The Mordida Man by Ross Thomas Read Free Book Online Page B

choosing his next words with precision. “The Agency had nothing whatsoever to do with the abduction or disappearance of the Venezuelan national Gustavo Berrio-Brito—sometimes known as Felix. Nothing whatsoever.”
    â€œThe Libyans think you kidnapped him.”
    â€œI deeply regret that our still rather flamboyant reputation may have endangered your brother and—”
    The President cut him off. “Who?”
    â€œWho kidnapped Felix, you mean?”
    That drew a sharp impatient nod from the President.
    â€œI have no idea. None.”
    â€œBut it wasn’t you?” McKay said, still almost hoping that Coombs was lying.
    â€œNo, sir. You see, Felix— We may as well call him that, don’t you think?”
    â€œYeah. Sure.”
    â€œWell, Felix is, or perhaps now I should say was, the leader of a five-man or five-person terrorist group which insists on calling itself Red Anvil Five.”
    â€œAlways some cute fucking name.”
    â€œYes, I tend to agree. The group consisted of Felix, of course; a Japanese man; a German; a Frenchwoman, and another Venezuelan who was also a woman and also Felix’s sometime mistress. Her name was Maria Luisa de la Cova.”
    â€œWas?”
    Coombs nodded. “She was found dead early this morning in London. In Hammersmith, to be precise. By some children. She had been tied to a chair and garroted. Also tortured. Burned.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œWe don’t know.”
    â€œCan’t you guess?”
    Coombs hesitated, because he never liked to guess about anything. “It’s possible that she may have been the one who betrayed Felix to his abductors, whoever they might be.”
    â€œThis Anvil Five bunch killed a lot of people, as I recall.”
    â€œSeventy-two to be precise,” said Coombs, who always strove to be just that. He started ticking the dead bodies off on his left hand. “Fourteen in Manila. Thirty-two in that EL AL plane at Brussels. Sixteen in the Gatwick shootout. Six more in Rome—not counting nine kneecappings there. And those four in Beirut, who were probably Israeli agents, although that was never confirmed.”
    â€œAnd there’re just five of them?”
    â€œOnly five. And now without Felix and the de la Cova woman there are only three.”
    â€œWho finances them?”
    â€œAt first they were self-financing. Bank robberies and kidnappings. French banks exclusively, for some reason, and Italian kidnappings. Usually either Rome or Milan. After the Beirut killings, Qaddafi offered them sanctuary in Tripoli. Felix and Qaddafi hit it off immediately, kindred souls, I should imagine, and became extremely close. After that, Anvil Five didn’t have to worry about money. When Mourabet came to power after Qad-dafi’s death, he and Felix developed an equally close relationship. Perhaps even closer. In fact, someone floated a rumor that it was Felix who actually did for Qaddafi but we’re confident it was only that, a rumor.”
    The President studied Coombs coldly for several moments and then seemed to reach a decision. He opened a desk drawer, took out the small Gucci box, and placed it in what seemed to be the exact center of his desk. “I want you to see something,” he said and removed the lid.
    Coombs looked. “Mercy!” he said, which was as close as he ever permitted himself to an exclamation. “An ear, it would seem.”
    â€œMy brother’s.”
    â€œYour brother’s,” Coombs said in a flat tone which he believed to be full of commiseration.
    â€œThey sliced off my brother’s ear and sent it by the Nigerian Ambassador to impress me with the seriousness of their intentions. I believe them. I believe that unless Felix is released by whoever’s got him, the Libyans will kill both my brother and Miss Rhodes. You say you don’t know who has Felix. My question is: Can you find out?”
    â€œWe can try,