Rosarito Beach (28 page)

I
t was eleven-thirty p.m., and Raphael Mora's instincts were telling him that something was wrong.

After the girl tried to escape, he had Perez move her from the house in central Tijuana to another house on the west side of town, closer to the border. The house belonged to another man who worked for Caesar. The girl was upstairs in a locked bedroom and apparently behaving herself.

For the last two hours, Mora had been sitting alone in the living room, chain-smoking. He had turned all the lights off so he could think, and also so he wouldn't have to look at the absurd religious pictures on the walls. He wondered why poor Mexicans always seemed to have a picture of Jesus or Mary in their living rooms. Was it a matter of taste or something they felt compelled to do, as if God would be offended if there wasn't at least one picture of the Virgin prominently displayed? But what he was really wondering was why he hadn't heard from Kay Hamilton.

She was supposed to have called him at eleven to give him the address where she would meet the transport vehicle in San Diego, but she hadn't called and he couldn't reach her to find out what she was doing. He'd called the number of the phone she used the last time she'd called him—a phone registered to a man named Rodney Sheppard in Del Mar—but she didn't answer and Sheppard, whoever he was, was not in his apartment building. Mora knew this because he'd sent men to the apartment to question him—then kill him.

Mora stubbed out a cigarette and immediately lit another. All he could do was wait, but he knew that she'd call him eventually. She had no choice, not if she wanted to get her daughter back. But why was she delaying? What was she up to?

There was something else, something he couldn't put his finger on, and it was something he heard or saw at Caesar's house. He'd gone to see Caesar about seven-thirty to give him an update on where things stood with Tito. Caesar was waiting for another one of his whores to arrive, and he'd been getting dressed and talking to his cook the whole time Mora was trying to brief him. Mora left the house just as the whore was arriving, a beautiful redhead wearing glasses.

But what had he seen or heard? Everything about the Rosarito Beach house looked normal, Caesar's security people all seemed to be doing their jobs, and his household staff was behaving as they usually did preparing for one of Caesar's “guests”—but something felt wrong. He just couldn't figure out what it was.

Mora knew he had to stop trying to pry the information from his brain. If he thought about other things, whatever he'd seen or heard would hit him eventually. He left the living room, walked into the kitchen, turned on the lights, and poured a cup of strong black coffee. It was going to be a long night.

A
n hour and forty-five minutes after Kay sprayed him with the gas, Caesar stirred. He'd been lying facedown, but he rolled over onto his side. Finally, he sat up, still disoriented, then he saw Kay, standing and pointing the .32 at his face. He shook his head—as if he was trying to get his mind to start working—and started to rise to his feet.

“Just sit there,” Kay said. His eyes were a bit red from the spray; that wasn't ideal, but there wasn't anything that could be done about it. Kay was now dressed as she'd been when she entered the house—the gorgeous high heels on her feet, the long silk shawl thrown over her shoulders.

“Are you insane?” he said. “Do you understand who I am and what I could do to you?”

“Yeah, I know exactly who you are,” she said. “My name's Kay Hamilton.”

“Ah,” he said, as if that explained everything.

“That's right. You have my daughter, and I'm going to exchange her for you.”

“What?” he said.

“Tito is dead. It wasn't my fault; he died in the car accident outside Pendleton. So the only thing I can exchange for my daughter is you. Now, you and I are going to leave this house together and—”

“Tito's dead?” It was as if it had taken a moment for the idea of his brother's death to sink in, and then she saw the rage bloom in his eyes and he started to rise, seemingly oblivious to the gun she was holding.

“Don't!” she said. “I swear to Christ, I'll put a bullet in your head.”

He stopped halfway to his feet, poised to spring at her, then took a breath, and she could see his muscles relax.

“I don't want to kill you,” she said. “Like I said, I'm going to exchange you for my daughter. But if you resist, if you fight me, I'll have no choice.”

“If you shoot that gun, you'll never get out of this house alive. I have fifteen men here.”

“I know that,” Kay said. “So the best thing for you to do is to leave this house with me, then I'll contact Mora and we'll make the exchange, and everybody will live. But if you try to alert your guards, I'll kill you. I know I can't fight off all your men and I know they'll kill me eventually, but I'll have the satisfaction of knowing you're dead.”

Caesar simply nodded. Roman had said that Caesar wasn't the type to get emotional on her, and it looked as if he'd gotten over the shock of his brother's death and was suppressing whatever grief and anger he might be feeling.

“My men won't let me leave the house alone,” he said. “I always travel with security.”

“You're the boss. You better convince them that you want to leave alone. If you don't—”

Caesar shook his head, but she kept talking.

“Well, there's no point in me repeating myself. Now I want you to call whoever you need to call and tell them to bring a car to the front of the house. An open-topped car. A convertible. Not a sedan or an SUV. I need to be able to shoot you while we're getting into the car.

“What we're going to do is go downstairs, and I'm going to be hanging on to your arm. This little .32 is going to be pressed against your left side, so the first shot will hit your heart. You're going to tell your security people that you're taking me to the marina to see your yacht. I know the yacht's there. I saw it today. You'll insist on driving yourself, and you don't want anyone coming with us. You'll get in the car first. You'll drive. And while you're getting in the car, I'm going to be ready to kill you if you try to run or if you say something to your guards. And I'm a good shot, Caesar. Take my word on that.

“If you do this my way, we'll meet Raphael Mora in a couple of hours and I'll exchange you for my daughter. If you don't do it my way, we'll both be dead, but you'll die first.”

She knew what he was now thinking: If he played along with her, he'd kill her and her daughter later. With his wealth and the resources he commanded, he had no doubt that he'd be able to find her.

“Very well,” he said. He was so calm that Kay found it disconcerting.

—

L
eaving the house with Caesar went well.

He made a phone call, telling someone to bring his Jeep to the door. Five minutes later, they walked out of the house and down the front stairs, with Kay clutching Caesar's left arm and the small .32 pressed against his side. The shawl was draped in such manner that it covered her hand so the gun couldn't be seen. That's why the shawl had been the most important part of her ensemble—it hid the gun.

Walking next to Caesar, Kay smiled and giggled like a girl who was just a bit drunk and had just gotten laid. When Caesar told his men he was driving down to the marina alone, he got a brief argument from the woman who had frisked Kay, saying some of his men should accompany them, but Caesar gruffly overruled her.

They walked down the steps and, just before they separated to get into the Jeep, Kay checked to make sure the shawl was still concealing the gun and whispered into Caesar's ear, “I'm not bluffing. I'll put a bullet into your brain if you try anything.” Then she laughed for the benefit of his guards. Caesar got into the Jeep and started it; if he was nervous or afraid, he didn't show it.

It occurred to Kay that he really wasn't nervous. It could have simply been his ego; a man like Caesar Olivera would never believe that a woman, even a trained agent like herself, could kill him. Most likely, however, Caesar understood that he was no good to her dead, and the sooner she had her daughter, the sooner he would be able to send his men to kill them both. She also knew her death would be very painful, not only because Tito was dead but also because she had humiliated Caesar.

The gates at the bottom of the driveway were open and Caesar drove through them, not even looking at the gate guards.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“Drive toward the marina,” Kay said.

—

A
mile from Caesar's house, Kay said, “Pull over and stop behind that blue Ford.” The Ford was just where Roman had said it would be.

Caesar stopped the Jeep behind the Ford, and Kay pointed the .32 at him and said, “Get out.”

Keeping the weapon aimed at Caesar, she reached down and found the keys for the Ford on top of the right rear tire. She used the remote to open the trunk and took out an olive green duffel bag and placed it on the ground. “Turn around,” Kay said.

Caesar just stood there staring at her.

“Caesar, I need you alive, but if you're injured, that's okay. Now, turn around or I'll put a bullet into one of your knees. You don't want to fuck with me, not in the mood I'm in.”

Caesar turned, and Kay took handcuffs from the duffel bag and cuffed Caesar's hands behind his back while holding the .32 against his spine. Next, she pulled Caesar's cell phone off his belt.

“Get in the trunk.”

“No,” Caesar said. “With my hands cuffed, there's no reason why I can't just sit in the car with you.”

Kay placed the pistol against his left buttock and said, “Do you think I'm bluffing about shooting you? You kidnapped my daughter, you arrogant prick. Now, if you don't do what I say, I'm going to put a slug in your ass. I don't think you'll die from a .32 caliber bullet, but you never know. You just might bleed to death.”

Caesar, with some difficulty because his hands were cuffed behind his back, lowered himself into the trunk and Kay slammed the lid shut. The last thing she saw was the hate in his black eyes as he glared at her—and she imagined she was looking into the eyes of an animal peering out of a cave.

Kay got into the Ford and drove a couple of miles. She wanted to put some more distance between herself and Caesar's estate. She saw a FedEx place that was closed for the day, pulled off the road, and drove behind the building where the trucks were parked. She stepped out of the car and took off her lovely aquamarine Christian Dior dress and her beautiful shoes and, wearing nothing but her sheer thong underwear, she tossed the dress and the shoes onto the backseat of the Ford.

From the duffel bag that she'd removed from the trunk, she pulled out the tennis shoes, jeans, and T-shirt she'd worn to Camp Pendleton, her Glock, her badge, and her real passport. Lastly, she removed two orange vests from the duffel bag, which she tossed onto the backseat of the Ford. She got dressed, then put her badge and passport in the back pocket of her jeans, and tucked the Glock into the waistband. She looked at the little .32 she'd taken from Caesar's place, wondering if she should keep it on her person as a backup piece. If things went well, she wouldn't need a gun, so she certainly didn't need two guns, and if things didn't go well, it wouldn't matter how many guns she had. She tossed the .32 into the duffel bag.

She checked her watch. It was midnight. She was right on schedule. She called Roman using Caesar's cell phone.

“I've got him,” Kay said.

“Mother of God,” Roman said. “I really didn't think I'd ever hear from you again.”

“Well, you know what they say: It's better to be lucky than good. Are you ready to go?”

“Yes,” Roman said.

“Okay, then I'll be there in a few hours, just like we discussed. And thank you, Roman. I know I owe you more than I can ever repay you.”

She called Mora next, and when he answered he said, “Yes, sir.”

Mora had recognized Caesar Olivera's number on his caller ID and he thought it was Caesar calling.

“It's Kay Hamilton,” Kay said.

“What?”

“Yeah, I'm using Caesar's cell phone. I've got Caesar.”

“What?”

“You gotta quit saying
What?
Raphael. It makes you sound like a dumb shit. I said I've got Caesar. He's in the trunk of my car.”

“You're lying.”

“I thought you'd say that. Hang on.”

Kay popped the trunk lid open and said to Caesar, “Talk to Mora. Tell him he'd better do what I say.”

Kay placed the cell phone near Caesar's mouth, and he said, “It's me, Raphael. She took me from my house. I'm in the trunk of a car, and my hands are cuffed. Do what she says.”

Kay slammed the trunk lid shut and said, “Okay, Mora, are we on the same page now? I'll give you Caesar if you give me my daughter. You hurt my daughter, I hurt Caesar. You kill my daughter, I kill Caesar.”

“Why are you doing this? Why aren't you exchanging Tito for your daughter?”

“Because Tito's dead.”

“What?”

“There you go again. Stop saying
What?
Tito's dead. He was killed when my car overturned near Pendleton, and that's why I had to kidnap your boss. Now, I'm going to call you again just before dawn and tell you where to meet me to exchange Caesar for my daughter. I'm picking a place where I'll be able to see if you have people with you or if you bring a shooter. You be ready to move when I call.”

“Wait a minute,” Mora said, but Kay hung up. Then she took the battery out of Caesar's cell phone so one of Mora's wizards wouldn't be able to track her using the GPS chip in the phone.

M
ora had known something was wrong when Hamilton didn't call when she should have, but this was the last thing he'd expected. He also now knew what he'd seen at Caesar's, the thing he had been trying to drag from the recesses of his brain for the last four and a half hours. He'd seen Kay Hamilton and hadn't recognized her.

Although he was certain that Hamilton had told him the truth about having kidnapped Caesar, he had to make sure. He'd feel like an even bigger fool if Hamilton was lying and her phone call was part of some elaborate ruse. He called the house at Rosarito Beach and asked to speak to Carmen Vega, the woman who had been responsible for frisking Caesar's whore.

“Where's Caesar?” he asked when Carmen came to the phone.

“He's on his yacht with the woman who came here tonight,” Carmen said. Carmen disapproved of the prostitutes as much as Mora did.

“How do you know he's on the yacht?” Mora asked.

“Because that's where he said he was going.”

“You didn't send men with him?” Mora said. It wasn't really a question; he already knew the answer.

“No. He insisted on going alone.”

“Well, he's been kidnapped, Carmen. The whore wasn't a whore. She was a DEA agent.”

“Madre de Dios,”
Carmen said in a whisper. Carmen Vega was an intelligent woman. She knew what happened when you made a serious mistake working for Caesar Olivera—and she couldn't have made a more serious mistake.

But Mora surprised her. “Don't worry,” he said. “This isn't your fault.”

Mora meant what he said—it really wasn't Carmen's fault. He had always known that Caesar's sexual escapades posed a security problem; he just hadn't anticipated this particular problem.

Since Mora knew he couldn't stop Caesar from seeing the women, he took precautions to make sure the whores weren't armed and to make sure they didn't try to slip listening devices into Caesar's house. His biggest fear had always been that one of the whores might be someone who wanted revenge against Caesar, some woman whose family had been harmed by him, some woman so overcome by the need for vengeance that she'd be willing to sacrifice herself to kill Caesar. Since the women weren't armed when they met with Caesar, the best they might be able to do was grab a steak knife and try to stab him or use some heavy object and try to crush his skull, but he couldn't imagine a woman being able to overcome a man as physically powerful as Caesar Olivera. The one thing he had warned Caesar about repeatedly was to never fall asleep after he finished having sex with the women.

The other thing was, Claudio hired the whores and recruited them from a wide variety of places. He rarely used the same escort service more than once, and any woman who approached Claudio and volunteered to be Caesar's guest for the night, Claudio instantly rejected. That was the only way to make sure that some woman didn't try to use Claudio to get near Caesar.

But somehow Hamilton had found a way to replace the whore Claudio had planned to send to Caesar tonight. Mora remembered looking at the woman as he was walking down the steps at Caesar's house, thinking something about her looked familiar, but he'd been talking to Perez at the time and the phone call distracted him. And it was somewhat understandable that he didn't recognize her. He'd only seen Hamilton in the flesh one time, when he'd met her in her home in San Diego, and her hair had been blond and not very stylish, and although she was an attractive woman, he wouldn't have described her as
gorgeous
. But with makeup on, the sea-green dress clinging to her figure, the red hair . . . she just didn't look like the same woman.

So he could understand how she had managed to get into Caesar's house, but what he couldn't understand was how Hamilton had managed to convince Caesar to leave the house with her. She must have found some way to get a weapon into the house, although that seemed unlikely. Or maybe she'd compromised one of Caesar's servants, and the servant left a weapon in the house someplace where she could get to it easily after she passed through the security checkpoint. No, that didn't make sense. Hamilton would not have had time to recruit one of Caesar's people after her daughter was kidnapped, nor would she have known that Caesar would be staying at Rosarito Beach. Well, however it happened, she had been able to find a gun and force Caesar to leave the house with her.

“What was Caesar driving when he left the house?” Mora asked Carmen.

“A Jeep. A red one.”

“Send men to the marina to see if by some chance Caesar is there, and get them looking for the Jeep.”

Mora was fairly certain, however, that Kay Hamilton didn't have Caesar in the Jeep. Caesar said something about being in the trunk of a car.

“Find Claudio, too, and question him. Question him hard.” Mora almost felt sorry for the pimp. “Call Alberto as well. Tell him to try to locate Caesar's cell phone using the GPS system. I imagine Hamilton has disabled the phone, but I want him constantly monitoring to see if he can locate it.”

“Yes, sir,” Carmen said. Mora could tell she was weeping.

—

M
ora hung up and closed his eyes.

What would Hamilton do? What was her next move in this little game of chess they were now playing?

She would probably make the exchange in Mexico. It would be very hard for her to cross into the United States with Caesar as her prisoner. The American border guards would find a man hiding in the trunk of a car. Hamilton must also be worried about her own people arresting her when she tried to cross the border.

Yes, that was logical. She'd make the exchange in Mexico but someplace close to the border, and then she'd scurry across the border as soon as she had her daughter. She would also want to make the exchange in some area where she could see if he had brought men with him, someplace where she could see in all directions for a fairly long distance.

The most logical place, he concluded, would be east of Tijuana, in a barren desert area near the border fence line. But he knew he was missing something. Something huge.

He tried to visualize the exchange: Hamilton arrives at the exchange point first with Caesar. She looks around for places where a team of men or a sniper might hide. She calls him, giving him her location but little time to reconnoiter the area. He drives to the exchange point with Hamilton's daughter. He stops his car fifty yards from Hamilton, maybe less, maybe more. Hamilton has a weapon, most likely a pistol. She tells him to send the girl to her, and at the same time she tells Caesar to start walking. She keeps her weapon aimed at Caesar; she'll kill him if Mora tries anything. She probably hides behind her vehicle to make her less of a target for a sniper. So Caesar and the girl walk toward each other, they pass each other on the road, the girl reaches Hamilton and . . .

And what? Did Hamilton think she'd just jump into her car with her daughter and run for the nearest border crossing? No. She couldn't be that stupid. She would know that the moment he had Caesar, he'd send men after her to catch her and stop her from crossing the border. So what would she do to get away?

A helicopter. Yes, that made sense. Hamilton would have someone waiting on the U.S. side with a helicopter, and as soon as she had her daughter, the helicopter would swoop in, pick up Hamilton and the girl, and fly back into the U.S.

Hmmm. Maybe, but he still felt like he was missing something.

Mora woke up Perez. Like Mora, Perez was ex-military, a former officer, and Mora's second-in-command. He told Perez to pick four good men, men with brains, not thugs. One of the men would be the sniper Mora had taken with him to San Diego the day they killed the marshals. Although he expected the exchange would be made during daylight hours, he told Perez to make sure the sniper had a night vision scope. He also told him to bring rocket-propelled grenades and the .50 caliber rifle he used in San Diego. He didn't have time to acquire a shoulder-launched surface-to-air missile.

Mora knew Caesar Olivera would want Hamilton to suffer before she died, and he would want to make her watch her daughter suffer—but rather than let Hamilton escape by helicopter, he would blow her out of the sky.