Piranha (Oregon Files 10)

“Call it a goodwill gesture on my part,” Bazin said. He smiled. “No charge, of course.”

“You said you had a business proposition that would continue to provide me the same kind of intelligence.”

“I do. It can be very lucrative for both of us.”

“You’ve worked in this line of business for a while?”

“Although I was born and raised in Haiti, I moved to France with my parents. I went to school there and joined the French Special Forces. I was asked to leave under unfortunate circumstances, so I’ve spent the last three years paving a new road for myself. This opportunity I’m presenting to you is my latest venture.”

“You are not even a citizen of Colombia, let alone inside the government. How are you coming by your information?”

Bazin paused for effect. “Mr. Tallon, do you believe in magic?”

Tallon’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

“Magic.”

“Of course not. It’s nonsense.”

“Too bad you feel that way. Because magic is what I’m selling.”

Tallon did not look amused. “Is this a joke? Is this what you came all the way from Haiti to propose to me? Magic?”

“It is. Magic is what will keep your product flowing from Colombia and into Mexico, where the cartels there handle the difficult task of smuggling it into the U.S. Magic will alert you to drug interdiction operations before they occur. It will tell you when the Army is planning to torch your crops. It will inform you when your enemies are planning to take over your business. The intel about the DNE raid was just a taste.”

Tallon chewed on his lip. “Suppose I believe you can get me this information, magic or not. What would it cost me?”

Bazin rose and walked over to the bar. He nonchalantly picked up a bottle of 1939 Macallan scotch and sensed Portilla tense behind him. He had to be concerned that Bazin was so casually handling a bottle worth over ten thousand dollars.

“I’ve never tasted this vintage,” Bazin said. “I’ve heard it’s very good.”

“Pour yourself a snifter,” Tallon said. “Consider it my thanks to you.”

Bazin did so and swirled the peat-rich liquor in the glass before taking a sip. It coated his tongue like honey and went down smoothly.

“Its reputation is justified,” he pronounced.

“I’m sure you want to charge me more than that bottle of scotch would cover.”

“I do,” Bazin said, draining the rest of the glass. “Ten percent of your gross earnings.”

Tallon’s eyes went wide and flicked to Portilla. Then they both started to laugh.

“To call that absurd would be an understatement,” Tallon said. “I will decline your generous offer.”

Bazin frowned. “That’s too bad. Unfortunately, not contracting with me could leave you open to all kinds of business risk. Suddenly, raids could happen without your knowledge. Shipments could be disrupted. Bank assets frozen. Your whole operation could come to a standstill. Is ten percent such a high price to pay to ensure that these kinds of events don’t befall you?”

For the first time, Tallon stood, bristling at Bazin’s words. “Are you stupid enough to come into my office and threaten me?”

“‘Threaten’? No, of course not. I’m offering a valuable service to you. Surely I can expect to be paid a reasonable wage for this service. You see, I make more money when you make more money. It’s a very equitable arrangement, and we both have a vested interest in making as much money as we can.”

“I make plenty of money as it is.”

Bazin made a show of looking around the room. “I see that. But I can provide you with information that will make your

life easier. And make no mistake, my intelligence-gathering capabilities know no limit.” He nodded at the Picasso. “For instance, there is a safe behind that painting. You access it by sliding a lever under the bottom right corner and swinging the painting out to the left. The combination is thirty-six, eight, seventy-two. Inside are one hundred thousand American dollars, two kilos of cocaine, a bag of twenty diamonds, and a matching pair of ivory-handled Colt revolvers. I can tell you their serial numbers, if you’d like.”

Bazin had been looking directly at Tallon as he recited the safe’s contents and the drug lord’s mouth gaped wider with the listing of each item. “I’m the only one with the combination to that safe. How do you know what’s in there?”