“So, once again, I’m sorry for being popular in my country,” said Gomez, barely noticing the steward who replaced his nearly empty rum and soda with a fresh one. “At least, I got to laugh in that stupid commander’s face because he found nothing, thanks to your brilliant system, Dennis.”
“Cheers to that,” Chris exclaimed, raising his fresh glass of Coke and taking a hearty gulp, encouraging Gomez to do likewise. “And there’s no need to apologize, my friend. Harvey turned up the screws a bit and told me a couple of minutes ago we’re just twenty-five miles southeast of the Dominican and moving on toward Punta Cana so, the slight delay caused by the Coast Guard’s visit was nothing. However, their visit allowed us to test the security of our transport system under the scrutiny of the authorities and I’m quite happy with the results.”
“And the ROV works like a charm,” Jon added. “When they arrived, I dropped it to two hundred feet and put it to sleep. Once they left and we started moving again, I set it back on auto-follow and it went right back to where it should be. That thing is going to bring in the money.”
“Salud,” Gomez declared, raising his glass for another toast just as Leslie and Dave strolled onto the deck.
“You guys are having a party and didn’t invite us?” Leslie taunted as they stopped at the bar.
“You are welcome to join us,” Gomez replied then added, “If that is okay with Dennis, of course.”
Chris laughed and said, “My crew is always welcome to join the party, especially in a place like this. It’s not like I need bodyguards in the middle of the Caribbean so they get to let loose and enjoy the vacation.”
“What about you, Hector?” Leslie called out to the Dominican who stood off to one side, leaning against the railing. “What do you drink?”
“I’m, uh, I’m fine, thank you,” Hector replied, looking a bit uncomfortable. “I had a beer earlier.”
“Hector’s preferred drink is Brugal Siglo de Oro on ice if you have it,” said Gomez then turned to his bodyguard. “Come sit with us and join the celebration. As Dennis pointed out, this is not a place where much protection is required. You deserve to relax as well.”
Almost shyly, Hector approached the table and sat next to Jon just as Leslie arrived from the bar with their drinks in hand.
“Here you go, big guy,” she said, placing the drink, a double rum, before him and patting him on the shoulder as she slid into the chair between him and Gomez. Raising her alcohol-free Mai Tai, she cried, “Here’s to Hector joining the party. Salud.”
* * * *
Base Naval "27 de Febrero", Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic, 7:23 p.m.
“We’re ready, Admiral,” announced the commander of the thirty-five metre patrol boat, Altair. “The crew is assembled on deck as requested.”
“Thank you, Commander,” Admiral Ramon Quesada replied. “This will only take a minute.”
He left the bridge and descended the steel staircase which led to the rear deck where a dozen men stood at attention.
“At ease,” barked Quesada, assuming a like stance as he faced the men. “If you are here this evening, it is because I know you are men I can trust. I met with each one of you today to explain this mission and gave each of you the right to refuse, knowing that, if you did, you would also never share what I had requested with anyone. Your Commander has informed me we are ready to leave but I wanted to give each of you the opportunity to back out if you are not comfortable with participating in what I have planned. If any of you wish to leave, now is the time.”
His eyes moved from one man to the next and Quesada was pleased to note each man met his gaze without blinking while remaining stoic.
As he completed his visual tour of the group, one man, a Petty Officer 2nd Class in rank, stepped forward and said, “Permission to speak openly, Admiral, Sir.”
Quesada nodded and replied, “Permission granted.”
“I know I speak for every man presently on this ship because we have discussed this mission amongst ourselves over the last few hours,” the enlisted man said. “I therefore must inform you we intend to do everything which is needed to make this pinche mierda regret the day his puta madre gave birth to him.”
“Commander, I believe we are ready to go,” said Quesada as he grinned at the crew, all twelve now standing at attention and saluting.
* * * *
Ventura Grande Resort, Puerto Plata, Dominican Republic, 7:37 p.m.
The Ventura Grande Resort is composed of numerous pavilions, three of which house the guest rooms and suites. Of the three, two are located by the central courtyard, offering immediate access to the more active main pool and entertainment area, restaurants and lobby. The third, however, often referred to as the ‘quiet building’, is slightly removed and secluded, making for a calmer, less animated setting. In addition to guest accommodations, meeting rooms are also found in this pavilion which are used for company conferences, retreats and training activities.
At Chris’ request, Oliver had made one such room available to Miguel Ortega and had arranged for Raphael, the resort’s security director, to grant Ortega and his men discreet access to the property and parking via a rear entrance generally only used by employees.
During the day, Ortega had contacted sixteen officers, all devoted men whom he trusted, and asked them to join him for the evening’s exercise. Six from Santiago and four based in Puerto Plata were already present and were passing the time recounting anecdotes while attacking the plentiful array of food the resort had supplied. The remaining six, coming from Santo Domingo and San Francisco de Macoris had yet to arrive although this was no cause for worry as Ortega had received calls from both cars and they were expected shortly. The problem was, his excitement about the evening’s plans had triggered his impatience, even though he knew nothing would be done until he received word from Chris. However, once the men showed up, he at least would be able to brief them to pass some of the waiting time.
A knock at the door interrupted his incessant pacing and he hurried to the door to find four of his men from Santiago.
“I’m glad you are here,” he said as he ushered the officers into the room. “Only two more to come.”
“Barreda and Pabon were going to park as we were coming into the building,” one man said. “They’ll be with us in a minute.”
“Excelente,” Ortega replied. “Tonight will be a big night and I am anxious to get started.”
* * * *
18.420°, -68.240°, aboard the Lady Delilah, Caribbean Sea, 9:04 p.m.
The plan had been to get Gomez and Hector drunk enough to loosen them up and get their guard down all while maximizing their blood-alcohol level which would increase the effect of the sedatives which would be administered later. Gomez had unknowingly gone along with the plan with enthusiasm and even Hector had done a fair job, spurred on by Leslie’s playful urging to drink up. Neither man had even noticed that most of the wine over dinner had ended up in their glasses while the others around the table had barely consumed a glass each.
What was to come next was the knock-out drug in their cognac or port. However, the plan had gone sour moments earlier when Gomez had refused an after-dinner drink and announced he was turning in to sleep off his profound inebriation. Hector had not hesitated to mimic his boss’ intentions and both men had staggered off to their staterooms one deck below.
“I guess we should have doped them up sooner,” Dave commented.
Leslie shook her head. “The stuff will put them out for eight to ten hours at best. We don’t want them coming to before it’s time so we really couldn’t do this any sooner.”
“You’re right but it still sucks,” said Jon. “All the bastards had to do was have one more drink.”
“It’s no big deal, guys,” Leslie insisted. “We brought some auto-injectors for this exact reason. I’ll go get them, we’ll give these boys fifteen minutes to make sure they’re out then we’ll slip in, pop them and slip out.”
“You ma
ke it sound like you’ve done this kind of thing before,” Chris teased.
Leslie laughed and said, “You’d be shocked to learn of some of the things I’ve done, big fella. I’ll be right back.”
Rising from her seat, she strode off to the spiral staircase beyond the bar and headed to the deck below then made her way forward in the central corridor. As she reached the face-to-face entrances to the two Dominicans’ staterooms, she slowed then stopped, approaching first one door then the other, listening for any sounds. Hearing nothing, she continued on to her own stateroom where she quickly retrieved two auto-injectors.
Sticking them in the side pocket of the light jacket she wore, she left the cabin and returned the way she had come. As she once again walked past the Dominicans’ rooms, the door to her right suddenly swung inward and powerful fingers gripped her upper arm, yanking her inside and swinging her toward the bed.
Instinct and reflex taking over, Leslie leapt on the bed into a tuck and roll and was back on her feet before he had finished closing the door.
“What the hell are you doing, Hector?” she demanded as he stepped in closer to her.
“Having a little fun to end the party,” Hector slurred. “I know you like me.”
“You seem like a nice guy,” Leslie replied, “But you’re going about this the wrong way because you’re drunk.”
Hector grinned, taking a step toward her. “Don’t worry about me. I’m good even if I’m drunk.”
Leslie sighed. “Aw, Hector, please don’t do anything you’ll end up regretting.”
“You know you want it too,” said Hector. “I know I can please you.”
He suddenly lunged at her, grabbing her shoulders and shoving her backwards on the bed. As he moved to climb on top of her, Leslie brought both her knees up then kicked out, slamming her heels into his chest, the impact sending him reeling back. Losing his balance, Hector crashed to the floor, bashing his head against a credenza on the way down. Dazed, he had no time to even think of protecting himself before Leslie landed on him with a crushing knee-drop to his groin. Gasping in pain as he curled into a fetal position, he felt a slight sting on his right butt cheek then felt nothing at all.
“Asshole,” Leslie muttered, pocketing the auto-injector as she headed for the door. “I told you you’d regret it.”
Looking through the peephole, she noted Gomez’s door across the hall remained closed. Leaving Hector’s stateroom, she closed the door behind her and, pumped and angry, she stared at Gomez’s door for a moment.
‘Fuck it,’ she thought and stepped across the hall.
She turned the knob, took a deep, quiet breath and pushed, hoping the door wasn’t locked. It silently swung inward on well-oiled hinges a couple inches. Beyond was darkness and the unmistakable sound of snoring. She slipped into the cabin and, in the dim light coming through the partially open door, easily made out Gomez’s sleeping form on the bed. Moving forward, she had to suppress a snicker for the man lay spoon-style, uncovered and naked on the bed with his butt smiling at her.
Gomez emitted nothing more than a short snort in response to the jab from the auto-injector and the job was done. Leaving as quickly as she had come, Leslie headed back to the deck above to join the others.
“We were getting worried about you,” said Chris as she plopped back into her chair at the table. “What took you so long?”
“Get us some real drinks and I’ll tell you all about it,” Leslie replied, “But first, you might want to tell the captain we’re good to turn around.”
* * * *
Ventura Grande Resort, Puerto Plata, Dominican Republic, 9:46 p.m.
Barely ten minutes had been required for Ortega to finish briefing his officers. After all, the job in itself was nothing complex and much like many others these men had been involved with in the past. In addition, these men were among the brightest within the force and had easily understood Ortega’s clear and concise presentation and instructions. During the two hours which had followed, the group had passed the time by devouring every bit of remaining food in the buffet, telling stories, playing cards and teasing Ortega about his non-stop pacing.
“Quiet for a moment, please,” the deputy director called out as he pulled his vibrating mobile from his belt. “Ortega.”
“Good evening, Miguel. How are things in Puerto Plata?”
“We are ready and waiting,” Ortega replied. “How are things with you?”
“We’ve reversed our course and are heading toward La Romana,” said Chris. “Gomez and his buddy have turned in for the night and will be sound asleep for several hours. Have fun, amigo.”
* * * *
Paraíso de Ángeles, Puerto Plata, Dominican Republic, 10:14 p.m.
From the passenger seat in the lead car, Ortega saw the patrol car approaching in the distance from the opposite direction before coming to a stop.
The radio crackled and Officer Pabon announced, “We’re in position.”
“We’re moving in,” Ortega replied. “Block the gate.”
Down the street, the patrol car sped forward as its light bar burst to life and screeched to a halt, barring the vehicle access to the rear of the resort. Followed by two police vans, Ortega’s car roared off in a fanfare of flashing lights, quickly covering the short distance to the main entrance. Veering onto the property, the three vehicles pulled up before the lobby entrance and fifteen officers, including Ortega, poured out, much to the surprise and concern of patrons and staff who witnessed the scene.
“What’s going on here?” demanded the porter/bouncer as Ortega approached with his men.
Ortega glanced at the man’s name tag and asked, “Who’s in charge here tonight, Isidro?”
“Answer my question,” Isidro challenged.
Ortega stared at him and said, “Arrest this man.”
“Whoa, wait a minute,” Isidro exclaimed, stepping back as he raised his hands in surrender. “Arrest me for what?”
“Obstruction of justice,” Ortega snapped. “Attempting to tamper with a police investigation. Threatening an officer.”
“What? I didn’t threaten anybody,” Isidro cried.
Ortega smiled in response and turned his attention to a hefty, well-dressed man who was storming across the lobby toward them.
“What seems to be the problem here, officer?” asked the man.
“And you are?” said Ortega.
“I am Luis Boda, the manager of Paraíso de Ángeles. Now, may I ask what is going on here? Your presence is disturbing my guests.”
“My apologies to your guests,” replied Ortega, “But I’m afraid we will have to disturb them a bit more. We’re here to search the premises.”
“Search the premises?” Luis repeated in shock. “Do you have a warrant?”
Ortega pulled the folded document from within an inner breast pocket and slapped it against Luis’ chest. “Here is the warrant.”
Dumbfounded, Luis unfolded the document and blanched as he scanned it. “Cocaine laboratory? There must be some mistake. I will ask you to wait while I call the owner for instructions.”
“You are free to call whoever you wish, Señor Boda,” Ortega replied. “We have a job to do.” Turning to one of the officers he said, “Make sure Señor Boda remains on the premises. Should he attempt to leave, arrest him.”
“Arrest me?” Boda exclaimed. “I have done nothing wrong and certainly don’t plan to leave while you are here.”
“I approve of your attitude,” said Ortega. “In fact, I would suggest you remain with me so I may keep you apprised of the situation as the search progresses.” Turning to his team again, he said, “You have your assigned sectors. You are to inform me immediately if anything is found. Anyone attempting to impede your progress or refusing to cooperate is to be arrested. Let’s go.”
The officers made their way into the small resort’s central courtyard, effectively creating chaos and concern amongst the mainly middle-aged, likely married patrons cavorting with the sc
antily clad escorts. Luis followed closely, impatiently working his mobile while eyeing the scene with worry.
“You are troubling our customers,” he complained as he watched the officers split up in pre-determined groups of three and head off in different directions to commence their search.
“That is the least of my concerns,” Ortega replied as he followed three of his men toward the back of the resort. “Didn’t you want to call your boss?”
“You are lucky,” said Luis. “There was no answer but you have not heard the end of this.”
“I’m sure I haven’t,” said Ortega before addressing his men ahead of him. “Through the dining room into the kitchen will lead us to the stockrooms.”
“That area is for employees only,” Luis objected, his panic growing. “All you will find back there is food and liquor. You are wasting your time.”
Ortega stopped and turned to the man. “And you are starting to annoy me. Now, be quiet until I ask you to speak.”
They entered the storage area and scanned the large space filled with shelving units and stacks of crates and cartons on pallets.
“As I told you,” said Luis. “Nothing here but food, beverages and other inventory needed to run the resort.”
Ortega let his gaze rest on a closed door to one side. “What’s in there?”
“Uh, o-old furniture, I-I think,” Luis managed to blurt, his voice trembling. “W-we don’t r-really use that room.”
Ortega strode over to the door and tried the knob. “It’s locked.” Turning to Luis, he asked, “Where is the key?”
“I-I don’t know,” Luis cried, his eyes wide with fear. “Maybe Señor Gomez has it. As I said, we don’t use that room.”
Ortega smiled at Luis then turned and walked a few steps further as he pulled a radio transceiver from his belt. He activated the device then spoke briefly into it before returning to the locked door.
Sins in the Sun: A Vigilante Series crime thriller Page 10
