“The road ends, but then turns into a small alley. We get through the alley, I think we’ll be close enough to spit on them.”
“Got it,” Sean said.
Another hundred yards, and Sean hit the brakes hard…again.
“Damn, Mr. Sean, you almost sent me flying,” Bolt said.
“Sorry, I couldn’t see the opening to the alley.”
We puttered a bit, then slowly picked up speed, whizzing by chain-link fences.
Dogs barked all around us.
“If the dogs weren’t behind a fence, they could easily catch us,” I said.
“If.” Sean shrugged his shoulders.
With the moon hidden behind a bank of clouds, and buildings and homes on either side of us, it was difficult to see.
Suddenly, the moped hopped up and over a bottle, which exploded from the weight pressure.
“Shit. Hope we didn’t puncture the tire,” I said, watching the moving bubble. “Should be curving to the right soon.”
“Now,” Sean winced as we hugged a wooden fence while arching right.
I looked straight at the handle bar. No more than an inch separated the moped from clipping the fence, which would crash the bike, break us into a few pieces, and likely lose any signal from Britney.
A quick, distracting thought. Why had I immediately darted off to rescue Britney? Because she was our only link to Esteban. Right?
My teeth clanged off each other as Sean barreled through a pothole.
“I might have to get dentures.”
“I can’t see squat,” he said.
“Get ready to hang a right onto Nunez.”
We finished the turn.
“Where are the Hummers?” Sean asked, his head moving left and right.
I checked the map. “They must have sped up. Maybe they know we’re chasing after them.”
“Not likely. If needed, the Hummers can actually go faster than forty miles per hour. But that’s our light speed.”
“We’re still within striking distance. Need to keep our same pace, try to run a light up ahead.” Saying the words out loud was a mistake.
“Fuck!”
“What, Booker?”
“The frickin’ GPS signal. We lost it.”
Sean pulled the moped to the curb, a major intersection about a quarter mile in front of us. I lifted from the seat and held the tablet closer to his sights, as Bolt jumped from the bike and paced the area.
“Let me check something.” Sean swiped the screen. “The Wi-Fi hotspot is still working. Five bars as a matter of fact. Show me where you last saw the signal.”
I pointed to the map, then flipped my head back to the intersection in front of us. “That’s Churchill Avenue up head. I last saw the icon about two blocks to the south.”
Sean coiled his lips. “It just vanished. And I’m afraid so did our hopes of finding Esteban.”
He got off the seat, walked a few steps toward the road, then turned to Bolt. “What’s in the area where we lost Britney’s GPS, do you know?”
“Financial district. Lots of glass office buildings, restaurants, and a couple of fancy hotels.”
Sean jumped back on the moped, started the engine. Bolt and I hopped on, and we cruised to the end of the street and hooked a right.
“Keep an eye on the GPS. I’m going to drive slowly. I’m hoping they pulled into an underground garage or walked into an elevator and that the signal will pop back up again.”
We puttered down the six-lane street, heavier traffic whizzing by us on the left.
“Anything yet?” Sean yelled just as an eighteen-wheeler motored by, spewing exhaust in our faces.
Bolt spit off to the side, but a trail of saliva lingered in the wind and glanced off my face.
“Hey!”
“Lo siento,” he said with a quick chuckle.
Typical teen, I thought.
“We’re at the point where the GPS disappeared, right?” Sean asked.
“Yep. And nothing shows up. You sure you weren’t issued faulty equipment? Wouldn’t be the first time our government scrimped on those who serve to save a few dimes.”
“It works,” he said with certainty. “At least I hope it does.”
I glanced down at the screen for the twentieth time in the last five minutes. Lifting my eyes, I scanned the area around us, hoping to see Britney or Amador or one of his goons walking in a parking lot or out of a restaurant.
“They must have known we were following them. Maybe they found the device and destroyed it.”
“I thought the same thing,” Sean said, his head on a swivel.
“So you think it’s possible?”
“Given how Julio sniffed out Bolt, it sounds like the whole group is on alert. They’re freaked out by this El Jefe group, maybe the possible connection to Trujillo, the former dictator.”
I took a quick peek at the screen. A blue dot came to life. “It’s back.”
“The GPS signal? Where?”
“We’re almost on top of it. Stop.”
Sean pulled into a parking lot and jumped off the moped before the engine completely shut off.
“I think it’s coming from over there.” I pointed at the tall glass building across the street.
“Columbus Hotel,” Bolt said.
“As in Christopher?” I asked.
“I think it’s named after his brother, who founded Santo Domingo.”
“See, you do have a lot of knowledge in that head of yours.”
“She must be in the hotel with Amador. If we can get close enough, we might be able to reestablish audio and video connectivity.” Sean nudged Bolt and me, and we scooted across the busy street, a few horns blaring behind us.
We hit the front lawn of the high-rise, thick blades of grass rippling against my sandaled feet. “Strange place to bring someone if they’re really kidnapping Britney,” I said, craning my neck to the top. “We need to get inside, see if we can connect to her.”
“Must be thirty floors or so,” Sean said.
Bolt held up a knowing finger. “It’s thirty-two.”
“Good to see you can count.”
“I’m connected, Mr. Booker. You should know that by now.”
I could have made a snide remark. “Connected to who or what?”
“I’ve got an old friend who used to live…in my community.”
“And?”
“He got a job at the hotel a little more than a year ago. He’s already worked his way up to overnight assistant manager of the maid staff. A very prominent position.”
“I think you need to introduce us, quickly,” I said.
“Consider it done.”
16
Ten minutes later I was pacing in a small office. Sean had just entered the room, sliding his phone into his pocket, a couple of veins snaking down the side of his neck.
“What’s up?”
His eyes shifted to Bolt, who was playing hacky sack with a pouch of bath salts he’d found on a shelf.
“Nothing,” he said, sliding his chair up to his tablet where he resumed trying to pick up the video and audio feed from Britney.
“Nothing, as in it was a direct marketing call asking you to buy a travel package to Belarus, or nothing as in you have a new assignment that will put you on the front lines of the latest terrorist struggle in Afghanistan?”
Now his eyes locked on mine. They were older, a few lines sprouting off the corners. Despite his corny disguise, he seemed a bit worn, maybe by the stress of what he was being asked to do again and again. Assassination couldn’t be easy to deal with, even if you could rattle off twenty reasons why it saved lives in the long run.
“Nothing for you to worry about.”
“I get it.”
A few seconds later, he let out a disgusted breath. “I’ve frickin’ tried everything.” Placing his palms against his eyelids, Sean leaned back in his swivel chair.
“We might need to get hotel security involved and go door to door looking for
Britney and Amador.”
“Or, we could ask my friend, Fernando, and he could see if he can get access to the hotel directory.”
“Thanks, Bolt, but if we do either of those things, word could get back to Amador’s goon squad. Then we’d have a real mess on our hands. Hell, we’re at risk just being in this office, even if it’s in the basement,” Sean said.
I picked up the tablet and tapped a few keys.
“What are you doing?” Sean asked.
“Turning it off. That’s the first thing you do when a gadget isn’t working. Reboot and cross our fingers we can pick up a good connection.”
“Forest through the trees. Thanks, Booker.”
Bolt dribbled the hacky sack twenty times off his knees without it hitting the floor, apparently in his own world, unaware of our conversation—all for the better. A blink on the tablet caught my eye. An image of a hotel room.
“We’ve got video.”
Sean jumped out of his chair and peered over my shoulder.
“What are we looking at?” Bolt, suddenly interested, popped his head in between Sean and me.
Twisting my head, I said, “Think it’s the ceiling.”
Sean and Bolt mimicked my angled head, then they both nodded.
“What’s that in this corner?” Bolt pointed.
“Hold on, let me make sure we’ve got audio.” Sean adjusted the settings. “If you look at this bar, it shows audio is coming in, but at a real low decibel level. We’ll have to be real quiet and see if we can pick up any conversation.”
Sean brought the tablet closer. “Hey, I can hardly see now,” Bolt whined.
“Shhh!” Sean and I said in tandem.
“I hear voices,” I said. “Two people. A man and a woman. Sounds calm, casual even, but I can’t tell what hell they’re saying. Not sure they’re close enough to the mic.”
“Can’t be sure others aren’t in the room.”
“Or what room they’re in,” I said.
Sean arched an eyebrow.
A quick flutter passed by the camera.
“Was that a hand?” Sean wondered.
I studied the angle of the camera, trying to guess at the distance to the corner of the ceiling we had on the screen.
Just then, Bolt put two and two together. “Wait, if the camera was attached to the front of her dress, then what are we looking at?” His eyes looked off to an award hanging on the office wall. “She took her dress off. It’s probably lying on the floor or a chair.”
Sean and I turned our heads in slightly, connecting our eyes. “It’s possible,” I said.
“Listen,” Sean said.
I heard quick-paced thuds through the faint audio feed.
“What the hell?” My neck grew stiff wondering what we were hearing.
A wicked laugh, then Britney dashed by the camera and leaped onto something off-camera, presumably the bed. She was naked.
I jerked my hand over Bolt’s face, blocking his vision.
“Holy shit!” he said, trying to squirm to get another view.
“Oh brother,” Sean said.
“I knew Mr. Booker was a lucky man.” He glanced at me and smiled.
I shot him a quick smirk. “You need to go over there and set your new personal record with the hacky sack.”
“But how can I be expected to support this important operation if I’m not given the same access to the information at our disposal?” He inched backward, his shoulders scrunched above his ears.
“Have you heard the phrase children are to be seen but not heard?” I asked.
“Not sure you paid that much attention when you were a little rugrat,” Sean said.
I almost shot back a snippy comment about how would he know one way or the other. I just ignored it and kept one eye on Bolt, the other on the screen.
“I’ve heard it, but it doesn’t apply. I haven’t been a child in a long time, Mr. Booker.” His voice had a trace of sadness to it. He simply turned, walked over, and picked up his makeshift hacky sack. Then he leaned against the far wall, his eyes studying the little toy, or nothing at all.
I could see something existed in Bolt that had impacted his life. Underneath all of his sarcasm and endless quips targeting anyone he could needle, there was an inner lining of sadness. I could see it every so often, and a quick pat on his back or joke wouldn’t allow him to forget. It seemed to be carved into his psyche. I knew he’d been on his own for years. But what event had triggered his life as a kid with no family and no home?
Sean nudged my arm. “You still with us?”
“Yeah, just thinking a few things through.” I narrowed my eyes, moving my neck closer to the screen. “I think I see Britney’s toes just at the edge of the screen.”
“I guess you’d know.”
“Uh, yeah.”
A couple of seconds later, a man jogged past the camera and made a similar leap.
“Shirtless,” I said.
“Looks like Chewbacca,” Sean smirked.
“Chewy?” Bolt said, his voice sounding more alive. “He didn’t say much, but he was a great sidekick.”
“All the action heroes have a memorable sidekick,” I said.
“True.” He tossed the sack in the air and caught it on his forehead, keeping it balanced for a few seconds before thrusting it off and then dribbling it off his knees six times. “I connected with Han Solo. He had all the great lines.”
“Why am I not surprised?” I thought more. “I’m kind of surprised you’ve seen those movies.”
“Actually just had a marathon movie session a few months ago. Fernando snuck me and three of our old running buddies into the Presidential Suite, and we watched the first six Star Wars movies in one long night.”
He grinned while nodding.
I brought my sights back to the screen.
“My favorite was the end of Empire Strikes Back. You know that movie is considered the best made, right?”
“Now you’re a movie critic.”
“I’ve actually seen quite a few movies. That’s what I want to do when I grow up—direct movies, if I can’t make it on the Dominican national soccer team and go to the World Cup.”
“It’s possible.” I had no desire to throw a bucket of water on a kid who obviously needed to envision a better life, with goals and dreams, just like the rest of us at that age.
“Do you remember that scene?” Bolt asked, his eyes full of stars, and he washed a hand across his face like he was some type of Jedi master.
“What…” I shifted my eyes to the screen. Britney’s toes had moved off-camera, and I could only hear a ruffling of some kind. I could feel a wave of heat slowly creep up my torso until it singed my neck. “…scene?”
“As smoke billows across the screen, storm troopers move a captured Han Solo into the carbonite machine. Darth Vader is going to freeze him and turn him over to Jabba the Hut.” Bolt stretched out his arms and made his cheeks puffy with air. “Just before they lower Han into the machine, Princess Leia leans in and kisses him. She says, “I love you.’”
“What did Han say?” Sean asked.
“You never saw Star Wars? And you call yourself an American?” I joked.
“I saw the last three, not the first three. I was in college when the first came out. Too interested in other things.”
I could have guessed at girls or guns, but I refrained.
“So, what did Han say?” Sean asked again.
“‘I know.’” Bolt said solemnly.
“That’s it? I know? Lame,” he said.
“You’re kidding me, Mr. Sean. It’s iconic.”
“For English as a second language, you seem to have an incredible dictionary in that mind of yours.”
He stood a little straighter. “I suppose I could use my multi-language skills to navigate the dangerous waters of being a…CIA operative.” A straight face coiled into a devilish grin.
I think Sean’s face turned red.
Tension filled the air, and Bol
t quickly dropped his head. It’s obvious he’d overhead some conversations and made some assumptions.
The silence only lasted a few ticks. A man shouted. Amador.
“What’s he saying?” Sean asked.
“Sounds angry.” I struggled to understand what he was saying.
More barking from Amador. Just then, I could see Britney’s shoulders in the right part of the screen.
More yelling, but I couldn’t make out a single word.
Sean shook his head, his eyes focused on the screen. “Crap.”
Amador’s hairy mitts had just grabbed Britney’s arms. He moved her back and forth, and then finally shook her twice.
“We can’t let him beat her up. Or worse,” I said.
Just then, the door swung open.
“¿Bolt, cuánto tiempo más que ustedes van a estar aqui?”
A tall kid leaned inside, donning a slick uniform, black pants, and vest with a starched white shirt.
“Fernando?” I asked.
He nodded, as I shifted my eyes to Bolt then back to Fernando.
“Wants to know how much longer we’re going to be,” Bolt said.
“Hard to say. It might be quicker if he was to help us. Can you ask him if he has a uniform that might fit a guy about six-three, two hundred ten pounds or so?”
“Why, do you know someone looking for a job?”
Fernando.
“You speak English?”
“I’ve had to learn. We host many people from the states at this hotel.”
“What about the uniform?”
“I can check. We might have something. Will this expedite your stay with us?”
“It might.”
Sean took a step in his direction. “Bolt told us that if anyone in this world could be trusted, it was Fernando.”
The gangly youngster walked in and shut the door behind him, arching his back as if standing at attention.
“This matter might impact the national security of the Dominican Republic and the United States of America. Can we rely on you to ensure our presence remains a secret?”
He gave a quick nod. “Of course, but what could involve—”
“No questions. Now, can you get Mr. Booker here what he was asking for?”
I took another glance at the screen. Britney had turned forty-five degrees. The back of her bare torso was all that was visible, but Amador still had her by both arms.
BOOKER Box Set #2 (A Private Investigator Thriller Series of Crime and Suspense): Volumes 4-6 Page 43
