Smoke and Mirrors (14 page)

She had the courage to wink at me and then closed her eyes and began to shiver violently. I jumped up, knocking over my bag. The soldier, who had aided me, let out a sigh of irritation. “What is it now?”

I held the reading in front of him. “You need to get me a doctor or she’ll be dead and nothing will stop her father from obliterating this fucking place.”

He shot a look at the door. No Juan as of yet. “You,” he ordered, pointing to another soldier, “go and see what’s keeping Juan.” He turned back to me. “Do what you can; I’ll see if I can get you some help.”

He issued orders to the remaining guards and left. I noted their apprehension and prayed Enrique would do something to further unnerve them. As if reading my mind, he jerked back and became violently sick. The expulsion of liquid took us all by surprise. He was a better actor than I could have hoped for, and I began shouting for the men around me to tilt him so that he wouldn’t choke. They moved in a group, some grabbing Enrique, some Francesca. She began screaming when they touched her, and I dove across the space between where I had been to where Juan had set my mobile.

I covered it with a discarded jacket. Holding it up, I started shouting for the men to wipe away the vomit, illustrating with the coat, as I hit the talk button and pressed *2. Praying it would dial quietly, I argued all the louder that they were doing it wrong. Which was when Juan came through the door, eyes wide at the chaos.

The soldiers backed away, afraid he would blame them. I stood up, mobile now hidden underneath Enrique’s loose shirt folds. “Get me a doctor,” I yelled.

He leaned in to inspect the pair for himself. “What’s wrong with them?”

“She’s going to need a doctor and proper facilities if we’re going to keep her from lapsing into a coma.” Leaning down, I wiped Enrique’s pallid face. “And he’s burning with a fever.”

Juan set his teeth before saying, “I’ll find a doctor to treat her, and if the bodyguard’s not dead or detached by then, I’ll allow him to be treated too. Meanwhile, do what you can, and I’ll get someone to cut those manacles.”

I uttered a sigh of resigned frustration. “You think they weren’t built to withstand soldering or sawing?”

Juan’s eyes took stock of me. “You’re not what I expected.”

“You’ve never met me.”

“No, but my information indicated that you don’t visit Colombia. So why are you here, Isabella?”

I made a tactical change. “I don’t trust her father and filed for full custody. And because Francesca was born here, I had to come to Colombia to do it.”

I wasn’t certain if my answer satisfied his growing misgivings, but he seemed satisfied for the moment and walked to the table where he picked up a radio. When he hung up, he said, “The doctor will be here by dawn.”

Inwardly, I prayed the doctor would be late, giving Brad the time he’d need to scramble help to our location.

If he hadn’t blocked my calls.

•   •   •

The hotel was pulsating with music when Brad entered the elevator, grateful for its silent embrace. Being the ungodly hour of four-thirty a.m., it was empty of other passengers, so he clicked open his personal mobile and retrieved his messages. Located on a coded server, he had to enter a set of numbers that changed daily. The first two were from his housekeeper, the third from his credit card company, and the last from Alexandra.

His stomach clenched.

Skipping the first four, he went directly to hers. It was muffled, almost indiscernible, and he pressed the earpiece closer to listen more carefully. Oddly enough, she didn’t seem to be speaking to him. Within a fraction of a second, he understood why.

Her angered voice could be heard speaking Spanish. ‘
Get me a fucking doctor!’

An unknown voice, harsh and commanding, blasted through.
‘What’s wrong with them?’

The elevator doors parted on the empty penthouse suite foyer. Sprinting out, Brad unlocked the door to his room with a swipe of his card. He listened to the rest of the message as he dialed Alasdair on a second mobile. His Handler picked up on the first ring.

“Yes?”

“What’s happened at Starbucks?”
Christ almighty, he’s hurt her, hasn’t he? You’re a bloody fool for ever letting her go.

“The tall latte is off the menu. How did you know?”

Brad used his free hand to pack his bag. “Retrace the last call on my personal mobile. Get the coordinates and call me back. I’m heading to Starbucks.” Brad shouldered his bag and removed any loose items from the room, stuffing them into the outer pocket.

He exited the lobby and hailed a taxi. They made the airport in fifteen minutes and Brad tipped the cab driver extra, waiting until the man drove off before he recrossed the parking lot, his destination a small, unlit outbuilding. Once inside, he changed into a dark green shirt and pair of fatigues kept in a hidden compartment at the base of his bag. Shaving in pitch-black silence, he paused only when Alasdair rang him.

“Yes?”

“I’ve got you a ride out to one of our carriers on a company chopper. From there you’ll be flown straight to an airport outside Bogotá. IT were able to pick up another outgoing call made over a short-range radio. Someone called ‘Juan’ sent a jeep to pick up the closest doctor, and as far as we can tell the doctor isn’t on their payroll. We made contact, and he’s agreed to insist you’re his personal bodyguard and he’ll only travel in your company. Once you infiltrate the site, your op is to retrieve both patients and any Intel.”

Brad let out a deep breath. “Thanks, Alasdair. I know you probably had a closer agent.”

“You’ve earned the right, eh?”

Brad didn’t bother arguing the point. “Thanks anyway.” Clicking off, he finished shaving, pulled on a black skullcap and exited the shed’s back door. He slipped into location and listened for the rotors of an incoming helicopter.

It landed three minutes later.

Tossing his bag into the chopper’s opened side, he leapt aboard and was met with a salute. Returning it, Brad settled back into his seat, adjusted his ear buds and cleaned his Sig Sauer to the deafening sounds of Pearl Jam.

They hit the carrier,
Ark Royal
, after forty minutes, and Brad transferred his belongings into a storage bin set to be shipped back to his villa. Changing into a flight suit, he revisited pre-flight safety 101 and was inside the rear cockpit of a Harrier fighter plane before he’d spent half an hour on the massive ship.

He’d been aboard all variety of Royal Navy and RAF jets before, but this was only his second time in an FA2. The pilot, younger than Brad by at least a decade, gave him the thumbs up and pushed the engine full throttle before blasting off the
Ark Royal’s
deck with bone-jarring velocity.

“You okay, sir?” The words filtered through Brad’s headset with crystalline crispness.

“Hell, yeah.”
You could fly upside down for all I care. Just get me the fuck there.

Laughter crackled and the plane spiraled without losing speed. “Thought I might have a weak stomach on board.”

“Not this trip.” And given the go ahead, the Major did just that, landing his jet on a British owned airstrip a hundred kilometers south of Bogotá two hours later. Brad shook the pilot’s hand before jogging to a darkened jeep parked twenty metres from the departing airplane.

He gave a soft whistle, and after a second, Brad’s ears were met with a prearranged response. Satisfied all was well, he climbed into the vehicle’s passenger seat and greeted the native driver in Spanish. He drove winding back roads until they arrived in a small village. Lights shone in the largest home of the one street municipality. Assuming it was the doctor’s house, Brad readied himself. He had already applied camouflage makeup to his face, added a fatigue jacket and hidden a variety of newly acquired weapons under his clothing. Eyes closed, he pounded his unmarked persona’s various quirks into his consciousness, demanding every fiber of his being become another.

The door opened after an arranged knock. “Hola, Señor. Me llamo, Josè Bandera.”

The SIS operative at the doctor’s rear door nodded and gave Brad entry. “Juan’s people should be here within ten minutes. You’ll have just enough time to get acquainted with the doctor.”

A thin, tall man, wearing spectacles and a Don Quixote beard, interrupted their conversation. He extended a hand and Brad was surprised by the firmness of the older man’s grip.

“It’s good of you to come, Señor Bandera. Juan found my name in a phone book of all places,” a choppy laugh erupted from the graying beard, “and he gave me the choice to either treat his guests or find my wife a burial plot. Needless to say, when your people contacted me, I was only too eager to comply. They promised to move Armonia to a safe house, and as we have no children, it was a relatively easy decision. My wife’s a bit tired of living so far from civilization.”

Brad studied the interior of the house as he listened. It was comfortable, well appointed and impeccably clean. He memorized a variety of trivia, including photos, posted phone numbers, and anything that might aid him in bringing off his alias without a hitch. Operating naked was something he avoided whenever possible. “I’ll do my best, but I’m not going to make you any promises.”

“I’m eighty-four years old, amigo. I fought in World War II, survived half my foot being amputated and two bouts of colon cancer. Life is dangerous. Do not worry about me, I’m glad to help.”

•   •   •

Eight minutes later, a screech of tires on the gravel drive announced the arrival of Juan’s men. The second SIS operative had vanished into the woods behind the doctor’s house, and as planned, Brad answered the belligerent knock. “Sí?”

“Open up.”

Unbarring and yanking wide the door, Brad jammed his gun into the driver’s temple before the man had dropped his hand. “If I even think you two are planning on making this my employer’s last case, I’ll put a bullet in your head and burn your bodies. Your boss isn’t the only one smart enough to hire personal protection.”

The mercenary hissed through gapped teeth. “I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but Juan told the doctor that if he didn’t comply with his request, he’d be sorry. Now, let me go or you’ll be the one with a bullet in your brain.”

Have it your way
. Brad covered the man’s mouth with his left hand and fired a single, dully muted shot into the man’s corded thigh. The only accompanying sound was a soft whoosh of air from the man’s nostrils.

An instant later, the driver’s accomplice reached for his own weapon.

Like I didn’t see that coming
. “My partner’s in the woods behind you with a rifle trained on the back of your head. If you don’t believe me, try him. He’s an ace shot.” He let his words sink in before adding, “If the doctor is allowed to treat your patients and return here in one piece, I’ll let him stitch up your friend. Got it?”

Both men nodded reluctantly.

“Good.”

Five minutes later, Brad, the doctor and Juan’s two men drove out of the village and up through the hills towards Juan’s hideout.

It was six minutes to four when the jeep started its decent into the open field adjacent to the oversized Quonset hut, and exactly thirty hours since Brad had last slept.

I
t had taken guns, guards and guts, but Alberto had broken Raul out of prison. He handed his cell to Raul. “Call your man and tell him to put my daughter on the line. I want to hear her voice before I give my pilot the go ahead.”

Raul wiped the blood from his forehead. “As you wish.”

•   •   •

Partially asleep, I was startled by the shrill ring. It was quarter to three.

Juan’s voice was husky with lack of sleep and drink. “Sí? It’s good to hear from you. Are you free? What? Just a moment…”

His footsteps moved in my direction.

“Is it the doctor?” My own voice was like a creaking door.

Juan thrust the mobile into my hand. “It’s El Jefe and he wants to talk to you.”

I pressed the instrument against my ear. “This is Isabella Lauretti.”

But the voice on the other end was not Raul’s. “Isabella, it’s Alberto. Is Francesca well?”

His voice was creased with concern. “These are your men? What the fuck are they doing holding Francesca and me hostage?” I clutched a hand to my forehead. “You’d better pray nothing happens to her, Sanchez, because if it does, I’ll fucking kill you myself.” My voice had risen to a hysterical note and Juan pulled the mobile from my shaking hand in order to finish speaking with Alberto.

Muttering furiously, I began forming multiple plans. If Brad
had
gotten my message around the time it was sent, he would have been able to get someone here within four to six hours of the call. It was likeliest that SIS had traced all calls made from our coordinates, leaving me to hope that if any help were to come, it would be disguised in the doctor’s entourage.

If Brad had
not
received my call, Raul and Alberto would land within the hour.

A good thing if Alberto was in on it. A very bad thing if, as I was beginning to consider, Raul was outfoxing his former business partner and had no intention of letting Alberto, Francesca or me go.

And, an extremely bad thing if Alberto and Raul were, as everyone thought, enemies. After all, what reason would Raul have to let us leave unharmed once he was freed?

The mobile clicked off, and Juan poked my shoulder hard. “Are you listening?”

I slapped his hand away. “What is it?”

“Alberto’s broken Raul out of prison and is flying him here on his private plane. You and the little girl will be traded as soon as they land. Happy?”

“I’ll be happy when the doctor gets here.”

“He’ll be here within five minutes of your ex-husband. So you two can argue then about whose fault this is, while Raul and the rest of us leave this hell hole behind.”

His laughter grew louder as he moved away.
Where the hell were they going?

Enrique’s whisper broke my train of thought. “What’s the plan?” His voice was edgy and tired, and despite his brilliant acting, he was burning with an actual fever.