The Assassin's Case (9 page)

              As he was to the point of putting a foot into the damned thing Tedesco put a hand on his shoulder and moved him out of the way. Grant stared at the man and realized his frustration had absolutely nothing to do with exact change or thirst.

              The hit man thumbed in quarters and pulled out four drinks. He set them on the top of the machine and popped their tops on the built-in bottle opener one at a time. Tedesco passed a strawberry to Grant, grabbed the remaining bottles, and returned to the van. Grant stared at his back, the desire to hit the man in the back of the head with the full bottle almost overwhelming.

              Instead, Grant turned to the other vending machine, this one a Tom’s food job with a front glass panel. The type where you pressed B5 or some such and your chips or cookies would spin off the arm and drop to the bay below.

              As Tedesco stepped back into the van he met Grant's gaze. Grant spun and leveled a side kick in the machine’s front glass, shattering it. If you asked him later what overcame him, Grant wouldn’t be able to explain. But for some reason the act gave him some small feeling of victory.

              One arm loaded with absconded snacks, the strawberry soda in the other, he moved to the van. Grant sneered at Tedesco as he plopped into the front passenger seat and nestled his drink in the cup holder. Grant turned to dispense some bags to the back seat’s occupants, refusing to meet Jaime’s gaze.

Grant turned to the front and tossed a bag of corn chips at Tedesco. No one said a word as Tedesco pulled out of the parking lot. Grant sank low in the seat, feeling very juvenile. He pried open a bag of cheese puffs and stuffed one in his mouth. Dadgummit. Hadn’t he earned the right to act a bit childish?

TWELVE

The exhausted group pulled through the gate of Lordsburg’s small private airport. Tedesco guided the mini-van across the tarmac toward a darkened hanger tucked in a rear corner of the airport’s property. Lordsburg was only about thirty miles north of Animas, but the trip had taken most of the night with the arduous and convoluted course they had been forced to take.

              Tedesco tapped the horn twice. The hangar doors slid open enough to allow the van access.

              “You sure you can trust this guy?” Grant said.

              “Yeah.” Tedesco nodded and steered the van inside. The headlights revealed a sleek corporate jet. As soon as they passed through, the doors were pulled closed behind them. Tedesco parked to the left side of the plane and shut off the engine.

              Grant stepped out and placed a hand on the SIG tucked into his belt. His companions tumbled out after him. With the van’s lights off the interior of the hangar went black, the only light the receding ribbon of pre-dawn sky as the doors closed. After the doors banged shut and were latched, footsteps clicked across the pavement and then the hangar’s interior lights flashed on. The man who had been waiting for them appeared to be in his early thirties, tall, muscular, dark skin, short wavy hair. He wore a polo shirt and khakis and a holstered pistol at his belt. According to Dr. Morgan, the man was the head of corporate security at the software company his son-in-law owned.

              The man approached and shook hands with Dr. Morgan. “I was getting a little worried, sir.”

“We had some trouble.” Morgan told him about their escape through the desert.

The man nodded and waved a hand toward the plane. “We’re ready to go, sir. I didn’t know exactly what we would need, so I packed heavy. I should have all the bases covered.”

              The man turned and studied the rest of the group. His eyes remained on Jaime for just a fraction of a second longer than the others. Even though rumpled, she still looked good. “I’m Scott. Scott Evans.” He held out his hand and shook with the rest of them, grabbing Grant’s hand last.

              It had been Tedesco’s idea to enlist the man’s aid. When the kidnappers insisted on the exchange taking place in Mexico they realized they needed back-up. Morgan contacted Evans and told him the story. Initially he wanted to call the authorities, but after Tedesco convinced him of the folly of that course of action, he seemed eager to help. Morgan said Evans was ex Special Forces, a Ranger. If that was indeed the case his help would be welcome.

              Grant had come up with a plan. Morgan and Tedesco agreed to go along with it, deferring to Grant’s expertise. His specialty after all had been hostage rescue. He hadn’t revealed everything he had in mind. He would need to assess the situation further once they arrived in Puerto Vallarta.

              “What unit were you in?” Grant asked.

              “3
rd
Battalion,” Evans said.

              Grant nodded. “Were you ever deployed anywhere interesting?”

              He looked Grant in the eye, obviously reading the question beneath the question. “Don’t worry. I’ve seen my share of
tense
situations. I owe Tim and his family my best. He’s a fine man.” He referred to Morgan’s son-in-law, Tim Peterson. “He’s taken good care of me. And he pays me very well to look after his interests.” Evans clapped Grant on the shoulder. “I’ll do whatever I have to do.”

              “Fair enough.” Grant turned to Tedesco. “Can I have a word with you?”

              The hit man nodded. Grant led him to a small door next to the one they had driven through. They walked out and Grant closed the door behind them.

              He turned and grabbed Tedesco’s lapels and thrust him into the steel wall. A bang accompanied the impact. “What the hell happened back there, you bastard.” Grant shoved his forearm into Tedesco’s throat. “You could have gotten us all slaughtered. The men at your bar were trying to kill us.”

              Tedesco pushed him away. Anger flared in his eyes for just an instant then just as quickly vanished. “I’m sorry.”

              “Sorry hell. Dr. Morgan. His family. They need your help. I need to know you’ve still got what it takes.”

              “Do you?” Tedesco stared from beneath raised eyebrows.

              Fair question. Grant believed that of the options Morgan’s family had, he was the best. Grant believed he could pull this off, but he was forty-four after all. His shoulder stung from the tumble out of the truck. Before the last couple of days, he hadn’t been in any real action in almost sixteen years, but he had done okay. So far. But to be honest, he had also been lucky. “Let's hope so.
Boom
. Cause there's not a lot of other choices.”

              “Look. I know you don’t believe or care. But I swore not to kill again.” Tedesco dropped his gaze. “Even though killing those soldiers would have been justified … I … well … I froze. Okay.”

              “These guys we’re going up against are killers. They’re evil.” Grant waved his finger back and forth, pointing first at himself then at Tedesco. “The only chance the doctor’s family has is us. Me and you.”

              “Don’t worry.” Tedesco raised his eyes. There seemed to be some steel in his gaze. “I’ll have your back.”

* * * * *

Colonel Ethan Cane stalked the floor of the Biodyne command and security center, his boots squeaking on the tile floor. Waiting. The techs on duty pored through data, searching for clues to Morgan and company’s whereabouts. One of Cane’s men dead. Another wounded. Though all his men were military, none of them would appear on any active duty rosters. Though all were Army Special Forces their files had been altered. If any were captured or killed there would be nothing to link them to the Army or USAAMRID. Any investigation into their pasts would reveal them to be soldiers for hire, mercenaries. 

              Cane fists clenched and unclenched as he paced. He realized his prowling was doing nothing more than making his people nervous, so he moved into his office and plopped down in his desk chair. He learned forward to study the two folders lying open on his desk. Dossiers on Ted Rivers and Grant Sawyer. It had taken some digging to find the truth about Rivers, but Cane had the full resources of the DOD to rely upon. Not to mention that his cyber guys were the best. But he still didn’t have all the pieces. A washed up hit man and an out to pasture FBI agent?

The Colonel propped his elbows on his desk and placed his chin on the tips of his steepled fingers. He needed to track these men down and right now he only had a couple of places to start the search. Pressing the button on the intercom he called his second in command who almost immediately stepped into the room. “Send two teams. Make sure they know to be discreet.”

He hated this. He was a soldier, bound by oath and personal morals to protect his country and its citizens. Not kill them. Not terrorize them. But he had been given a duty. A duty of the utmost importance to fulfill. Cane pounded his fist on the desk. Command was difficult in any battle, and this was indeed a battle. Sacrifices had to be made for the greater good. Though it went against his principals to harm innocent people, he had to remain stalwart. For every blameless victim, millions would be saved. Safe to sleep, eat, work, and play on the backs of decisions made by men like him. Men willing to do the hard things, make the tough choices.

He stood and grabbed his trophy, Grant Sawyer’s cane. He ran his fingers over the sturdy wood. One thing was certain, he would make sure, once this was over, nothing like it would be necessary again.

* * * * *

Tedesco and Dr. Morgan sat in one corner of the hangar chatting while Evans readied the plane. Jaime studied Grant. He sat alone in the back of the room, chair tipped back, resting his head against the wall, arms crossed.

              Although he was trying not to be obvious, he stared beneath half closed lids, his gaze following Tedesco. Jaime knew this had to be tough on Grant. Meeting his family’s killer, the man’s apparent conversion, this whole damned situation.

              A metal chair in hand, Jaime moved over to Grant and unfolded it next to him before sitting down. “You okay?”

He didn’t respond right away, but he finally shifted his eyes toward Jaime. “Yes. No.” Grant blew out a breath. “I don’t know.” He  tipped the chair forward and gestured toward the room. “I mean, come on. There are over three hundred million people in this country and I’m the one that sees the case being exchanged. It’s just a little overwhelming.”

              Jaime nodded. “I can imagine.” She dropped her eyes to the floor and rubbed the tops of her thighs. “I’m sorry about my little outburst earlier. I didn’t mean to pile on.”

              Grant reached over and patted the back of her hand. “No. I had it coming. It’s okay.” He withdrew his hand and forced a smile.

              “Are you going to be able to put your feelings about him aside?” She leaned her head toward Tedesco.

              Grant stared at the man for a few seconds before answering. “Right now I don’t have any other choice.” He turned, locking gazes with her. “For the moment anyway.”

Jaime nodded, her thoughts turning to the dead young men she left at the Rusty Spur. She had left Steve Jenson a message from a pay phone to inform him she would be out of touch for a while and letting him know about the dead agents. She felt it was her fault they had been killed. Something in her expression must have alerted Grant.

“What’s wrong?” Grant said.

“I was just thinking about the two agents Cane’s men killed.”

              “I wish I could have saved them.”

              “I know. If you could’ve you would’ve.”

              “Did you know them very well? Did they have families?”

              “They were young. Both unmarried. One engaged.”

              “I’m sorry.” Grant patted the back of her hand again, this time the touch lingered a moment.

              She covered his hand with hers. “Me too.”

THIRTEEN

Once the plane was fueled and prepped the small band of rescuers hopped on the sleek craft for the trip to Puerto Vallarta. The flight to Aerotron, the small private airport adjacent to
Licenciado Gustavo Diaz Ordaz Aeropuerto International
took a little less than two hours in the Gulfstream IV.

              Grant was getting a little claustrophobic in the cramped, albeit luxurious, interior of the plane. He studied Jaime through half-lidded eyes. Even though he tried to dissuade her, she had been adamant about her inclusion in the rescue. Her presence did provide an added measure of cover, she and Grant were checking in as a married couple.

              The group was leaving in shifts so they wouldn’t be seen arriving at the hotel together. Morgan and Tedesco left first two hours ago and Evans an hour past, hauling two stuffed duffel bags containing their supplies with him. After Evans found out their destination he had arranged for transportation from the airport. A little cash had ensured they wouldn’t be bothered with the inconvenience of going through customs.     

              “It’s time. Finally.” Grant followed Jaime from the plane to make the short walk to the Aerotron office. After the cold in the States the sea-scented balmy air was a treat. Grant smoothed the front of his flower patterned Banana Republic shirt and cringed at the sight of his white legs poking conspicuously from his khaki shorts. The ensemble was purchased by Evans. Before they took off he had gotten everyone’s sizes and made a shopping trip to provide everyone clothes for the trip. Though Evans insisted the outfit was just to allow Grant to blend in with the tourists, he believed the former Ranger was having a bit of fun with him.

              Jaime looked stunning in a flower patterned sun dress. She stopped in front of him and adjusted his ridiculous looking headwear, a flat brimmed Panama style hat. She stepped back and gave him an appraising look before hooking her arms in his. “I think you look fine. A little time by the pool and you’ll own it.” She laughed and pulled him toward the door, his sandals clopping against the Tarmac.

* * * * *

The driver angled the mini-bus south on Federal Highway 200 for the four mile trip to the hotel. Grant released a pent up breath, relieved to have made it out of the airport with no trouble. Jaime stared out the window, seeming to be enthralled by the majestic views. The road wound downhill. Puerto Vallarta was nestled between the thickly vegetated Sierra Madre Mountains and Banderas Bay. To the left mountains rose above them, thick with lush jungle flora. To the right below them, the immensity of
Bahia De Banderas
gleamed like a blue-green jewel. According to the travel information Grant gleaned from the internet it was the largest natural bay in Mexico and the second largest in North America- surpassed only by Canada’s Hudson Bay. It was advertised as a diver’s paradise, filled with unique rock formations, abundant sea life, and had the distinction of being relatively shark free. Sharks that dared to linger in the bay were driven away or rammed to death by the multiple pods of territorial dolphins jealously guarding its waters. Humpback whales, sea turtles, and giant manta rays were also inhabitants.

              The van rolled into town and they seemed to be carried back through time. Though a world class tourist destination, Puerto Vallarta’s winding cobblestone streets, palm trees, adobe, brick, and whitewashed buildings gave it the charm and appearance of a village. Even the modern hotels seemed to blend into the landscape. It felt as if they had arrived in a circa 1800’s pueblo.

              They entered the northern hotel zone, passing an array of resort hotels, before arriving at their destination, the NH Krystal Vallarta. The hotel entrance was bordered by towering palms, fronds waving in the breeze. The driver pulled beneath a covered portico. The wall opposite the gold domed entrance lobby consisted of a waterfall flowing between the whitewashed columns supporting the roof.

              Grant grabbed their baggage from the back of the van and thanked the driver. He navigated between taxis, other arriving guests, and hotel employees toward the entrance. As he walked through the front doors Jaime hooked her arm through his and an electric charge flashed through him when her skin contacted his. Grant knew the action was simply intended to add credence to their cover, but his pulse and breath quickened as if an internal accelerator had been mashed to the floor.

Stop it.

Yes, it had been sixteen long years since he had any intimate contact with a woman, but he was acting like a giggly teenager.

              Grant ignored the biological storm coursing through his system, regaining his composure by focusing on the dangers ahead, and escorted Jaime into the lobby of the Krystal Vallarta. The reception area was situated beneath the domed roof, featuring deep red floor tiles, a fountain, and leafy fronds of greenery. To the left of the reception desk a large waiting area and bar beckoned arrivals to begin their vacation while they waited for their rooms.

             
“Buenas tardes, señor, señora.”
The concierge
greeted them with a beaming smile, his teeth glowing against his dark skin. “Welcome to the Krystal Vallarta.”

              With Jaime in tow, Grant stepped up to the desk. “We’re checking in. The Jenkins.”

              The hotel employee tapped the keyboard in front of him and scanned the computer’s screen. “We seem to be overbooked, so I am going to upgrade you to one of the villas.” He looked up and smiled. “Our compliments of course,
mi amigos
. This is okay, yes?”

              “No problem. Thank you.” Grant was certain the room would be fine, but they would be further away from their cohorts. Making a scene about a room upgrade certainly wouldn’t help their cover.

              The man nodded. “Your room will be ready in a moment. We will take care of your bags. Please feel free to have refreshments in the lounge while you wait.” He clapped his hands and instructed a bellboy to take their bags.

              Grant pulled a wad of bills from his pocket. The money had been drawn from Evans’ corporate credit card to provide them with expense money. Grant couldn’t remember the last time he had more than two quarters to rub together. He had forgotten how good if felt to have spending cash. He ambled over to the currency exchange desk and converted five-hundred dollars to
peso
s. At an exchange rate of nearly thirteen-and-a-half to one he received almost seven-thousand
pesos
in return.

              Jaime grabbed Grant’s hand and he escorted her into the lounge. He scanned the area. Tedesco sipped a drink, the case between his feet. Seated next to him on the couch Morgan tried his best to appear calm, but he didn’t quite succeed. His hands fidgeted, sweat beaded on his brow, his eyes darted around the room like a small bird searching for predators. The man was in hell.

Grant led Jaime to an unoccupied couch. They ordered drinks and it took him about a second to spot Tedesco’s surveillance. Two men. Neither Mexican, but Asian. One sat on a couch leisurely turning the pages of a paper, but he didn’t bother to look at it even once, his eyes stared over its top at the hit man. The other wasn’t quiet as obvious. He sat at the bar alone, stirring his drink with a mixing straw. But every few seconds he stared in Tedesco’s direction.

             
Grant and his little band needed to be on their toes. They didn’t know how or when Tedesco would be contacted. His only instructions were to check in at the Krystal and he would be found. Grant believed, he hoped, they would have a little time to get ready. The surveillance on Tedesco was a good sign. It meant the kidnappers were being cautious. They would wait to make a move until they were certain everything appeared kosher.

              Before Grant and Jaime finished their drinks a bellboy appeared to escort them to their room via a six-seated golf cart. They wended their way through towering palms, fountains, water falls, and the multiple pools scattered about the grounds. The driver slid to a stop in front of their bungalow. It consisted of four connected units, two to a side. The covered tiled porch with shaded seating area, stucco walls, and red tile roof, gave it the feel of a Mexican
hacienda
.

              Their escort stepped onto the porch, opened the door with a flourish, and waved them inside. He moved past the king-sized bed and peeled back the curtains to reveal a private courtyard with a small pool surrounded by dense bushes.

              “Is this okay?”

              Grant pulled a 100
peso
note from his pocket and pressed it into the man’s palm. “Yes, thank you. It’s fine.”

              “Enjoy your stay. Just call the front desk if you require anything.”

              “Thanks.” Grant closed the front door and turned to the room. His eyes swept over the king sized bed, the pool, and finally settled on Jaime. She smiled and he realized he was sweating. “I better get moving. Dig out the radios will you?”

              Jaime rifled through her bag and removed two small Motorola two-way radios and wireless earbuds. She passed one to Grant and he switched it on. “Scott. It’s Grant. Do you read?” 

* * * * *

Grant took time to make sure he hadn’t picked up a tail before following Evans’ directions to his room. Grant knocked as instructed—two short slow taps followed by four quick taps. The door opened and he slipped inside. The ex-ranger had turned the bright little room into a command center.

              “I’ve hacked into the hotel’s security cameras,” Evans said. “Once they make contact we’ll have to move fast. When we ID them we get this on their car.” He held up a small transmitter. “I’ve got a jeep waiting. We don’t have a satellite uplink, so the range is only about two miles in these mountains.”

              Grant nodded. This man was proving to be very useful. “Where’s Morgan?”

              “With Tedesco. I’ve got them both wired.” Scott pointed to a laptop. One window showed small images of the hotel’s cameras. Another smaller window showed two small red dots on a map overlay. “I made them put transmitters in their pockets. Just in case the kidnappers just try to snatch them.”

              “Our gear?”

              “In the jeep.”

              “Good.” Grant pressed the call button on the radio in his pocket. “Boom. Grant. Why don’t you two make your way to the pool? That way I can watch you. Keep your radios open.” Their radios had the option of continuous transmit without the need to press any buttons. As long as everyone in the group remained on the pre-arranged channel they all could hear what the other heard.

              “All right. We’ll be out in five.”

              Grant grasped Evans’ hand and gave it a firm shake. “Here we go.”

* * * * *

Grant sat on a submerged bench at the edge of a swim up bar. A thatched roof blocked the sun. Though he could have used some rays, his position allowed him to keep an unobtrusive eye on Tedesco and Morgan. The two of them sat on the other side of the bar in the poolside cantina. An open air affair, also covered by the same thatch roof, perched next to the beach with a view of white sands and cobalt waters. The two Asian men from the lobby watched them from beneath the umbrellas of poolside tables.

The ocean scented breeze cooled and refreshed Grant’s wet skin. The bartender passed him a frosty mug garnished with a lime and filled with
Negro Modelo
, an amber Mexican beer.
“Thanks.”

              “You’re welcome, sir.” He turned to the next customer and took his order. Grant flinched as the bartender raised a small machete over his head. The blade flashed down. With a deft cut he lopped off the top of a coconut. Grant relaxed his bunched muscles and watched in fascination. The barman proceeded to pour in shots of every clear liquor within his reach into the top of the coconut. Enough alcohol to plaster a Cape Buffalo. He inserted a straw and passed the drink to a customer.

              The other denizens of the bar cheered as another patron chugged a shot of the drink
du jour
. Tequila slammers. With a flourish the bartender would slam the shot glass on the bar, making the drink fizz, before it was passed over and downed in one gulp. Judging from the laughter around Grant quite a few coconuts and slammers had been consumed.

              Grant hadn’t taken the time to return to the room. He just entered the pool wearing his khaki shorts. The radio sat on the bar wrapped in his shirt. Everyone around him was positively jubilant. Who could blame them? This place was paradise. He wished he was here under different circumstances. In a different life.

              He studied the glass in front of him, the sweat dripping down its side beckoned him. One glass couldn’t hurt. He needed to fit in after all. He squeezed the lime into the dark brew and raised it to his lips. Pure ambrosia.