Boca Bianca had suddenly become a very dangerous place. Now, instead of having only a bombing to deal with, they would have a riot, as well. Ron wondered if Azzaam was behind the rioting. It would certainly muddy the waters in regards to the bombing, making it appear it was done by a rival gang rather than Islamic extremists.
“Keep moving. We don’t want to be involved with the riot if we can help it,” Ron proclaimed as he continued to walk towards the blast zone.
“It’ll be a while before the police show up, and in the interim, the gangbangers will be looking for anyone or anything they can find to demonstrate their power,” Ron mentioned as they kept moving.
“Our van is back there, and it’s got a few weapons in it, in case you’ve forgotten,” Alex quipped sarcastically.
“It’ll be just fine. We parked behind the local grocery store. They won’t rob from their friends and family. I doubt anyone will even touch it,” Ron stated confidently.
“Yeah, and I’ve got some waterfront property in Arizona I can sell you,” Tom sniped.
“Oh, ye of little faith. Have I ever been wrong before?” Ron quipped with unearned cockiness.
“I can think of a time or two in the West Bank,” Alex chimed in.
“Oh, sure, bring up my one little mistake,” Ron quipped as he looked back over his shoulder towards the riot. It seemed to be growing rapidly.
“One little mistake, is it?” Tom sarcastically commented.
“Well, no one died. So I consider that a victory,” Ron replied. Tom and Alex just looked at each other and shook their heads.
As they closed to within a quarter-mile of Garza’s hotel, the air became clogged with dust and smoke, until it took on the look and thickness of a heavy fog. At a tenth of a mile from the blast zone, the streets began to be filled with large chunks of debris, burned out cars, trucks, and bodies bearing witness to the rain of deadly shrapnel created by the blast. At seventy-five yards from the hotel, their approach was blocked by the swelling crowd of onlookers, jamming the street ahead of them in a morbid attempt to see into the crater left by the blast.
Through the crowd, they could see that several buildings close to the hotel had collapsed into the street, and people were already there busily digging through the rubble, looking for survivors. It was a daunting task since the entire area was filled with debris, mutilated bodies and burning cars.
Towards the center of the debris field, they could see the remains of the hotel where Garza had taken up residence. The blast had ripped off the entire front façade and created a huge crater where the driveway and street once had been. As they weaved through the crowd, trying to get a closer look at the actual blast site, it became clear that all they would see was a large hole and lots of dirt and building debris. The people who had been unfortunately close at the time of the explosion had been vaporized by the blast. The only identifiable object they could see near the blast site that wasn’t building rubble was the rear axle of one of the SUVs Garza had used to get around town.
Staring at the site, Tom knew there was no way to tell for certain if Garza had been blown up with the vehicles. There just wasn’t enough of anything or anyone left after the blast to identify without DNA records—and probably not even then.
Tom called the guys off to the side, away from the gawking crowds, and reiterated his belief they wouldn’t find anything here to confirm Garza was killed in the blast. He suggested that they work their way around to the back of the hotel to see if Garza was in the crowd there. Perhaps they could find someone who had been with Garza that morning and they could ask them if they knew where Garza was. However, the search of the crowd gathered behind the remains of the hotel yielded nothing and no one. After an hour, Tom called off the search.
They had even risked a brief search of what was left of the hotel itself but decided it was too dangerous to continue as parts of the building were clearly minutes away from collapse. The elevators at the rear of hotel were offline, and the front elevators were completely gone. The front desk area had been vaporized along with most of the first and second floors, leaving the rooms exposed to the back wall of the building.
Tom found it curious there was such a large crowd gathered behind the hotel on the beach. It was like a carnival, with everyone wandering every which way, carrying drinks and food in their hands. Loud music played in the background from huge boom boxes the beach vendors carried with them as they continued to hawk their wares. Alex pointed out that the pool bar of the hotel was still serving drinks, although now it was strictly a cash bar. While scanning the crowd for the umpteenth time, Ron noticed the cameras on the buildings to either side of the destroyed hotel, and he had idea.
“Let’s get back around front. I want to see if there are any intact cameras on the neighboring buildings out there,” Ron shouted over the din to Tom and Alex.
“Why? What do we need with the cameras?” Alex asked as they started to walk that way, picking and weaving their way through the crowds.
“They just might have caught the explosion on tape, if we’re lucky,” Ron quipped. “That’s how the Israelis get a lot of their intelligence about the suicide bombings. You know, ATMs, security cameras and such,” Ron explained.
“Won’t most of them have been destroyed by the blast if they were close enough to record the actual explosion?” Tom asked.
“The camera might be gone, but the film or the disc is usually in another place. We’ll just have to find as many as we can and watch each one,” Ron explained.
“Okay, let’s split up so we can cover more ground before the local police show up and take them as evidence!” Tom ordered. “Use the comlink to keep in touch. If they ask, tell them you’re with the police, and you need to look at the tapes. Once we find something, we’ll meet up and figure out how to get the actual tape or disc in our hands.”
“You’re catching on, buddy,” Ron quipped as the guys split up and began checking for the cameras on the side of buildings, in store windows, on ATM machines or just mounted on the traffic light poles.
It took a better part of an hour to find a camera that was still intact and had likely caught the explosion on tape. Alex found it in a jewelry store two blocks away, and after he reviewed the tape, he called for Ron and Tom to join him.
The tape was from a hidden camera inside the store, which pointed outward from the store’s front window. The hotel just happened to be in the direct line of sight of the camera in the display case. The camera taped the entire morning’s activities, but the guys were only interested in the time frame showing when Garza left to play golf, up to the time the explosion took place.
Garza had left the hotel at 9:15 a.m. He’d strolled out of the front doors, talking on his cell phone, while his team of security men stood in a circle that encompassed the three-SUV caravan, his normal mode of transportation. Alex fast-forwarded at this point, slowing now and then to be sure the bomb wasn’t planted before Garza returned from the golf course.
Then at 1:45 p.m., approximately an hour after the attack on the golf course, Garza’s SUV caravan raced into the circle at the front of the hotel. Garza’s men quickly exited the vehicles and set up a perimeter that allowed Garza to exit and run into the hotel with four men surrounding him and six more following behind him.
A group of Garza’s men exited the hotel twenty-three minutes later. They charged out of the building’s front doors carrying MP5s in plain sight and quickly spread out across the hotel’s front gardens, blocking off the driveways and walkways to all traffic. Then, two more men quickly exited the building and opened the rear doors on the middle SUV as the men who had remained in the vehicles slipped out, brandishing their MP5s before encircling the SUVs with even more firepower. From kneeling positions, they eyed the passing pedestrians as they went about their business, unaware that soon, all hell would be raining down on them. The men blocking the driveways went so far as to search several young men at gunpoint before sending them on their way.
Twenty minutes later, Garza appeared stepping cautiously out the doors, looking around as he walked while he spoke into his cell phone. It was obvious that he was not happy because his non-phone arm was flailing about and occasionally he held his phone out at arm’s length and screamed at it. This went on for about five minutes, until a bellhop came through the front doors pushing and pulling a couple of luggage carts, followed by Garza’s girlfriend who was carrying two small cases and looking as though she was about to pass out from the strain. Garza noticed this as he continued screaming at his phone and began pointing at her. Then, he began yelling at his guards to help her, while still yelling at whoever was on the phone.
The bellboy and guards quickly loaded the luggage from the two luggage carts into the SUV along with the girlfriend’s two small cases. As they slammed the doors, the men blocking the driveway and walkway began backing up to the SUVs in preparation for leaving. Garza stood at the side door of the SUV, waving for his girlfriend to get in as he continued yelling into the phone. She started to get in to the vehicle but stopped halfway. Suddenly, she turned around and walked quickly back into the hotel, with Garza screaming at her the whole time, while holding the phone down to his side. She smiled and waved over her shoulder as she disappeared into the building.
At this point, Ron made a derogatory comment about women forgetting things, which elicited the standard response from Tom. He told him to shut up. They watched the tape for another three minutes waiting for the girlfriend to reappear, but she didn’t return. That was when the tape got very interesting. A fourth black SUV, just like the other ones that Garza used, pulled up in the grassy area in front of the hotel next to the Garza caravan.
But instead of more men jumping out to protect Garza, Garza’s men quickly encircled the vehicle, pointing their guns at it. Garza ducked behind the nearest SUV and was shouting orders to his men from there.
After a minute or so, Garza stood up and began walking around the SUV, all the while yelling and pointing at it. Tom, Ron and Alex agreed that the driver, from what little they could see, looked to be Garza’s third in command, Anastas Soto.
Soto was slumped over the steering wheel and was waving lazily with his left hand as if telling everyone to stay away. Garza continued moving towards the SUV, shouting as he went, until he reached the circle of men standing around it. Garza looked long and hard at the SUV, then quickly stepped back while yelling something to his men who then opened fire on the SUV, riddling the vehicle with bullet holes and shattering the front windshield.
The picture then suddenly flashed bright white and then went blank. The camera seemed to run out of film, showing test patterns and squally lines, then it suddenly went black. After several moments, it slowly came back into focus, only there wasn’t anything there to focus on.
The front of the hotel had been vaporized, and where the SUVs had been, there was now a huge crater with a mangled piece of one the SUVs lying on the far ridge up against the hotel. The camera was unable to distinguish between the dozens of body parts and the bricks, metal and timber pieces that were spread between the crater and the store, which was just fine with Tom. The air was filled with dust, debris and shredded papers that floated about on the air currents. From all appearances, Fast Eddie Garza had been vaporized in the blast.
After talking for several minutes to the store’s beautiful young woman manager, they convinced her someone would be by later to collect the memory card from the camera as evidence. Ron chuckled at that because they had no idea if someone would be by later or not. This was a third world country, and forensic police work wasn’t exactly a high priority here. Plus, even if they did come by, it wouldn’t do them any good. While Tom was busy explaining that they, the police, would be by to pick up the camera card as evidence, Ron had stolen the card for themselves.
The guys left town as quickly as they could make their way through the crowd of onlookers and emergency responders. Thankfully, the van was right where they had left it. Surprisingly, no windows were broken, but the body of the van looked like someone had taken a baseball bat to it, crating it like a moonscape.
Once clear of the crowds, they headed directly for the Juan Santa Maria International Airport outside of San Jose. From there, they would take an early evening commercial flight to Nassau, before catching a Kilauea chopper home.
The trip to the airport was uneventful with Tom checking in with the boss as they drove, using the encrypted satphone. He explained what happened to Garza and that their mission was over, unless he had something else for them to do here. They were relieved to know he didn’t.
They left the van in the long-term parking structure where, after two months, the parking attendant would have it towed to an impound yard. After six months, the local governing authority for the airport would sell it, which was fine with the guys. It had been purchased cheaply, knowing they would be abandoning it to ensure that they could leave the country quickly once their job was done.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Arranging to meet with Steven Howard was not an easy task. Jeff Karabon spent over an hour on the phone, trying to get to someone who could actually tell him whether or not he could even meet with Howard, let alone when. Finally, in desperation, he had told the secretary it was a matter of life and death—Mr. Howard’s life and death.
The meeting was to take place at Kilauea’s headquarters in Richmond, Virginia at three o’clock that afternoon. Jeff arrived a good half-hour early, since he knew that Kilauea’s security would be demanding he submit to a search and questioning before he was allowed to see Steven Howard.
Jeff parked in the public lot, just as Bob Westlyn had done, and then walked briskly in the front doors. Upon entering, he was greeted by a security guard behind a big round desk who asked his name. After telling him who he was, the guard then spoke into a radio for a moment and told Jeff to take a seat. He informed him someone would be out momentarily to escort him.
Fifteen minutes later, two large men strolled across the cavernous lobby and stood directly in front of him.
“Jeff Karabon?” the man on the right asked.
“Yes, I have a meeting with Steven Howard,” Jeff responded.
“Come this way,” the man stated as he turned away. Jeff stood to follow but was a little concerned when the other man remained where he had been standing and watched him as he started to walk away. Once Jeff had moved about ten feet, the man followed after him.
They boarded an elevator but instead of going up, they went down. Jeff stood sandwiched between the two guards during the short ride. Neither man spoke. Once they had reached what Jeff assumed to be the level of the security office, the elevator doors opened and the three of them stepped out. In the hallway were three more security men and they promptly took Jeff’s box that contained the documents, and two of the men took him by the arms and pushed him forward through a door marked ‘Office.’
“What are you doing? I have an appointment!” Jeff bellowed as he was shoved roughly into a chair at a table in the middle of the room. No sooner than he had been forced to sit, the door at the back of the room opened and a man who was clearly older, but dressed in a security uniform as well, came in and sat down in the chair on the opposite side of the table.
“Does everyone have to go through this to see Mr. Howard?” Jeff asked.
“No. Only those who threaten his life,” the man stated as he opened a folder.
“I didn’t threaten his life. I said it was a matter of life and death. His! I’m a reporter with the Washington Post, and I have some information I know he’s going to want to see,” Jeff stated without explaining.
“Yes, I have your resume in front of me, and I’m wondering why you didn’t share this information with your paper.”
“Oh, no. I can’t share this with the paper. They’d bury it. It’s extremely explosive. In fact, I can’t even write the story until after things settle down. It’s too dangerous,” Jeff cryptically tried to explain without actually giving this
guy any real information.
“So what do you have as proof of this explosive information?” the man next asked.
“I’ve got files, and, I guess, receipts for things that show the involvement of high ranking government officials in bribery, extortion and murder. Not to mention, probably treason,” Jeff shared what he had assumed from Jason’s letter.
“You have all that. Why not go to the FBI or Justice with it? Why bring it here?” the man asked.
“I was told to bring it to either Mr. Howard or to General Clarett. This was the only place I could think of to contact either of them.”
“Who was it that told you to come here?” the man next asked.
“An old friend.”
“Does this old friend have a name?”
“I’d rather not tell you. I will tell Mr. Howard, though.”
The man’s face grew taught as he looked at Jeff with a hard stare that lasted for several moments. He then said, “If you don’t tell me, you won’t be speaking to Mr. Howard, and you will be going to see the Richmond police. They’ll be asking why you’re attempting to kill Steven Howard.”
“I don’t want to kill Steven Howard! I was given this information about someone who is going to try to kill him!”
“So who is it that gave you this information?” the man asked again.
“I’d prefer to tell Mr. Howard,” Jeff stated as firmly as his nerves would let him.
Reprisal!- The Eagle's Challenge Page 16
