JET - Sanctuary (11 page)

“We’re going to need some water soon. We’ve sweated a lot,” he said.

“When they get back, that’ll be our first order of business. One of the buildings is sure to have water if this is a working mine.”

“What do you make of those two?”

“Alejandro seems to be the brains. I could do without his brother. He’s dead weight,” she said.

“Agreed. And they seem to be up shit creek. Let’s not forget for all their assurances that they run this country that they got shot up pretty good at the hotel. If you hadn’t been there, they’d be dead. We all know that.”

“But I was. Makes me wish I’d just stayed in bed. The brother’s right about one thing: this is a nightmare.”

“Right, but it’s not our problem. We just need to get out of here and get clear of this pair, and then we can go on with our lives.”

“Good plan. Of course, when the Argentine fixer’s guy shows up tomorrow, he’s going to find a hotel full of police and no client. So back to the drawing board on getting out of Chile.”

“True.” Matt thought for a moment. “If their family really does run things here, maybe your boy Alejandro can help. I’d say he owes you big for saving his bacon, and then for coming up with a solution for the car.”

“Good idea, but I wouldn’t hold my breath. I get the feeling they’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

“I’m just saying, you’ve got a marker with him. Or at least, you should.”

Jet sighed. “I couldn’t sleep back at the hotel, and now all I can think of is shutting my eyes. How upside-down is that?”

Matt looked at where Hannah was lying, her head in Jet’s lap, slumbering as though in the womb. “Once we get some water, you can catch a little shut-eye. I’ll keep watch.”

“You’re not just a pretty face, are you? Anyone ever tell you you’re a nice guy?”

“Not recently. Something about being too busy running for our lives.”

“Well, you are. And I’m lucky to have you. Even with a broken wing and the world’s worst haircut.”

Matt leaned into her and kissed her. “Likewise. Except for the wing and hair part.”

A gust of cold wind blew across the dirt, carrying with it grit and dust and the smell of dry grass and stagnation. Gravel crunched underfoot as Alejandro returned, shaking his head. “No phone line. But it’s definitely a working mine, or there wouldn’t be any buildings here.”

“Doesn’t look like a very big operation,” Matt observed.

“They’re probably just doing some kind of an assessment. I don’t see a lot of heavy processing equipment,” Alejandro agreed.

“Could be they’re trucking the ore to a larger mine?”

“Either way, I’d expect workers shortly after sunup.”

Jet lifted Hannah’s slack form and handed her to Matt before looking at Alejandro. “We need to get into the buildings and find some water. My little girl needs some and so do I.”

“I’ll show you the likeliest candidates. I don’t suppose you know how to get past locked doors, do you?” Alejandro asked.

“You’d be surprised what a girl can do if she puts her mind to it.” She hesitated. “Where’s your brother?”

“Nature called.”

“Ah. Well, lead the way.”

They got lucky at the first trailer. Jet broke a window, and Alejandro boosted her through, and she opened the door from the inside. In the faint moonlight they made out a water cooler with a twenty-liter bottle atop, half full. Jet found a plastic pitcher on one of the desks, filled it to the brim and slaked her thirst, as did Alejandro. When they were sated, she refilled it and then took the pitcher back to Matt and Hannah. Rodrigo returned shortly thereafter, and Alejandro led him to the water cooler. When they reappeared five minutes later, Rodrigo looked considerably less annoyed – a first since she’d met him. Matt lit the fire, and they gathered around it, the warmth from the flames inviting in the cold darkness, the wood crackling and popping, the smoke cloying and thick.

“Let’s try to get some sleep. It’ll be light in an hour or two,” Jet said.

“How can you sleep after all this?” Alejandro asked, frank curiosity in his voice.

Jet considered the last few days – gun battles, the kidnapping, the plane crash, the showdown with Tara, the full-scale war at Dante’s factory – and smiled sweetly.

“It’s been a long week.”

Chapter 16

Santiago, Chile

Leonid ran from the bathroom to where his cell phone trilled and vibrated on the hotel room table. He snatched it up and held it to his ear.

“Yes?”

“Congratulations. Your problem is solved, which means you owe me half a million dollars.”

Leonid absorbed Antonio’s words. “Please explain.”

“Your woman was in a car with two of my enemies. They were being chased on a mountain road and met with an accident in the form of a ten-story drop. They went over, and the truck blew up.”

“Where?”

“About sixty kilometers north of us. A city called San Felipe. The crash took place in the mountains outside of town.”

“I want to see for myself.”

“I thought you might. I have arranged for one of my men to meet you up there and show you the wreck. Or if you want to forego the formality, I have photographs.”

“All due respect, photos don’t tell the whole story.”

“Just so. When would you like to meet my man?”

Leonid checked his watch. “How long will it take to get there?”

“No more than an hour.”

“Where do I meet him?”

“I’ll send someone to pick you up. I presume you’re staying at the hotel where we met, Mr. Ross?”

“That’s correct, but unnecessary. I can make my own way.”

“Ah, yes, but now I feel like I have five hundred thousand reasons to ensure that you don’t encounter any difficulties getting there – or returning.” Antonio’s message was clear: he wasn’t going to let Leonid out of his sight until the wire transfer was completed. It would be too easy for Leonid to verify the woman was dead, and then disappear, having acquired a half million dollars of value for nothing. “I will have a car there in twenty minutes, yes?”

“That’s very gracious of you. However, I have several men who are part of my team who will want to come.”

“The more the merrier. Just see that they’re on their best behavior. We don’t want any misunderstandings, do we?”

“Of course not. Twenty minutes.”

“Look for a white Chevrolet Suburban. The driver’s name is Carl.”

The phone went dead. Leonid called his men and told them to be in the lobby in fifteen minutes and to come armed. He didn’t trust the slick Chilean and wanted some insurance against a possible double cross. But based on the man’s description of the crash, it would be the easiest ten million Leonid had ever made.

But Filipov, the attorney who had contracted the hit, would want definitive proof before he paid, which meant that Leonid had to get it, one way or another. The man wouldn’t take a few snapshots and Leonid’s word for it – he’d want her skull. Which was as it should be, Leonid thought. The customer was always right.

Leonid did a quick calculation of time zones and decided not to call Filipov until he had the evidence he needed in hand. It wouldn’t do to get the attorney’s hopes up only to dash them. No, better to appear on his doorstep with proof in hand and wait for payment in his office. Not that Leonid didn’t trust him, but prudence dictated that he eliminate any temptation not to pay, and it would be impossible to argue with Leonid parked in the man’s office with a body bag or a test tube containing the last of the woman’s essence.

Carl was on time and showed no interest in talking, which was fine by Leonid. Half an hour outside town, they were blinded by police cruisers in the road. Spotlights roved over the Suburban as it drew to a stop. A uniformed officer took Carl’s ID and radioed it in, and Leonid eyed his men in the back seat, who appeared relaxed, but who he knew all had their fingers on their pistol triggers out of habit. Hopefully the cops wouldn’t search them or it would get ugly quickly – Leonid didn’t know what the penalty might be for carrying unregistered, concealed weapons in Chile, but he suspected it was substantial.

The policeman returned with Carl’s license and waved him through, averting one crisis. The big vehicle ate up the remaining stretch of road, and even with the unscheduled police stop, they made it to San Felipe on time.

Carl placed a call, murmured a few words, and then hung up, eyes never leaving the road. They drove down a quiet street and into a driveway that led to a farmhouse, ample acreage on either side ensuring privacy. The car stopped in front of the house, and Carl rolled down his window as a man emerged from inside – tall, a no-nonsense expression on his face, a pistol bulge obvious beneath his windbreaker. He exchanged a few words with Carl and then, after glancing at the men in the rear seat, turned his attention to Leonid.

“I’m Bastian, Mr. Ross. My boss says I’m to extend you every courtesy. Here are the shots I took of the accident,” Bastian said in accented English and held out his cell phone.

Leonid took the phone and skimmed through the photographs. “Pretty dark, but it looks grim. Did you go through the wreckage?”

“No, it’s too far down the gulch. Quite steep.”

“Then let’s go to the site. Oh, and see if you can find some rope. How many meters down do you think the wreck is?”

“Maybe…thirty meters? Nine or ten stories.”

Leonid nodded. “Then forty meters should do the trick.” Leonid’s tone was friendly, but it was obvious that it wasn’t a request. If Bastian was annoyed by the demand, he didn’t show it, but merely nodded and returned to the house. Five minutes went by, and he emerged with a bundle of cord in one hand and strode to the black SUV. Carl waited until he’d turned it around, and then followed him down the drive.

Not surprisingly, the road to the mountain pass was deserted, and they made reasonable time. As Leonid had hoped, no emergency vehicles were at the scene. Leonid stepped from the Suburban and walked to the edge, and Bastian joined him, flashlight in hand. The fire had long since gone out, and Leonid could barely make out the charred remains. Bastian played the beam over the burnt form, and Leonid turned to him.

“One of my men will go down and have a look.” He turned to the youngest of his team, a wiry man in his late twenties, and nodded. “Rudi, you know what to do,” he said in Russian, and looked meaningfully at the cliff edge. Leonid glanced at Bastian. “Can I see that rope?”

Bastian brought over the line. Leonid cinched it to the Suburban’s trailer hitch and gave it a good pull and then handed it to Rudi, who wrapped it around his waist and his forearm and moved to the drop-off. “Flashlight?” Leonid asked, and Bastian handed it to Rudi, who pocketed it before he lowered himself over the side.

“I hope he doesn’t disturb any snakes. There are plenty of rattlers in these hills,” Bastian said as they watched Rudi expertly rappel down the slope.

“That’s good to know,” Leonid said, terminating the discussion.

Three minutes went by, and Rudi called out from below. The terse words sent ice through Leonid’s veins. He responded in Russian and turned to Bastian.

“There are no bodies in the wreck.”

“What? I…maybe they were thrown clear? Or incinerated?” Bastian’s cool veneer of confidence suddenly showed cracks.

“I told my man to look around, but my bet is he doesn’t find anything. This was probably a ruse to get you to drop your pursuit. Bones don’t incinerate in a car fire.” Leonid spat to the side. “Which worked nicely, I’d say.”

Bastian shook his head. “Why would they do such a thing? They were well ahead of my men. There was no reason. No, I think there’s another explanation. They must have been thrown clear.”

“I told your boss, Antonio, that the woman is a skilled professional. I warned him not to engage under any circumstances. This is why.” Leonid paused. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

Bastian considered the scene at the hotel and said nothing as they waited for Rudi. Minutes stretched on, and then the rope went taut with a snap as he scaled the slope again. When he reached the road, he shook his head and gave a short report in Russian. “There’s nothing. I did a grid search for twenty meters in all directions. No sign of anything other than the car, which is burned to a crisp.”

Leonid relayed the information to Bastian, who glowered at the wreckage as his mind worked furiously before shaking his head again. “Impossible. There was an explosion. It must have vaporized them or blown them across the mountainside.”

“No, I’m afraid not. There would have been something left. A bone or two. A skull. There’s nothing, and my man walked the perimeter and searched among the pieces that blew off the car. So the target got away, while we’re left standing in the dark with our dicks in our hands.” Leonid was done with being polite. These incompetents had lost her, and God knew whether they’d ever pick up her trail again.

“Let’s say you’re right. Where would they have gone? The nearest town is over twenty kilometers away. No, it doesn’t make any sense…”

“Perhaps they had another car waiting to rendezvous with them. I don’t know. What I
do
know is that there are no bodies and no evidence of any kind that anyone got so much as a scratch in this crash, much less was killed. I’m afraid I’m right on this. You can verify it come morning, but I’d say she escaped.”

“Which means…the men she was with also escaped,” Bastian muttered, the gravity of the situation hitting home. The Sotos were still alive and out there somewhere. Antonio would go berserk, and when he was angry, he could be volatile. He fished his phone out and peered at it. No signal. He swore and eyed Leonid. “Come. We should return to the house. I need to make some calls.”

Leonid retrieved the rope and tossed it to Bastian, who took the bundle and stowed it. The return drive was at considerably higher speed than the ascent, and Leonid could tell that Bastian was agitated by the way he pushed his SUV around the curves ahead of them. When they pulled into the farmhouse drive, he was already out of his vehicle and on his phone, pacing, in a heated discussion. Leonid and his men got out of the Suburban, and Bastian faced them, cell phone still glued to his ear.