Hot Ice

by Gregg Loomis

  Jason stepped into the steamy night and paced the terrace. Empty lounge chairs were his only company. Only two rooms, including his, had access other than by way of the hall outside his door. All as he had seen on the computer before leaving home.

  Perfect.

  43

  Hotel El Convento

  Four Hours Later

  During the summer in San Juan, you can set your watch by the rain showers. Between four and four thirty a downpour of short duration sweeps the city streets clean but leaves the air saturated. Shortly after dark, the cooling temperature squeezes the afternoon’s lingering moisture out of the air like wringing a wet rag. This shower passes quickly also, making alfresco dining on Old Town’s myriad patios almost comfortable.

  By late night, the evening’s rain was only a steamy memory. The sound of the patrons of the bar in the courtyard was diminishing. Guests were retiring to their rooms and other customers were slowly leaving for a livelier scene, for a nighttime flirtation with chance at the casinos, or to simply go home. Either way, the comparative quiet allowed Balduino, the night clerk, to slip into that semi-somnambulistic state of near sleep that would last until he was relieved at the hotel’s front desk in the morning.

  The sound of high heels on tile followed by the tinkle of the bell on the desk snatched him from a half slumber and sent him scurrying from the comfort of the lounge chair in the hotel’s office to the front desk. For an instant, he thought he might still be dreaming. A blond woman fidgeted impatiently in front of the registration desk. Although she was dressed in simple jeans and a shirt, it was obvious she would more than adequately fill a bikini.

  He suddenly wished he had taken the time to brush his hair and rinse his mouth before dashing out. “Yes, ma’am?”

  Long fingers drummed on the desktop. “My name is Ferris. I believe I have a reservation.”

  Normal procedure, if there were anything normal about a check-in at this hour, would have required an explanation that the guest would be charged for tonight even though it was tomorrow. But Balduino was having too hard a time just trying to keep his eyes away from her blouse’s top button at the beginning valley between her breasts. The button looked as though it might give way with the next breath. The anticipation was distracting to say the least.

  “You do have my room?”

  With no small effort, he tore his gaze away and sat down in front of the computer. For reasons he could not have explained, he had the impression that if an error had been made, if her reservation wasn’t in the computer, he was going to be extremely sorry.

  His breath whistled through his teeth as he let out a long sigh. “Yes, Ms. Ferris, right here. I see it’s prepaid. I’m sorry that we have no staff at this hour to carry your bag and I’m not allowed …”

  She extended a hand. “The key?”

  “The key?”

  If she was amused by the confusion she seemed to induce, she didn’t show it. “I assume entry to the room is by key.”

  “Of course! The room key.”

  Hand inexplicably shaking, he reached to the rack over the computer, where a number of oversized keys hung, each attached to a decorative weight heavy enough to encourage guests to leave their room keys at the front desk when they went out rather than carrying—and possibly losing—them. It was a concept common in Europe.

  “Third floor,” he said, almost apologetically. “The elevator is around the corner there on your left.”

  Without another word, she swooped up her single bag and was gone, leaving Balduino leaning over the desk for a last look.

  He remembered now: the guest, Peters, had made her reservation by phone the same time he had made his own. He had been very specific: two end-of-hall rooms, each letting out onto the terrace. Why a man would provide a separate room for someone like the Ferris woman was beyond Balduino’s imagination. Ah well, the proclivities of the hotel’s guests were not his to question.

  With a little luck, when he returned to his dreams, Ms. Ferris would be in them.

  Exiting the single slow elevator on the third floor, Judith turned left down an open, arcaded gallery of a cloister. The lights of the pool in the patio below made shimmering blue designs on the ceiling above her head as she stopped in front of the room at the end of the hall. Inserting the key, she pushed the door open, letting the light from outside probe the dark room before she entered and flipped on the wall switch.

  Satisfied she was alone, she dropped her single bag on the bed and stepped over to the drawn curtains. She pulled them aside, revealing French doors opening onto a terrace. She gave the door to the bathroom a longing gaze. A hot shower would strip away the coat of sweaty grime with which she imagined the cloying humidity had covered her body.

  No time.

  Making certain the door to the hallway was securely locked and latched from the inside, she stepped out onto the terrace. For an instant she was blinded by the contrast between the brightly lit room and the indirect light outside. The coquí in the surrounding potted palms went silent.

  A hoarse whisper came from her right. “Here!”

  As her eyes adjusted, she moved toward the sound. “Jason?”

  A figure materialized out of nowhere. “You were expecting someone else?”

  They embraced briefly before she gently pushed back. “So far, nothing?”

  He took her hand, leading into deeper shadow. “So far, nothing. But the night is young, to employ a rather trite phrase. Best get to your post.”

  “Think I have time to clean up?”

  Jason shrugged. “The schedule isn’t ours.”

  In seconds, Judith was gone, back to her room. She turned out the lights before crouching behind the curtains she had closed over the open French doors.

  Jason was good at waiting. Long ago Delta Force training had inculcated patience by employing an indifference to time and applying the mind elsewhere while remaining alert to surroundings. He could only hope Judith was naturally patient. How long they waited at their separate positions, neither could have said. An hour, two, or only fifteen minutes.

  Judith heard him before she saw him. Or, rather, the tree frogs in the terrace’s foliage did. Their song went silent as suddenly as if some amphibian maestro had waved his conductor’s wand. Alerted by the sudden silence, she risked a peek between widened curtains.

  A wraith of a shadow, a specter without substance, glided across the terrace toward the French doors to Jason’s room. It was only at the last moment the apparition gained substance, the shape of a man, a large man, climbing inside from the terrace.

  Jason had also been brought to full alert by the termination of the tree frogs’ serenade, and the vibration of his BlackBerry, his and Judith’s prearranged signal. The closest thing he had been able to find to serve as a weapon was a lamp, two feet high, made of what he supposed was meant to look like forged Toledo steel. Hardly a defense of choice against a pistol or knife; but when combined with surprise, it should serve. Concealed behind curtains that barely moved in the fitful night breeze, he waited, the lamp raised in both hands above his head.

  Leaving the French doors open had been a calculated risk. Any job made too easy aroused suspicions but a slip in prying the doors open, any undue noise was likely to frighten away the would-be intruder. The last thing Jason wanted was for his enemies to change plans, to strike at a less predictable time.

  The curtains jiggled with a motion not induced by wind. With the advantage of having his target outlined by the slight illumination from the terrace, Jason could see a form, as yet indistinct except for an extended arm holding something long. Jason guessed an automatic with sound suppressor.

  He waited until the shape seemed to float past him, intent on the mound of pillows Jason had carefully arranged in the bed. The arm extended.

  There were two quick spitting, puffing sounds before the form moved closer to the bed. It was reaching for a light when Jason moved.

  With a single step, he used his full weight to br
ing the lamp down on the back of the head. The neck would have been a better target, but the chances were too good that a blow there would fatally snap the spinal cord. Dead, the guy would be useless.

  With a grunt, the figure stumbled forward, falling against the far wall. Jason took a second swing with the lamp, this time sideways, splintering the knuckles of the man’s gun hand. The weapon thumped once on the bed and bounced to the tile floor with a metallic clank that was almost drowned out by a scream of pain.

  The assailant was still groggy and gave no resistance as Jason grabbed him by the collar and threw him across the bed. He switched on the overhead light and was not surprised to see one of the men from the airport, the one without the bandage.

  “You guys don’t give up easily.”

  The man didn’t answer. His eyes flitted around the room, no doubt searching for his weapon.

  “I kicked it under the bed,” Jason said calmly. “Afraid somebody might get hurt, playing with guns.” He watched the man’s reaction to the fact he was now unarmed. “And if you’re thinking about going for one of those Spetsnaz pig stickers …”

  He waved the iron lamp threateningly.

  “Now, we are going to have that little conversation that seems to keep getting delayed.” Jason had intentionally placed himself within range of the prone man’s legs. “You’re going to tell me …”

  Jason’s BlackBerry rang.

  In the split instant of startled indecision, the man on the bed lashed out with a scissorslike kick that took Jason’s legs out from beneath him and crumpled him on the floor. The intruder made a quick judgment: instead of attacking, he bolted for the open French doors, his injured hand held in the other.

  Jason watched him go, gratified that, so far, his plan had worked. Then he realized the cell phone in his pocket was still ringing.

  Who … ?

  “Hello?”

  “Jason?” It was Judith, of course. “You OK? I was worried.”

  Oh, swell!

  Jason had to clench his jaws not to say what was on his mind. “How thoughtful of you. Perhaps it might have served us better had you waited until I could have called you. I was, emphasis on the was, sort of busy.”

  “Guess I fucked up.”

  No, I fucked up by bringing an untrained, unqualified person along on a mission where professionalism is required, he thought.

  But he said, “If that’s your only mistake, everything will be fine.”

  “You didn’t tell me not to call,” Judith said, miffed. “I was worried about you.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m sure. Now do your part.”

  Jason pressed the Disconnect key. With him momentarily off his guard, if that guy had attacked instead of fled …

  He shoved the BlackBerry back into his pocket. At least the first part of the plan had worked.

  44

  Judith watched the blur of a shadow bolt from Jason’s room onto the terrace. The man was hunched over as though he had been hurt. Her impulse was to go to Jason to make sure he was all right, but there was no time and she could tell he was already angry with her.

  All she had wanted to do was make sure Jason was all right. Some people, apparently including Jason, were just prickly by nature.

  Stepping over to the door of her room that opened onto the corridor, she pressed an ear against it, waiting for the soft sound of footsteps on Spanish tile as the man leaving Jason’s room entered the side of the cloister. As he passed, she kicked off her high heels, slipping her feet into a pair of sneakers that would make no noise on the cobblestone streets. Snatching up her purse, the one with the shoulder strap, she waited.

  She waited until she heard the faint whir of the elevator before she bolted from her room and took the stairs two at a time. The elevator was leisurely passing the second floor as she dashed through the lobby and outside to seek shelter in the shadows of the plaza across the street.

  Backing into the darkness under a towering ficus tree, she was certain she could not be seen from the hotel.

  A sound, a flicker of movement, some sixth sense made her suddenly aware she was not alone. The man sent to kill Jason had backup.

  The streets were brightly lit but she could make out little within the penumbra of shade cast by the tree. She could not see who shared the darkness, but she was certain he meant her no goodwill. Warily, she moved backward toward the line that demarcated a puddle of light from a streetlamp and the ficus tree’s thick foliage.

  Then, like a comet out of the night, a streak of silver sliced at her midsection. More from reflex than thought, she bent and recoiled like a batter avoiding an inside fastball.

  Either her sight was adjusting to the night or she was getting closer to the streetlights, for she could make him out now. Or at least part of him. Tall, shaved, polished scalp. And the right side of his face, including the eye, were covered by a bandage. The latter possibly explained why his first strike missed: the loss of depth perception. She could see his teeth, exposed in a smile that said he did not anticipate his next assault would fail.

  Jason stepped into the hallway, noting that Judith’s door was ajar. She had left in a hurry, as would be the case if she were to get outside and into a position to follow the would-be assassin. Or at least get a license-plate number of a getaway car.

  He knew he should stay in the room rather than chance spooking the man Judith was to tail. Instead, he took the stairs down to the empty lobby, arriving just in time to see the fleeing back of his attacker. Jason flattened himself against the wall next to the elevator, hoping Judith had made it into position across the street.

  When he was certain the man had cleared the lobby, Jason followed to the hotel’s entrance to see the back of his attacker disappear around the corner to his left.

  Where was Judith?

  A flash of movement caught the corner of his eye. Judith, barely visible in the shadows of a huge tree, seemed to be engaged in some sort of motion, twisting, swaying to no music Jason could hear. As he moved closer to the street, Jason saw she was not alone. His throat caught as he recognized the man with the bandaged face. Though he couldn’t see the blade from where he stood, Judith’s movement told him she was dodging a knife. As a rank amateur, she would be easy prey. The bastard was toying with her.

  With a final glance at the point at which the intruder to his room had disappeared, Jason ran down the steps and across the narrow street. Careful to move as quietly as quickly, he kept the ficus tree between him and the man he was certain had a knife.

  Judith looked directly at Jason as she dodged another swipe of the blade. If she saw him, as was all but certain, she gave no indication, only giving ground as she slowly backed away.

  On the balls of his feet, the man made a balanced thrust. No doubt he had been trained in the use of the weapon.

  With the grace of a matador avoiding the bull’s horns, Judith stepped aside, using an open palm to knock the arm wide of the mark.

  An amateur, perhaps, but not bad.

  Jason was at the tree now. The time for stealth was past. “Freeze, fucker!”

  The man with the knife did just that if only for a split second, an instant in which Judith landed a kick in his groin. “Shit-ass!”

  With a muffled grunt, he bent double just in time to meet her knee squarely with his nose. The sound was like that of a ripe melon hitting concrete.

  As he stumbled forward, his one good eye masked in blood from his flattened nose, Jason grabbed the wrist of the hand that still held the knife. A downward snatch and the blade spun into darkness as the man pitched forward, face-first, onto the ground.

  Jason barely noticed Judith slip away.

  For one of the few times in his life, training, common decency, and a sense of mercy deserted him simultaneously. In their place was the memory of the death of Boris and attempts on his own life. He waited for the man to struggle to his knees before delivering a running kick to the ribs. Jason i
magined he heard bones crack.

  “That’s for Boris,” he growled.

  Impatient for the prone figure to attempt to rise again, Jason bent over and grabbed the shirt collar, twisting it tight against the Adam’s apple until his victim gagged for breath.

  “And this is for fucking with me and an unarmed woman!”

  Later, Jason would be thankful someone had overheard the noise and called the police. Had not the approaching wail of sirens gotten his attention, he had little doubt he would have killed the man in his rage. He had killed enough in his life, but this bastard and his shadowy organization had pierced the wall of cool professionalism that had allowed Jason to go about his work without any qualms.

  As the plaza filled with pulsating blue light, he slipped into the shadows.

  Judith was gone.

  There seemed little else to do but merge into a crowd of the curious that gathered with surprising alacrity considering the hour. Minutes later, he was back in his hotel room.

  Judith wasted no time as soon as the man with the knife was no longer a threat. If she hurried, she might yet catch up to the man she had intended to follow. As she rounded the corner of the hotel, the streetlights caught a figure turning into an intersection two blocks away. She forced herself to move far slower than she wished. Anyone on the street at this hour would attract attention, and someone in a hurry even more so.

  Moving from one pool of darkness to another between lights, she edged up the cobblestones’ slight incline. She stopped at the first intersection, peering around the corner. She could well have been in a graveyard. Other than a pair of rangy cats exploring street-side garbage bins, there was no sign of life.

  She hurried to the next crossing a little higher up the gentle slope. Her back absorbing the cool stucco surface of a building, she risked sticking her head around the corner. She almost missed it, a figure darting into a house. She counted. Five, no, six, doors down.