by Joe Gazzam
“It’s in there,” I answered.
“I know a place that’s open twenty-four hours.” Andy held my waist with firm hands. “If you think you can make it. It’s close.”
I ignored the shooting pain in my right hip and pulled away, standing on my own. “I’m fine,” I said, disregarding my body’s cry for rest. “Let’s go.”
The three of us climbed over the side of the boat, wetting our legs to the knees as we made for land. It only took several minutes of speed walking behind Andy before “close” felt like an eternity. Every time I turned a corner, I tensed for an ambush. The people wandering the streets paid no attention to our wet legs and rushing feet. To them, it was just another day. But I eyed each one suspiciously, imagining they were all spies for Castillo.
Finally, Andy opened the door to an Internet café with only a few exhausted looking patrons. We sat in the back, grouping our chairs around a single computer screen. I turned to check the front door, in case we were followed, and winced involuntarily at the sharp jolt in my lower back.
“You okay?” Andy asked, watching me.
“Fine.” I looked up, catching sight of his bleeding shoulder. I’d completely forgotten he’d been shot. “Andy, your—”
“It’s nothing,” he answered. He lifted his sleeve to reveal the track of the bullet. “Grazed the skin.”
I sighed in quiet relief as Mitch used the hem of his shirt to wipe down the computer screen. It was filthy. Coffee stains, finger prints and a thick, unrecognizable film blurred the pixels. But it was all we had. I hoped it would work.
“Okay, got it,” Mitch said after navigating to the correct site and logging in.
On screen in front of us, the tracking app showed a blinking blue dot over a Google-type satellite map, signifying the location of Mitch’s phone. He zoomed in on what had to be Castillo’s latest safe house. It was an enormous mansion, surrounded by a giant cement wall.
“Check it out.” Mitch slid his chair over and let me in to click and zoom around the property.
After a few minutes I leaned back and rubbed my face. “I dunno.” I zoomed in again, clicking different parts of the screen. “Every angle I come at it from feels like a suicide mission. What good is knowing where Castillo is, if we can’t get to him?”
Mitch had a desperate look in his eyes, and I knew exactly how he felt. We were so close.
“We just have to think outside the box,” he said.
“You’re the brains here. Any ideas?”
Mitch took a few seconds to think. “Have you ever heard of Marcel Proust?”
“Oh, yeah,” I teased. “He’s a good friend of mine.”
“I don’t get it,” Andy said. “Who is he?”
Mitch laughed. “He was a French Essayist.”
“Oh, that Marcel Proust,” I said with a smirk.
“He said, ‘The real magic of discovery lies not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.’ The point being, we have to look at this differently and find a more creative route.”
“And...” I gestured for him to elaborate, “how exactly do we do that?”
“Walk me through it. What are their defenses?”
I pointed at the computer screen. “Aside from the gigantic wall...”
“We know he’ll have armed men, inside and out,” Andy pointed out.
“Any decent close proximity protection team would have at least ten men for an environment that size,” I continued. “If I had to guess, I’d say six outside, four inside. But that’s not counting the security-trained drivers for the Escalades.”
“Okay,” Mitch said, pursing his lips. “It’s clear we’re not getting in...we’ll just have to get him to come out. Grab him on the move.”
“We tried that before,” Andy mentioned. “It backfired.”
“Exactly,” I added. “Once he gets in one of those Escalades, he’s inside a rolling panic room.”
“Hang on. Not necessarily. Same logic applies to the SUVs. If we can’t get in, we get him to come out.”
I shook my head. “Would never happen. Trust me, I’ve been inside one of those armored vehicles. Even with the right tools it would take hours to get someone out.”
Mitch rubbed his temples and stretched his neck downward. He stared hard at the Google map and the area surrounding the house, then tapped a section of the screen. “What’s all this? These dark lines?” he asked.
“Canal system,” Andy answered. He slid his finger across the map. “These canals run all through Havana and dump out into the ocean.”
Mitch pounded the table in excitement and everyone in the place turned. He held up an apologetic hand, and they all went back to what they were doing.
“That’s it,” Mitch whispered. “That’s how we do it. We use the canals.”
“Okay,” I said. “Talk slow and tell us what you’re thinking.”
But Mitch was already all up in his head. “We’re going to need some equipment.” His gaze turned to the front glass doors of the Internet café where a large delivery truck sat parked alongside the curb. “And...I can’t believe I’m actually suggesting this, but I think you’re going to need to steal that truck.”
THE THREE OF US STOOD inside Andy’s open storage unit.
“I’ve got the guns packed up, but where are the paintballs?” Mitch asked.
“These?” I tossed over a package of bright yellow orbs sitting in front of me on a shelf, and Mitch shoved them in one of the several packed duffle bags at his feet before heading for the back of the truck.
“Is that it?” Andy asked, stepping close to me. “We shouldn’t be here. Word will have spread. Castillo will have a large bounty out. I’m sure people are looking for us.”
“I know.”
He brushed his hand against my cheek and I leaned in without thought, pressing my lips to his. “Sorry...” I said, instantly pulling back, unsure about it. “I—”
“Don’t be.” Andy moved in closer, and kissed me again. His fingers slipped into my hair and my heart beat harder.
“All loaded up,” Mitch said. He paused and saw us inches apart, then pretended to be studying the painted mural on the unit next to us. Ten feet high bulbous letters spelled out: “Revolución” with a giant cartoon fist behind it. “Right, so...uh...you guys probably...I’m gonna wait in the truck.”
I let out a sigh, preparing myself for what lay ahead. No matter how many down-in-the-dirt, fight-for-your-life experiences I’d had, nothing terrified me like this. Losing my family would break me.
I kept it together, burying my fear and ignoring the tight knot of panic in my gut. My only comforting thought was that I knew I had it in me. I’d do what needed to be done. Whatever it took.
“Ready for this?” I asked.
Andy laced his fingers through mine. “I guess we’ll see.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I KEPT HIDDEN, BELLY-DOWN behind a cluster of brush, and surveyed the mansion through a pair of binoculars. Behind me, Mitch and Andy dug a hole, a big one. Dirt flew over their shoulders, pattering the ground like heavy rain.
I sat up and Mitch paused to wipe his brow. “Any sign of him?”
“No,” I answered. “But he’s in there. A full security team is in place.”
The house was enormous. In the backyard an Olympic-sized infinity pool, finished with indigo-mirrored glass tile, created the illusion of water spilling into nowhere. Nine-foot-high concrete walls circled the compound, protecting the occupants from prying eyes and would-be intruders. Inside them, the armed men guarding the house looked hardened and efficient. They flaunted a distinct air of menace as they wandered the grounds, alert for threats.
Outside the walls, I spotted motion detectors that provided an early warning system. Infrared beams crisscrossed the expanse, ensuring nothing could penetrate undetected. Luckily, Andy had led us up a back road into one of the hills behind the home, so the three of us weren’t visible from this vantage point.
“Almost th
ere,” Andy said, nodding at the ground. “Keep going.”
Mitch went back to digging and launched more dirt over his head. After a few more rounds, they struck metal. I crawled to the edge and watched Andy brush the loose soil away to reveal four pipes.
“You sure this will work?” I asked, leaning over the hole.
Mitch looked up. “Relax, it’s basic science. An eighth grader could do it.”
“Which is which?” I motioned to the pipes.
Andy pointed to one. “This is the natural gas line. We’ll feed that into this water line, which feeds the sprinkler system,” he said, pointing to the other.
I turned to Mitch. “Okay, have at it, Einstein.”
“I prefer Niels Bohr.”
“Who’s that?” I asked without thinking.
“He developed the Bohr model of the atom,” Mitch answered. “He won the Nobel Prize in Physics in 1922.”
I handed him the toolbox. “If you can make this happen, I’ll call you whatever you want.” I watched as Mitch began to work on the two small pipes. “I’m just glad that high IQ is on my side, not theirs.”
He nodded, the recognition of his value putting a small smile on his face.
“Okay.” He tightened something with a wrench and stepped out of the hole. “It’s go time.”
Andy hopped out next and jogged to the delivery truck, which was camouflaged with carefully placed tree branches. He bounced onto the hood, readied his paintball gun and gave us both a thumbs up.
I nodded. This was it. One shot. If I missed my mark, those precious seconds could blow our cover. I shook my right hand, loosening up my fingers, racked my gun, then lay down in front of a fallen tree, using the log to steady my aim.
One shot. With a slow exhale, I held my breath and fired. The bullet hit a sprinkler head thirty yards away, just as I’d hoped. The spark immediately ignited the natural gas being pumped from the pipes Mitch had rerouted. The resulting explosion from the spark raced through the pipe system, across the entire yard and caused every sprinkler on the grounds to catch fire. And with a rapid series of concussive booms, the entire lawn exploded with 12-foot-high geysers of flame.
I grinned, eyes wide. “I’ll be damned. It worked.”
From here, I had a perfect view of the mansion. The guards outside went crazy, running around confused as they tried to put out the fires. Within seconds, the front door burst open. The guards, led by Nefasto, formed a semicircle around Castillo, creating a human shield. They escorted him to one of the four Escalades and put him inside.
Up on the truck, Andy immediately took aim and fired his rifle.
“You sure you got this?” I called, jaunting toward him. “I was trained by one of the best marksmen—”
A single paintball struck one of the rims, and he smirked at me. “Done.”
The lone, yellow dot now marked the SUV Castillo was in. I took a moment to smile at Andy as he climbed down.
“Okay, not bad,” I conceded as all three of us hopped inside the truck.
I threw the vehicle into drive, and Mitch turned to me. “This is it, you know that, right? We don’t get Castillo now, we’ll never get another chance...and Dad’s dead for sure.”
My eyes stayed focused on the Escalade. “We’ll get him.”
“Put in your bits,” Andy said tossing us both plastic molded mouth guards. “This is going to hurt.”
Castillo and his convoy of Escalades whooshed along the only stretch of highway that led away from the mansion. I lost sight of them as I navigated down the backroad of our hill and onto a residential street. But we’d already mapped it out. There were no turnoffs, and we knew exactly where to cut them off. I jammed my foot down on the accelerator, heading to the first intersection that would cross their path. We couldn’t miss this opportunity. The truck teetered around quiet street corners with thick palm trees and luxurious houses. I spun the wheel, ignoring Mitch’s terrified face and his white-knuckled grip.
As we approached a three-way stop, I could see their convoy approaching. They’d changed positions several times, but I knew where to look. The line of vehicles had slowed their speed to a more reasonable forty miles per hour. Whoever was coordinating their movements must have figured the danger was behind them.
I slowed as well, matching their pace and trying to time things just right. They’d assume I would yield, but that wasn’t the plan. As the Escalade with the yellow rim rolled through the intersection, I exploded past the stop sign slamming into the marked vehicle’s side.
The collision was so sudden and violent, I instantly lost control. My head hit the wheel with a hard smack, and the last thing I glimpsed was the Escalade flipping onto its side and skidding twenty feet before careening into the canal.
I WOKE IN A DAZE TO Andy shaking my shoulder. Cold water had seeped in through the doors soaking my feet, and it took me a moment to realize I’d lost consciousness and our truck had followed the Escalade into the canal. Thankfully, that was the plan.
“Get your gear on,” I shouted as the truck sank deeper.
Andy and I scrambled to secure our tanks, but Mitch sat in shock, rushing water rising past his waist.
“Mitch!” I yelled. My voice seemed to jar him from his stupor, and he shouldered his air tank.
When the water reached my chin, I dove under. The cool, murky liquid pressed in around me, muting and distorting all sound. Andy followed soon after and began kicking at the windshield. I hoisted my legs to help, and a moment later, the three of us swam out, fully equipped with scuba gear. Fifteen feet down, at the bottom of the algae-coated canal, I spotted the Escalade’s headlights illuminating the ground around it. Even the dome light in the vehicle was lit as I headed toward it.
As Andy and Mitch swam up, I spotted Castillo through the side window. He slowly stirred as water poured in all around him. I nodded to Mitch and winked through my mask. The SUV might be bullet proof, but it wasn’t waterproof. And the collision had only exacerbated the condition. As I pressed against the glass to get a closer look, I saw the water flow escalate by the second; it gushed inside. Bottom line was, we no longer needed to get into the rolling fortress, this would force Castillo out.
I unsheathed a knife and knocked on the window with the butt of it. The driver sat unconscious, but Castillo’s eyes were wide open, terrified and alert. He undid his seatbelt and sloshed around the vehicle. The water was already up to his chest as I knocked again. Castillo finally spotted us and his face filled with anger. As he pressed close to the window, Mitch held up a spare tank and waved him out.
Inside, Castillo furiously grabbed a loose semi-automatic gun and aimed it at me, but then he dropped the gun, no doubt remembering the glass was bullet proof on his side, too. As I shook my head and waved him out, the water rose to his neck. Out of options, he reluctantly pressed the emergency latch, which unhooked the entire door.
The Escalade opened up and expelled Castillo, a breech birth into the dark, cold water. He tried to swim away, but I grabbed him and put a knife to his neck, allowing Andy to jam a regulator into his mouth.
My chest throbbed with urgency and anticipation. We had him. We did it.
With a wave of satisfaction, I dragged Castillo to one of Andy’s anchored Dive Propulsion Vehicles, throttled it forward and the four of us sped away from the Escalade’s lights into the inky darkness.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
MOONLIGHT PRESSED AGAINST the tangled branches of mangrove trees encircling our stolen boat. A soaking-wet Castillo sat near the back, seething, not the least bit repentant for his transgressions. His hands and feet were bound, and he glared at me as I searched the boat for things I could use. Luckily, we’d caught the Scandinavians by surprise, and I lifted a loose cell phone and a handgun from one of the boat’s side compartments.
Castillo let out a laugh and shook his head. “I bet you think you’ve got this all under control—”
“Shut up, no one’s interested in what you have to say,” I snapped
.
“No? You’re not wondering how Daddy’s doing? Is he dead? Alive? Did I torture him—”
I lunged for him, ignoring the stab of pain that radiated from my hip up my spine, and smashed the butt of my new gun into his mouth, splitting his lip. “If he’s dead, you’re dead.”
Castillo spit blood. “You are so easy to manipulate, Chica. You are, what do the Americans call it? A hothead.”
“You are, what do I call it? A douche bag.”
Castillo laughed, blood dripping from his chin. “Sí, sí, sí. So, what now? I assume the plan is to make a trade. Me for your father, correct?”
“That’s right,” Mitch answered from across the boat, his voice stern and even.
Castillo glanced at Andy, then turned to me again. “And I suppose you think that will be it. You think that’s where this ends?”
“Pretty much.” My grip tightened on the gun in my hand as I resisted the urge to shoot him. A bullet to the shin wouldn’t be fatal. I could do it.
“I’m afraid not.” Castillo shook his head. “See, you’ve made this personal, and I am a prideful man...to a fault.” His eyes flickered toward Andy again. “Your friend can tell you all about that, though.”
Andy stood up. “Tara, don’t—”
I held up a hand, stopping him from moving closer. It was always best to let the captor talk in case they gave something away. “Meaning?” I prompted.
“Well, you can’t kill me if you want to keep Daddy alive. And once I’m returned, once I’m free again...” Castillo answered. “I will never let this drop. Never. And at some point, I will find you again.”
“Maybe you could just send flowers.”
As I walked away, Castillo’s words became more desperate. He turned to Mitch. “You are the smart one, boy, look at me and tell me I’m lying.”
Mitch turned to Castillo, and I could tell he was trying to play it cool, but the man’s eyes were like two chips of stone and Mitch’s shoulders tensed. “Just do us all a favor and sit there quietly,” he murmured.
