Target Engaged (19 page)

“They were successful on the craft prior to ours,” Carla said grimly.

That shifted something at the table.

Tanya opened her mouth, then closed it again when the waitress came to clear the plates and take coffee and dessert orders.

After their corner was quiet again, Tanya spoke once more over her
café americano
. “I'm assuming the pirates won't be troubling anyone else?”

“Maybe in another life.”

Her nod of “good” won her more credit in Carla's eyes than any previous words.

Carla reached into the purse that Chad had insisted was a necessary accessory item and pulled out the documents they had taken from the powerboat. After a moment's hesitation, she slid them across the table.

The woman looked down at them, but did not move to take them.

“Can you, as a reporter, make sure that their family is notified?”

Tanya studied her closely for a long moment. “The Empress of Antrax is not noted for her compassion. I will see that it is taken care of.” She slipped the documents into her own purse.

Carla could almost trust this woman.

“Okay, Mr. ‘Javits' from Aruba, what sort of business are you interested in? I have been here a year making contacts and do, now, know many folk.”

“We're exploring avenues into the export business.”

Tanya scanned the table. Then she quirked a quick smile to herself.

Carla knew that smile.

“Your next question is a trap.”

At that, Tanya beamed.

“Shit! As was your smile. I get that now.” Carla was ticked that she'd fallen for it. “You are way too smart and far too well trained, Ms. Zimmer.”

“As are you.” Tanya's smile continued. “As you guessed, I was about to offer to put you in touch with a Major Gonzalez to see your reaction, but you clearly know he is no longer in operation. And the only way you might know that, unless it truly was a Sinaloa hit—which you aren't, so it wasn't—would be if you were either a part of it or your people were connected to it.” She paused, looked at the group around the table, and finally shrugged when she couldn't get a read on anyone's reactions. “It was very nicely done, by the way.”

Carla didn't know whether to thank the woman or very quietly escort her to the ladies' room and cut her tongue out. Chad's was hanging out so far, all she'd need would be a pair of pruning shears.

“That's why the rumors of your arrival moved so fast.” Tanya Zimmer selected a
besito de coco
cookie from the generously mounded plate in the middle of the table. “Very few here would notice your two points of failure. They have had very little contact with Mexican ‘businesspeople' to date. You may have more difficulties as you shift into the, ah, export trade itself, but,
ja
, it was still expertly done.”

In other words, drug traffickers in Venezuela would know Sinaloa and might have seen online photos from one of the Empress of Antrax's frequent social media blitzes.

Carla glanced at Kyle and received a double tap of his knee to confirm what she was about to do. So, Carla leaned back, let Kyle's jacket slip off her shoulders, which would truly expose her warrior physique to their guest's trained eye, and then stared up at the restaurant's ceiling for a long moment as if looking far beyond it before looking back down.

She could feel the ripple around the table. Richie, Duane, and even the starstruck Chad shifted forward pending Tanya's reaction. They understood the question Carla had just asked silently and were tensed to see which way it went.

Twenty-five prisoners—hostages of the missing, presumed-dead Major Gonzalez—were languishing on the ninth and tenth floor. Would Tanya Zimmer know of them and understand that the “businessmen” around the table were in a position to do something about it? More importantly, would Tanya prove herself to be of any use?

Tanya watched Carla a long time before she too inspected the ceiling of the restaurant prior to speaking once more.

“Regrettably, I can be of not much help in that question, except to say there have been no observable changes to the hotel room assignments on the top floors. Yet.”

Now that
was
valuable intel. It also purchased Tanya Zimmer a level of trust around the table. Major Gonzalez's unwilling guests were most likely still in residence. Though Tanya's warning of “yet” meant that the situation was dynamic and could change at any moment.

Kyle would admit that the Hotel Castillo had been well chosen by Major Gonzalez.

It was in the middle of the city, so a violent assault such as the one they'd perpetrated on General Vasquez's hacienda wasn't practical. The ten-story structure was isolated; most of the tall buildings of Maracaibo were along the shoreline or in a small business district. That meant that the top floors had wide views but were difficult to see into for recon.

The building was older, which meant only three elevators and one stairwell, all leading to a common central lobby.

Kyle considered food service, but the cartel's men would be watching for that. During their dinner, each of the team had made a point of going to the restrooms in order to pass close beside the swinging kitchen doors. Room service trolleys had been lined up for a massive order. When it moved out, Chad had taken Tanya on a casual promenade around the hotel.

“Freight elevator just past the corner from the other three,” Chad reported once they returned to the table. “The trolleys went up in one load without a single escort. Stopped on nine and came back down fast.” So much for sending up the team with the trolleys. They would become targets the instant the ninth-floor door opened. No hotel personnel went to that floor. Experimental taps on the buttons in the lobby's passenger elevator during a brief ride to the third floor and back had proven that the ninth and tenth floors were locked out, unless a special key card was used.

After their walkabout, Chad and Tanya had been pure business, but the Israeli's carefully presented crisp sophistication appeared a bit tattered about the edges. They hadn't been gone long enough to do much, but Chad had certainly taken advantage of the situation and Tanya didn't appear to be complaining as she surreptitiously straightened her blouse once they'd returned to the table.

With nothing more to be learned at the hotel, Kyle headed the team back to the boat. They left Tanya at the hotel, much to Chad's disappointment, but she was still an unknown and bringing her aboard the
Savage Wind
would be far riskier than leaving her out in the world.

In the boat, they reviewed the observations made by each team member in their various reconnoiters, spun out and killed off a wide number of ideas, and spent some time attempting to puzzle out quite why a Mossad agent was in Venezuela at that particular moment.

Finally Kyle had an idea. The memory of a woman leaping upward came to mind.

“I see one good option. What do you think, Carla?” Kyle cupped his hands as if ready to boost her foot up and into the training-room ventilation system.

* * *

Carla was the only one who entered the Hotel Castillo lobby later that night. As a contingency, Kyle had paid cash for a second-floor room and acquired the key as they left the restaurant earlier in the evening.

Now she floated through the lobby in a midnight-blue blouse and chic linen slacks like the ones that had looked so good on Tanya Zimmer, especially after Chad had rumpled her elegant perfection a bit. It was a new and different version of girl clothes. The night clerk was very appreciative of the result, never once looking at her face. Guys really were predictable.

She took the elevator up to her new room and opened the window. Seconds later a rope snaked up for her to grab. She secured it to the bed, and the rest of the team swarmed up to her room from a dark corner of the hotel gardens.

She changed to match the rest of the team, purposely not retiring to the bathroom to do so; she simply turned her back instead. Most were too busy checking their gear, but she caught sight of Richie twitching. When she finished changing and turned back, he was studiously inspecting his rifle and his ears were bright pink. Sometimes girl underclothes could be fun too, though he really needed to toughen up. She'd still worn a bra after all.

She offered him a slap on the shoulder to let him know it was in good fun, then they headed for the elevators of the Hotel Castillo second-floor lobby in ones and twos. She punched for the eighth floor. By the time the elevator reached eight, it was empty.

On the way up, Carla swung lightly out through the safety access in the ceiling of the elevator car. She tossed a line over a convenient structural support on the ninth floor and was tied off nine stories up in an empty shaft when the elevator returned to the lobby. In minutes, the five of them were dangling together high in the elevator shaft.

She unfolded a fiber-optic spy cam and poked it into the crack between the door and the frame of the elevator. The ninth floor appeared to be clear, which wasn't expected.

Richie who had climbed a dozen feet above her, was doing the same on the tenth floor. He held up two fingers, then made his hand like a pretend gun, two armed guards. Then he drew a square in the air and swung his hand as if to enter it. They'd just gone into a room.

But the food delivery had stopped on nine. The doors to the freight elevator fit too tightly to allow a fiber-optic view around them.

Not wanting to risk a radio transmission, she waved Kyle over and he swung across the shaft on his line.

“You think the ninth floor is empty except during meal delivery and everything is happening on ten? I really don't see them carrying that much food up the stairwells themselves. Are the guards here but outside our sight lines?”

“Perhaps they empty the freight elevator and then reload it on one of the other elevators called from the ground-floor lobby. We didn't check for that. Our problem is that we can't see around the corners past this floor's lobby.”

Carla could feel the answer somewhere. The building didn't have central air; each room had its own air conditioner and heater unit.

“Let's go look at the eighth floor.”

Kyle nodded, then signaled to the others to stay, and the two of them lowered themselves down a story.

At eight, they popped the release on the elevator door and stepped onto the silent floor. It was straight up midnight, so the halls were empty. Early risers had already gone to bed, and those out partying on the town wouldn't be back for hours.

They quickly trotted down the halls. The building was a simple rectangle with the elevators and stairwell in a hall that sliced across the middle of the floor and the rooms around the perimeter. She went left and Kyle went right.

In thirty seconds they met at the other end of the elevator lobby none the wiser.

“Dry hole,” Kyle commented and was heading back to the elevator. “Dry hole” was the standard phrase for when bad intel said there was something there and there wasn't.

Then she spotted what had caused the itch and called him back with a low whistle. When he turned to face her, she led him back into the hall.

The bigger freight elevator had been turned so that its door opened out into the side corridor rather than into the same area as the passenger elevators. That meant there was an empty space in the walls beside the two passenger elevators on the other side of the lobby. Sure enough, there it was. On the other side of the back corridor were two chutes clearly marked
Colada
and
Basura
—laundry and garbage.

“Ladies first,” she said and headed for the laundry chute.

“Thank God they open side by side to the same back hallway view.” Kyle grinned at her. Which meant he didn't have to climb the garbage chute.

“Wimp!” she whispered and entered the chute. Inside, the chute's walls were rough enough that her rubber-soled boots gripped as she jammed her way upward, just like climbing a Colorado rock chimney.

She bypassed the ninth floor and went to ten as Kyle moved up below her.

This time the spy cam sent out the laundry chute revealed the tenth-floor hallway perpendicular to this end of the lobby. Two rooms with doors stood open, revealing the soft mutter and laughter of men playing cards. Drunk men if she was any judge, by the sound in the earpiece.

There was a chair at the head of the stairwell door, but no one sat guard in it. The guards had been here a long time and grown complacent.

She shifted back down the chute and Kyle met her halfway. There wasn't room to get side by side, so Kyle ended up with his head between her wide-braced feet, her back against the far side of the chute above his feet.

“Don't get any ideas, tough guy.” His head was between her ankles and facing her crotch. Thankfully she wore slacks.

“Only if you promise to wear that black dress for me again sometime, girlie.”

If she was going to have to wear the dress, what would she make Kyle wear in exchange? A tux? No. She wouldn't know what to do with a man in a tux. But he'd looked damned fine as the wealthy and casual sailor, confident at the helm. Yes, that was an image she could definitely work with.

Then with a flash of hand signs, sometimes faster than words, they laid out a plan.

They both shifted up to the tenth floor before Kyle softly radioed the rest of the team.

“Enter and sweep nine. Expect a dry hole, but make sure. Then hit the stairs to ten. We'll be waiting for you.”

Carla moved quietly out through the chute door until she stood in the center of the hallway and could easily hear the guards' card game. There was definitely alcohol involved.

Kyle set off in a circular recon of the floor away from the card game.

She considered sitting in the chair at the head of the stairs and waiting for the others to finish checking the floor below her.

Then her brain did one of its sideways things and she saw it from a new perspective. The simple thing to do would be wait until all of their firepower was gathered and simply clear the room. But there was another possibility.

She moved close beside the door to the card game. The next room down the hall was also open, something on the television playing loudly enough to make conversation difficult in the room. Kyle came around the far side of the rectangular hallways, all clear.

He couldn't cross in front of the open door of the other hotel room without the possibility of revealing himself.

Carla shot a grin at him across the gap mandated by the two doorways that separated them.

He mouthed, “What?”

She tipped her head toward the open rooms.

Then she walked into the first room, the one with the card game.

* * *

Kyle just about swallowed his tongue.

He knew to trust Carla's instincts, but it wasn't like he had a whole lot of choice.

Taking a breath, he stepped into the open room in front of him. Two men were slouched low on a couch with their backs to the door. In front of them a television was playing a Spanish soap opera. The rifles leaning against either end of the couch told him these were not people he wanted to get real friendly with.

He pulled out his silenced Glock and double-tapped both of them in the back of their heads. A quick check revealed no one else there. He gave them each a “security” shot through the heart, changed for a fresh magazine, and hustled to join Carla.

As he entered the hall, Chad peeked in from the stairwell. Kyle silently signaled him that the room with the loud television was secure and to come forward.

Chad moved in to back him up. Duane arrived and shifted down the hall so that he had a clear view along the corridor. Richie remained in the stairwell doorway, facing downward with his rifle at the ready.

Kyle stepped into the room Carla had entered.

She was leaning back against the hotel room's darkened window on the far side of the room, her arms crossed comfortably, the lights of Maracaibo sparkling behind her.

Six card players were facing her.

They had the look of troops who had been left in one place too long and had begun to fester and rot. Their hair was unwashed and long. Most of them just wore pants and grimy, sleeveless undershirts. Cards, money, and bottles of rum the color of maple syrup were scattered about the table.

He tuned into what Carla was saying in a liquid Spanish he could barely follow. “I
do
know why you haven't heard from the Major. I've been to the hacienda and can confirm the rumors. He is never going to be joining your card game again.”

The sounds of dismay were universal.

Actually, after tangling with the CIA, it would be a miracle if he ever saw the light of day again.

“I only regret that though you've done your job well, this is a hostile takeover. I will give you two choices. One, you can get up and quietly walk away. If I ever see any of you again, you will be dead.”

They laughed at her standing there in front of them with her hands empty. Kyle and Chad had their rifles unslung and ready. Standing in the darkened entryway with Richie and Duane guarding their backs, they weren't visible even as reflections in the broad windows behind Carla.

She smiled at the guards appeasingly. “Or choice two, you can end up like your…”

She glanced up at Kyle and he flashed two fingers at her.

“…two dead companions next door.”

Their laughter ended. Kyle flicked his safety on and then back off. The tiny sound might as well have been a rifle shot in the otherwise silent room.

All six jerked around like puppets to face him. Two reached for weapons, whether out of instinct or intent didn't matter. He dropped one and Chad dropped the other. They both flopped facedown onto the table before sliding out of their chairs to land at the other players' feet.

Carla continued to lean back against the window with her arms folded casually over her chest. “Make that four dead companions. Your choice. Walk away alive and get out of Maracaibo permanently, or…” She tipped her head toward the two dead men on the floor.

The men looked at each other.

They started to reach toward the money spread across the table.

“Leave it!” Carla snapped out. “The deal is your lives and nothing more. Empty your pockets on the table, wallets, watches, room keys, everything. Take no weapons. Not even shirts or shoes if you aren't already wearing them. You simply walk away, alive. Now!”