Ghosts of the Past by Mark H. Downer

an ice bucket, while all three had arms and legs entwined, and were sipping from one another’s glasses. Rocca peeled away from the emerging orgy and slipped into the seat next to Allen, holding his hand up in a gesture of patience to the two young girls.
    “Jason, good to see you again.”
    “Thank you Mr. Rocca, it’s always a pleasure to see you. You look as if you’re in good hands.”
    “Yes, these are my friends Ginger and Sabrina. They come highly recommended.” Rocca looked at the two and winked, and quickly returned his attention to Allen. “You have some good news for me?’
    “Well, good news and bad news I’m afraid.” said Allen somewhat nervously.
    Rocca’s seemingly happy demeanor disappeared and he focused intently on Allen, his coal black eyes cutting into Allen’s soul. He sat back slowly in his seat and again held up his hand at the two giggling ladies, this time asking for quiet.
    Guillermo Rocca, was a physically intimidating man. Tall, muscular, dark-skinned with jet-black hair and mustache, and at 57 years old, he was probably the wealthiest man in all of Ecuador. He had grown up dirt poor in an orphanage outside of Dastilla. However, as a young teen, through an incredibly fortunate set of circumstances, he obtained information that implicated some very influential people in the local government. He successfully blackmailed his way into ownership of some presumably worthless land that ironically turned out to provide one of the wealthiest gold strikes in Ecuador’s history.
    His amassed fortune now included numerous commercial properties and developments around the world, three mining operations, and agricultural plantations throughout South America. However, well hidden and intensely protected in a Caribbean island mansion just south of Barbados, was one of the greatest accumulations of artwork the world never knew existed. It was Rocca’s greatest passion in life, and he had stopped at nothing to build and add to his impressive collection over the years.
    Allen was aware of his reputation as a collector, and he was also aware of the unsubstantiated rumors that people’s lives had been ruined and lost when they got in the way of his obsession. He also had heard of the astonishingly generous compensation Rocca lavished on those that had helped him acquire the art he pursued.
    “The works I mentioned to you may or may not still be in existence.” Allen continued.
    “I don’t follow you Mr. Allen.”
    “Let me try and explain.” Allen gave him as much of the story as he knew, which was lacking details and specifics, but in general was quite accurate.
    “So this collection of Goering’s might have been destroyed in the initial crash. Or, if it survived, could have been ruined if it was never found. Or if it was found, may be in the possession of another owner. Or, might still be intact, even in relatively good or restorable condition, if it had been packaged properly before it was to be transported,” said Rocca, as he tried to digest the facts presented to him.
    “Correct!” Allen was beginning to relax since Rocca’s well-known short temper had not exploded.
    Rocca reached over the two pair of long, gorgeous legs stretched out in front of the television cabinet and picked up the cell phone lying in an open tray. He punched through several menu options, and finally selected a stored entry.
    “Juan? Yes, it’s me. I need you to be on the plane in thirty minutes. I need you in Louisville, Kentucky. I want you to keep an eye on a young lady there by the name of Courtney Lewis.” Rocca looked at Allen, as if to confirm the accuracy of the name. “Yes. Hang on.” Rocca lowered the phone and spoke to Allen. “I need a physical description, work and home addresses, make of automobile, and anything else that will help.” He raised the phone back to his ear. “I’ll contact you again in flight with everything you need. Please be very discreet! No contact unless I say so. We just