Free The Tangled Web: an international web of intrigue, murder and romance by J.P. Lane

it out,” he grinned good-naturedly. “Anyway, I think we’ve bored you enough.” He turned to Virginia. “I’d like to show Lauren around the property if you don’t mind. I’m sure she’d like to see it.”
    “They make a lovely couple, don’t they?” Virginia sighed wistfully as she watched Logan and Lauren walk away.
    “What on earth are you talking about?” Gordon asked. Then the penny dropped. “Is that why you invited them both to spend the night? You’re out of your mind, Virginia.”
    “But there’s a nice little spark there don’t you think? I haven’t seen Logan look at a woman that way in a long time.”
    “Virginia, if I were you, I’d keep my nose out of it. You should know your brother well enough by now to not meddle. In any case, I don’t trust that woman. No telling what she’s after.”
    “Which woman with a grain of sense wouldn’t be after Logan?”
    “I’m not entirely sure it’s Logan she’s after.”
    “Well, it certainly isn’t you, Gordon.”
    Gordon chose not to pursue it. Virginia was better off in her insular little world.
     

ELEVEN
     
     
     
    The Prime Minister, the Honorable Erick Freeman, sat in a comfortable rocker looking out at a misty-blue sea stretching to the horizon. The day was unusually clear and from where Freeman sat on his upstairs verandah, he could see Cuba floating on the horizon like a mirage. Squinting at the far away cloud he knew was in fact the neighboring island, Freeman’s mind settled on an obscure bit of information, one he found of particular interest. Back in the nineteen eighties, Colombia’s Medellín cartel had paid officials in Cuba’s Ministry of Interior six million U.S. dollars to transship six tons of cocaine through Cuba to the United States. Freeman calculated that payment amounted to a million a ton, considerably less than his organization was charging to move eighty tons or more through the island en route to Europe. Freeman was aware his cut may have been considered steep, but with law enforcement in Central America becoming increasingly vigilant, he knew he had room for negotiation. He offered what few other countries in the region could: unobstructed passage for the container ships. What had prompted him to demand fifty percent of gross profits was another interesting bit of information he had stumbled upon. The Mexican, Juan Carlos Abrego, charged a forty to fifty percent commission. Freeman had pounced on that idea. However, Abrego’s commission was in kind, which suited Abrego. The Mexican had his hands in the U.S. market at that time. What Freeman wanted was cash – hard, cold cash. U.S. dollars.
    The Prime Minister swished his rum and coke listening to the ice crackle as he watched the cars making their way along a road in the near distance. He conceded he was what you might call comfortable. He had this pleasant home when he wasn’t confined to the official residence of the Prime Minister, a nice enough apartment in Sutton Place, and the chateau in Provence where he entertained select friends from time to time. Freeman thought about it. If he were to be completely honest with himself, what he wanted was power. Absolute power. He was beginning to discover that that was not an easy thing to achieve. He wondered if his neighbor Fidel Castro hadn’t been right.
    Freeman smiled grimly. They may have foolishly believed he would never get wind of it, but he was fully aware there had been rumblings among certain members of his cabinet of late. Three cabinet members in particular were of deep concern. From what he had been told, they were becoming alarmingly vocal about the government’s complete ineptitude in getting crime under control. Margaret Thomas came as no surprise. Neither did Boyd, the Minister of Tourism. It was Allan Harvey who had turned out to be the unexpected thorn in his side. He and Allan went back a long way. Together they had driven the party to success. There was room in his plan for a man like