What happened next was stunning in its speed and ferocity. Daniel's hand closed over the man's hand just above where the pink tipped white wrist bones protruded, enfolding and securing the hand and knife. Daniel's own power added to the immense upward inertia, continued the move, looking directly at the man's face. The knife penetrated through El Toro's right eye socket, destroying the soft tissue, traversing the brain until the tip rested against the inside of the skull in the back of his head. El Toro died instantly, his brain skewered by the serrated blade. Daniel gave a gentle shove and the convulsing corpse fell on its back, the knife handle like an obscene protrusion from the eye socket.
Daniels turned and suddenly caught the image of Carlos, his arm straight out, holding the Berreta steady in his direction. There was no time to move. Soon as he saw him, Carlos fired the weapon.
Chapter 10
Richard Daniels heard the bullet buzz, felt the air pressure by his head. He crouched and whirled in time to see Rat, his hand holding a large revolver pointed at him. Rat had a surprised expression on his face and a round red hole in his forehead from Carlos' bullet. He pitched face forward in the red dirt. A little puff of dust kicked up and some flies began to settle on the two corpses.
Carlos walked over to Daniels, the Berreta hanging limp from his arm. His eyes were wide open and the bushy mustache danced on his quivering lip. His hand trembled slightly as his head shook from side to side.
"Caribbean Stone Fish, eh?" said Carlos.
"I thought you didn't like National Geographics?"
"Madre de Dios, you took down El Toro. I wouldn't believe it if I didn't see it. But tell me Pandejo, tell me just one thing, how did you know he would come at you with the knife? What if he had pulled out that little machine gun he keeps in his car, how did you know he wouldn't do that?"
"I know the type. I studied it. He's a sadist. He wants to feel the pain he inflicts, the death at the end of his arm. He can't do that with a gun. Plus he's a big man, not used to meeting someone who can take him. For him, it was going to be recreation."
"By the way," added Daniels, "what's a Pandejo?"
"You don't want to know, Amigo. But I tell you one thing: You done a lot of good killing that big Maricone."
"Didn't do so bad yourself. Definitely saved my ass from this one," said Daniels, pointing to Rat's corpse.
"So how'd you know, how did you know, like I wouldn't run on you?"
A narrow hint of a smile flashed across Daniels' face as a devil-hot gust of wind blew dirt around them.
"Maybe I know your type."
Carlos held Daniels' gaze and shrugged.
"This is going to lighten the odds a little for us when we go in," Daniels said, looking down at Toro's corpse, speckled with flies like foul raisins.
"No it won't, Compadre, on the contrary. When El Toro doesn't show up by morning, they'll be stirred up like an overturned anthill. You're going to have to cancel this."
Daniels shook his head. "No. We're going in tonight."
* * *
They dragged the corpses into the ruins of the mill and drove the Mercedes under an overhanging rock ledge. At four PM Daniels hooked the laptop to the Landrover cigar lighter plug and deployed the satellite antenna.
* * *
He entered ALPHA-00X. The immediate Go signal.
The replies came instantly.
BETA-002X
CHARLIE-003X
* * *
All teams had given the immediate ready codes. Daniels turned to Carlos
"Okay, you're in Amigo. Here's how it's going down..."
Chapter 11
The guard's jaw dropped when Carlos drove up to the gate in his old truck with the blonde sitting on the front seat. She was that stunning—Hollywood beautiful with long blonde hair, blue eyes and classic Nordic features. Light makeup and pink lipstick highlighted a model's face that could have come straight out of Vogue or Elle. The guard strained to see a little more as he keyed the remote operating the Ferro-cement gate. A tight, black and red dress highlighted the blonde's generous breasts swelling the thin cotton fabric. The guard let out a low whistle as the truck passed through.
"Cuidado," said his partner, have a care. "This fine Guapa is reserved for Miguel only. If she tells him you annoyed her, Miguel will have your Cojones drying in the sun by morning."
"Si, but a woman like that can make your cock sing like a Caruso."
"What's the difference," said the guard with a shrug. "You know Miguel. She probably won't see the morning."
Carlos drove the truck past the second guard post to the end of the mile long gravel covered driveway. He parked in front of the main entrance where two men stood holding machine pistols. One of them nodded toward the large carved wood entrance door. Carlos accompanied the tall blonde inside. The two men stared openly as she walked the three steps into the entrance. Her hips and rear shimmered under the tight dress, the red spike heels clicking on the stone floor.
"Dios Mio, what a beauty," said one of the men softly.
"What a shame, she will be our most beautiful desaparecido," disappeared one, replied the other.
From the balcony of his second floor apartment, Miguel Aquelino watched the blonde get out of Carlos' truck. That was one fine puta he had found. He wondered where he got her. It would be worth keeping him around if he could locate fine women like that. But the best was Carlos' sister. It won't be too long he thought before I will enjoy her. Yes he thought, I will enjoy her beauty, her pain and at the end, after many hours, her death. That Cabron, El Toro had once told him, I don't know which one you like best, to fuck them or to kill them. But Miguel knew. He liked to kill them. He liked the power that raged through his veins when he looked in their eyes, when they suddenly realized the only direction their torments could take, the only way it could end.
Tonight, he thought, I will enjoy this fine blonde one. I will enjoy her body, her pain and her death.
Miguel came down the broad staircase into the spacious reception hall where Carlos and the blonde waited. His eyes drank her beauty and his hand shook slightly with anticipation.
"Senor Aquilino, this is Carena," said Carlos.
The blonde cocked her head and smiled as Miguel took her hand in both of his, the fingers lingering inside her palm.
He nodded to Carlos in the direction of the door. Carlos turned and left.
He led the blonde up the stairs to his apartment. Inside he poured two glasses of champagne and spread four lines of cocaine on the mirrored bar top. The scar that ran across his face seemed to pulse white and scarlet pink. Miguel inhaled a line with a silver straw and held it toward the blonde. She shook her head, her eyes sparkling and languorous at the same time. Her voice was husky and breathless.
"Later lover. I want to feel every inch of you first."
They drank the champagne and Miguel held the blonde, his arms around her waist, his hands kneading the firm flesh of her ass. She kissed him, her tongue probing, her breasts pressing against Miguel's chest. Miguel pushed her toward the four-poster bed in the next room.
"Wait... wait," she said, her breathing fast and hard. Miguel smiled as her hand lightly traced the outline of his rock-hard cock in the loose white cotton pants.
She reached behind her with both hands, her breasts thrusting out, pushing harder against him. Miguel heard the metallic whispery noise of the rear zipper of her dress coming down.
With the zipper undone, the dress hung loose on the blonde as she reached with her left arm behind Miguel's head, her right hand sliding between their bodies. The blonde pulled Miguel's head to her in a sudden move, surprising with both speed and strength as her mouth opened wide, grasping both Miguel's lips in the iron grip of her teeth, fusing his mouth shut. The blonde's right hand shot upward between them with a powerful thrust. The foot long ice pick blade that had been concealed in the zipper of the dress slid between Miguel's ribs, stabbing upwards, piercing his heart through and through.
He convulsed
as the shock overwhelmed his system. His mouth attempted to open but was held fast by the blonde's teeth. A muffled gurgling rattle from deep within his throat was the only sound Miguel Aquilino made as he died.
* * *
Kurt Rhineman lowered Miguel Aquilino's corpse to the thick-carpeted floor. Just a small amount of blood spread from the protruding ice pick handle in the deadman's chest. He removed the blonde wig, kicked off the high heels and stepped out of the dress. He dragged Miguel's corpse to the broad fully mirrored bathroom and propped him up against the Jacuzzi so his face was visible in the mirror.
Kurt retrieved the pocketbook he had carried, removed the make up case, returned to the bathroom and set to work.
Chapter 12
Matt Kelly had been crawling, wearing the "Ghilie" suit for seven hours. The suit was a Marine Corp sniper cover consisting of mats of gray material and vegetation that blended in perfectly with the surrounding semi-desert clay and scraggly plants. Her movements were slow and measured. She was invisible in her surroundings as she reached a spot one hundred yards from the fenced compound and about midway between the two guard posts. She'd crawled directly out of the west the sun her ally as it sank low and eventually disappeared under the horizon. She had scorpions run across her and once a Pigmy rattler slithered inches from her face. The Marine Corp training paid off. She'd reached her vantage point unseen without setting off the motion detectors. Later it wouldn't matter.
Lashed to the Ghilie suit and camouflaged with brown tape, clay pads and vegetation, she carried a Remington .308 with 10X Sniper scope and magazines of 168 Grain hollow point munitions. Lashed to the other side of the suit were four olive drab cylinders, each about three foot long and similarly camouflaged. Before darkness enfolded the compound, the spotlights came on, lighting up the entire oval surrounding area. Matt lay just outside the pool of light. Waiting.
* * *
Kurt Rhineman examined himself in the mirror one last time. He felt confident he could pass a casual, not too close scrutiny. The voice and accent would be the main problem. He felt he knew how to handle that also. He had practiced it enough at Langley.
He dragged Miguel's corpse into the main room and wrapped it in a sheet. He then rolled the body in the area carpet, lashing both ends securely. Then he pushed the button that would summon the security guards on duty inside the house.
* * *
Sanchez and Cruz were sitting in the kitchen playing cards when the red light indicating Miguel Aquilino's apartment started to blink.
"Oh shit," said Cruz, his bushy mustache decorated with tortilla crumbs from the recent meal.
"It's early. El padrone will still be going strong."
Sanchez nodded. He was a tall thin man with deceptively strong arms. He was suddenly worried. Miguel Aquilino's cocaine-fueled rages were legendary and much feared for their deadly unpredictability. A few months ago he had shot one of the guards in the temple when the man had winced and hesitated in removing a young Campesino girl's body that Miguel had battered to death with a ball peen hammer. Now Miguel wanted them upstairs, in his apartment.
Sanchez and Cruz entered the apartment slowly, cautiously. Miguel Aquilino sat with his head back on a leather easy chair in a dim corner of the room. His thin mustache gleamed with a few white flecks, the long scar white in the brown face. His voice was gravelly and slurred. A half empty bottle of Tequila lay on the table next to him. An empty bottle of Dom Perignon was on the floor and a small pile of white powder laid heaped on one corner of the glass-covered bar.
"You take this puta, this insolent bitch," he said, pointing to the rolled up area carpet in the middle of the room, "you will drop her at the garbage dump on the North Road at the edge of town. Now listen carefully you fucking maricones, I don't want her touched, I don't want her body unwrapped. I want the pigs who brought her to be the first to see her, to see what I have done to the insolent puta."
Sanchez and Cruz nodded their heads, making small noises of affirmation. This was a dangerous time. They hastened to pick up the rolled up carpet, one on each end.
"You will leave her under the trees by the great rock at the entrance to the dump. If she is disturbed I will cut your cojones off myself, you will know the pain this blonde pig has suffered."
Sanchez and Cruz left the apartment carrying the carpet wrapped corpse. They went through the great room into the hallway when Diego Durand stepped in front of them. He was a slight man with horned rim glasses and the appearance of a greasy accountant.
"Where are you going with that? What is in there?"
"Uh, it is a body, Senor Durand. We, uh, are taking it outside, to where Senor Aquilino instructed us."
"That Godamned Miguel is at it again, He is out of control. Put that down and open it. I want to see what he has done now."
Chapter 13
Matt Kelly released the Remington and laid it by her side, loaded and ready. There was no safety. She believed a sniper was better off without the safety. You just kept your finger away from the trigger until you were ready to fire. That's all. On her other side, the three cylinders had also been released and arranged for easy reach. The cylinders were extended with bar sights raised. The trigger mechanisms were pulled out of their recesses and locked into firing position. Matt was ready.
* * *
Six miles away and at the edge of the North Road, five hundred yards from the dump, Master Sergeant Roland Fournier Washington waited in Richard Daniel's rented Land Rover.
At the edge of the dump, Carlos and Richard Daniels also waited. At this point, it was all up to Kurt Rhineman.
* * *
Sanchez and Cruz put down the rolled up carpet. Drops of nervous sweat dripped down their foreheads in spite of the blasts of cold air from the compound's central air conditioning.
"Senor Durand, Miguel told us not to open..."
"I don't care what that bastard says, open that carpet."
Cruz pulled out a straight edged razor. His hand shook as he squatted to cut the tape and cords binding the carpet. He was about to start when Hector Durand walked into the room.
"What are you doing my brother? Are you taking a sudden interest in Miguel's personal activities?" said Hector, his face amused as he looked at his brother.
"That psychotic bastard is getting worse. He's out of control. Sooner or later he will draw attention to us, to the point where the authorities will have no choice. Even we won't be able to buy them off."
Hector laughed. "I doubt that my brother. But you are right. I will talk to Miguel."
He turned to Sanchez and Cruz. "Do whatever Miguel told you to do with that. I don't think we want to see his handiwork."
The two men took the rolled up carpet and placed it in the back of a new white four-wheel drive, twin seat Dodge Durango. They got in the truck and drove out, past the first guard gate to the second one. One of the guards waived as they opened the ferro-cement gate and the truck went out toward the dump.
They turned off onto the North Road and drove the two kilometers to the dump. They parked at the deserted entrance under the trees by the large rocks where Miguel had told them to leave the body. The night was cloudy and the only illumination came from the headlights of the Durango. The halogen beams cast narrow swaths of brilliant light surrounded by ebony shadows as the two men pulled out the corpse wrapped in its carpet shroud and carried it just to the side of the headlamp beams.
They never saw the vaporous shadows that approached them. They died quickly under Daniels' garrote and Carlos' knife.
Daniels and Carlos put on the dead men's clothes. With Carlos' mustache and their hats pulled low they should be able to pass through the gates, thought Daniels. If not, well then the shooting party would begin. Right now though, timing was essential. There was twenty-two minutes left to return to the compound in the Durango. The timing had been worked out and rehearsed so Kurt Rhineman should be stepping outside with the two hostages just as they pulled up the front of the mansion. They were on
schedule with no time to waste.
Carlos got in the driver's side of the Durango. With his bushy mustache he had a superficial resemblance to the dead man he replaced. His Spanish was also clear and regional unlike Daniels'. Carlos turned the key, the engine barely growled as the headlights dimmed. The battery was dead.
* * *
Kurt Rhineman left Miguel's apartment. He wore Miguel's favorite red bandanna, lower to his eyes then the dead man usually wore it. He carried Miguel's nickel-plated Glock nine millimeter automatic in a leather holster at his waist. Kurt made his way down the long hall toward the rear stairs. Days of practice with the mock up at Langley had made him familiar with the layout of the sprawling mansion. The rear stairs were smaller, less luxurious then the front and led to a circular hall from which fanned out several more doors. One of them led to the basement storage rooms. He passed two guards and a housekeeper. They moved furtively away, avoiding his eyes as he seemed to stumble and lurch like a man in the throes of a drug binge.
He went down the narrow stone steps to the basement and opened the door to the room preceding the chamber where the captives should be held. Half a dozen caged bulbs mounted on the walls illuminated in stark white the man sitting at the table. Heavy, with the look of muscular strength covered with flab, the man rose. His movements were smooth and graceful for a large man.
"Senor Aquilino, buenos tardes."
"Open the door. I have new questions to ask the gringos pigs."
The guard didn't reply, didn't move. He stared steadily as Rhineman approached. Under the glaring white lights, every detail of Rhineman/Aquilino stood in stark relief. The guard reached under the table, grasped the MAC 10 automatic pistol and swung it toward Rhineman. He managed a wild four round burst before Rhineman could bring the Glock up and put two rounds into the guard. The man fell back against the table, his chest exploding in gouts of blood, the table and chair upturning, stone walls splattered in crimson.
The Last Operation (The Remnants of War Series, Book 1) Page 6
