He was having trouble wrapping his mind around this revelation. "How do I know this whole thing isn't just a big, elaborate ruse to get you next to me, so that you can do the hit?"

Javier laughed helplessly. "Paulo, you go down rabbit hole, and there's no stopping, until finally, you don't even trust yourself." That didn't seem to help, so he went on. "I can give you three reasons – though again, you only have my word for it. But anyway... One, like you said, it's too elaborate. There's way too many moving parts, way too many things that could go wrong. Big, complicated plots like that happen only in the movies, or maybe if the target is some super-rich, super-important political figure. And forgive me, but who the hell are you? The next President of Ecuador?" he asked sarcastically, his meaning plain: what the hell was Ecuador, anyway, in the global scheme of things?

"Two," he went on, "there's too many people involved. I have never worked with anyone else. I've always been solo. And three," he reached again for the bullets and showed them to Paulo, "there is no amount of money in the world that would ever convince me to let myself get shot. None."

"It might have been an accident, or part of the plan that you didn't know about."

"If it had been, I would be so angry, I'd be singing like a bird right now, giving you every detail. Nobody does that to me. And I have never worked to someone else's plan, either – see number two. I'm solo – I was solo," he amended, trying to emphasize that all that was in the past.

"Well..." Paulo conceded. "Forgive me. I had to ask." Javier wasn't at all certain he was the one who should be forgiving Paulo, but he wasn't going to push that. Paulo took a deep breath. "If I took you back to Guayaquil with me, would be able to find out who it is?"

"You should go to the police." On one level, he couldn't believe he was saying that.

Paulo shook his head forcefully. "With what?" He shrugged. "All we have is conjecture, no evidence of anything. They would call the police here, and they would tell them, 'it was just a robbery'. And that would be the end. No, they would do nothing – could do nothing. Could you?"

Javier tipped his head, eyebrows flaring. "That's a big ask." He thought a moment, then shook his head. "The only thing I could do is pretend I'm going back into the business, and go fishing for the new contract – if whoever it is does put out another one – and hope that I land it. It's not at all certain."

"Well, that's better than nothing."

"The one thing we have in our favor, though..." Javier added thoughtfully. "If it is someone in Guayaquil... In order for them to set up something here in east Asia, they would have had to go through the dark web. And that is something I am very familiar with – it's where I used to get work. So if they do the same thing again – and having been burnt overseas, they would likely be desperate and angry enough to make the next attempt at home, where they feel they have more control – they would still likely go the same route. So I'd have a better chance of catching the contract."

"So will you do it? Will you help me?"

Javier found he couldn't give a direct answer just then. "What you need is a security expert, to keep you safe at home. Do you have one?"

"A bodyguard? I don't want one. That would just be advertising that I'm scared and vulnerable, anyway."

But Javier was shaking his head. "No, not that. I mean... someone to look at your security systems, at home and at work, and how you operate and move between them. There are always things that can be done to improve your safety."

"Well, we have a very good, tight security at the office – and there's also security at the apartment building. In between? I'm not sure what you mean. You could help with that, too."

Still, Javier hesitated. This really wasn't the direction he wanted his life to go. Paulo saw, and – no dummy – guessed the reason. He held up one hand, giving Javier an unexpected grin. "Wait. Before you answer, let me tell you my other idea, the one I mentioned earlier. You said you wanted to be a private chef again. Well, I could use one." Javier couldn't help but look his surprise, and Paulo's grin broadened. "Let me tell you. I live alone, mostly – I'm divorced. Four kids – the two older ones are grown, and only come for Sunday dinner – sometimes. The younger ones are teenagers, and I have them every weekend from Saturday morning to Sunday evening. The rest of the time it's just me – but I never learned to cook, and I'm tired of frozen meals or going out every meal. Oh, and I like to entertain. About once a week, I have either a few people in for dinner, or up to a couple of dozen for cocktails and party food." He waved a hand dismissively. "Until now, I've been having those catered. But it would be nice to be able to offer food made in my own kitchen, by my own chef." He made a dramatic pause. "Could you handle that?"

Javier was bowled over. "That... is exactly the kind of job I'm looking for. I could absolutely handle that."

"Then say you'll take the job. Wait, let me tell you the rest. There's a small one-room apartment attached to the penthouse – "

"Penthouse?" Javier interrupted him, and Paulo grimaced ruefully.

"I was still married when I bought it. But when we divorced, she didn't want it, she wanted a house. So I kept it. Never moved – why should I? It's completely paid off – so I won't even charge you rent for the apartment. It's been empty, unused for years - except maybe storage. But I'll give you a generous salary – how's eighty thousand a year?"

"American dollars?" Javier was confused.

Another grin. "Ecuador uses US dollars for its currency, so yes. And the cost of living, I'm told, is comparable. But for that amount, I expect you to be my Chief of Security, too – and do this other thing, as well. What do you say?"

One part of him was screaming at him to shut up and accept it, but he couldn't without a final check. "You offer me this – even taking me into your home, after what I told you about myself? What I used to do?"

To his credit, Paulo stopped and thought carefully about what he said. "Trust and honesty go both ways. I admit that it's... not without a small twinge of doubt. But... yes. I trust you. You have already proven yourself twice – three times, with your honesty today. And for some reason, I like you. So yes, I am making this offer. Besides," he added off-handedly, trying to lighten the mood, "I really do need a cook. And Isaac was very upset to have to leave without you. I accept his estimation of your talents." A pause for a grin, then he went on, shaking his head with self-deprecation. "I don't mean to be praising myself, but you would not be the first person I helped to start a new life. If you could look through my company, my ships... you would find many who were previously... on the wrong side of the law. They impressed me with their sincerity, as you have done, and I was honored to help them. I have never regretted it, and I do not think I will this time, either." Another pause, for emphasis. "So... do you accept the job?"

Javier blew out his breath in a half-snort, then rubbed his face with both hands. "I'd have to be a complete idiot to say no. Yes. I accept. I'd be proud to do it. Thank you."

Paulo positively beamed at that, standing up so he could turn and shake Javier's hand. "Good. I'll wait for you to get well enough to be released from the hospital, and we'll both fly back in my jet. In the meantime, you concentrate on getting better."

Seemingly wanting to exit before Javier could change his mind, Paulo quickly picked up his laptop, shut it with a snap, and walked out the door with a jaunty wave.

Javier, stunned, leaned back with his hands behind his head. Slowly a happy, gleeful smile stole across his face. One of his two chief goals had unexpectedly fallen into his lap. Now I just have to stay on it, and make absolutely certain it works out – and stays working. Even in his mind, his inner voice turned fierce and determined. And then... I will find Letty.