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

Allan. The problem was Allan seemed to have other ideas.
    The ceiling fan hummed almost noiselessly above as Erick Freeman continued rocking deep in thought. At one time, he had seriously considered forcing the resignations of the three ministers. However, that idea had turned out to be flawed. They were popular with their constituents. They were above reproach as far as anyone knew, though he didn’t think it would be that difficult to pin something on them. One thing was certain, some form of action had to be taken before it was too late. Freeman stopped in mid thought. For a minute he wasn’t sure and then he realized his wife was calling him. “Erick, there’s an urgent call for you,” she said coming out and handing him the phone.
    Erick Freeman’s face darkened as he listened. “Damn!” he barked. “How did that happen? This can’t go on! How the hell did they make a stupid blunder like that?”
    Immune to the Prime Minister’s tirades, the person on the other end of the line stated calmly, “I can’t answer that at this point. I’ll look into it. Just thought you would want to know.”
    “Make sure you handle it or heads will roll. That’s a promise. While I have you on the phone, heard anything back from our lady?”
    “Still waiting for final confirmation. But from what I gather from her partner, it’s a done deal. They’re set to go.”
    “Well, that at least is good news. Keep me apprised, will you? I’m anxious to hear what she says.”
     
    Frank Sterling, the Minister of National Security and Defense, soberly considered the Prime Minister’s outburst. Erick’s frequent tantrums were becoming worrying. Erick had become nothing short of a megalomaniac. If he showed further signs of instability, he could very easily rock the boat. Sterling found Freeman’s threat about heads rolling particularly unsettling in light of the recent threat that had been issued to Robert Palmer. Sterling hadn’t agreed with that reckless course of action. Palmer may have been powerless when all was said and done, but nobody was above indictment. The minister was not a happy man as he picked up the phone and quickly dialed another number.
    “Frank here,” he announced briskly. “The PM’s fit to be tied over that C.I.D. detective. We need to talk. Your guys are messing up on a grand scale. What happened, man?”
    “There’s been an unfortunate lack of communication going on, Frank. But let’s talk. When and where?”
    Frank Sterling considered the options quickly. Privacy was imperative. The less anyone saw them together, the better. “Meet me at the marina at four. We’ll go for a sail and see if we can sort this out.”
    Sterling hung up and dialed again. This time, the call was to Cali, Colombia.
     
     
    Late that evening in Cali, Jorgé Caicedo Rojas tightened the sash of his burgundy smoking jacket and walked over to the well-stocked bar to make himself a nightcap. He deliberated for a moment between a Grand Marnier or a Rémy Martin. He decided in favor of the Rémy and poured a large snifter, filling it considerably more than is customary.
    Across the room, Maria Echevarría lounged languorously on a butter-soft calfskin sofa, her white satin gown clinging to the curves of a perfect body. “You are such an uncouth pig, mi amor .” Her comment, breathed in a low, throaty voice, was iced, and she contemplated the man at the bar with disdain. “You live in the lap of luxury and yet look how you pour a glass of cognac, like a peasant. And here am I dying of thirst and you haven’t even thought to offer me something.”
    Jorgé’s blood boiled at the insult, but he chose not to react. He had learned not to rise to the bait where Maria was concerned. “I apologize, that was thoughtless of me. What can I get you?”
    “Drambuie, por favor . My tastes are less extravagant than yours.”
    Jorgé poured the Drambuie carefully and took it over to her, waiting for her to begin the