Grant set a more brisk pace, ready to get off the road. As they moved deeper into the town he became more nervous. Even a town this small would have some sort of law enforcement. Four strangers, on foot, three of them armed, would attract attention. And while Jaime could explain their way out of it, the longer they lingered, the more chance there was of Cane catching up to them. And their presence could put the good people of Cotton City in danger.
They rounded a bend in the road and a service station appeared, but no lights were on. Still, Grant hurried toward it. The small establishment had two uncovered gas pumps, a couple of vending machines near the front door, and a small service bay on the side. But what drew Grant’s interest was an old and dusty Aerostar mini-van parked near the closed service bay door.
He moved to peer through the van’s windows. The driver’s side door lock was popped up in the open position and a key stuck out of the ignition. He pulled open the door and plopped onto the seat, gripping the key. The van was here for a reason. It obviously needed a repair of some kind. Grant held his breath. Here goes nothin’. The starter whirred and the interior lights dimmed, but after a few long seconds the van choked to life. For a minute it seemed as if it might die but as the engine warmed it began to run smooth.
Tedesco, Morgan, and Jaime caught up and waited near the van.
“Pile in,” Grant said. “Tedesco you drive.”
“I don’t know,” Tedesco said. “We can’t just steal it.”
“You can’t be serious,” Grant said. “We don’t have a lot of other choices.”
Jaime opened the rear door and helped Dr. Morgan onto the backseat before sliding in beside him. The argument settled without any further discussion.
Grant passed a searing gaze toward Tedesco and moved to the vending machines. He dug out his wallet and fished for some ones. He stood before the Coke machine, searching for a spot to slip in the bill, before he realized the thing was a relic. It was one of the old style devices with a long rectangular glass door on the right side, the tips of bottles sitting there, ready to be pulled free for the price of two quarters. And nowhere to put a dollar bill.
You’ve got to be kidding me!
He ripped the door open and started pulling at bottles hard enough to rattle the entire machine. But the contraption refused to release its grip on a single one of the delicious and refreshing beverages. His parched throat and dry tongue ached for a taste of grape soda, a splash of cola, a smidgeon of the strawberry drink. Strawberry. Oh, my goodness. His eyes locked on the cap of his favorite soda. He gripped the neck of the bottle and started tugging again with vigor.
As he was to the point of putting a foot into the damned thing Tedesco put a hand on his shoulder and moved him out of the way. Grant stared at the man and realized his frustration had absolutely nothing to do with exact change or thirst.
The hit man thumbed in quarters and pulled out four drinks. He set them on the top of the machine and popped their tops on the built-in bottle opener one at a time. Tedesco passed a strawberry to Grant, grabbed the remaining bottles, and returned to the van. Grant stared at his back, the desire to hit the man in the back of the head with the full bottle almost overwhelming.
Instead, Grant turned to the other vending machine, this one a Tom’s food job with a front glass panel. The type where you pressed B5 or some such and your chips or cookies would spin off the arm and drop to the bay below.
As Tedesco stepped back into the van he met Grant's gaze. Grant spun and leveled a side kick in the machine’s front glass, shattering it. If you asked him later what overcame him, Grant wouldn’t be able to explain. But for some reason the act gave him some small feeling of victory.
One arm loaded with absconded snacks, the strawberry soda in the other, he moved to the van. Grant sneered at Tedesco as he plopped into the front passenger seat and nestled his drink in the cup holder. Grant turned to dispense some bags to the back seat’s occupants, refusing to meet Jaime’s gaze.
Grant turned to the front and tossed a bag of corn chips at Tedesco. No one said a word as Tedesco pulled out of the parking lot. Grant sank low in the seat, feeling very juvenile. He pried open a bag of cheese puffs and stuffed one in his mouth. Dadgummit. Hadn’t he earned the right to act a bit childish?
TWELVE
The exhausted group pulled through the gate of Lordsburg’s small private airport. Tedesco guided the mini-van across the tarmac toward a darkened hanger tucked in a rear corner of the airport’s property. Lordsburg was only about thirty miles north of Animas, but the trip had taken most of the night with the arduous and convoluted course they had been forced to take.
Tedesco tapped the horn twice. The hangar doors slid open enough to allow the van access.
“You sure you can trust this guy?” Grant said.
“Yeah.” Tedesco nodded and steered the van inside. The headlights revealed a sleek corporate jet. As soon as they passed through, the doors were pulled closed behind them. Tedesco parked to the left side of the plane and shut off the engine.
Grant stepped out and placed a hand on the SIG tucked into his belt. His companions tumbled out after him. With the van’s lights off the interior of the hangar went black, the only light the receding ribbon of pre-dawn sky as the doors closed. After the doors banged shut and were latched, footsteps clicked across the pavement and then the hangar’s interior lights flashed on. The man who had been waiting for them appeared to be in his early thirties, tall, muscular, dark skin, short wavy hair. He wore a polo shirt and khakis and a holstered pistol at his belt. According to Dr. Morgan, the man was the head of corporate security at the software company his son-in-law owned.
The man approached and shook hands with Dr. Morgan. “I was getting a little worried, sir.”
“We had some trouble.” Morgan told him about their escape through the desert.
The man nodded and waved a hand toward the plane. “We’re ready to go, sir. I didn’t know exactly what we would need, so I packed heavy. I should have all the bases covered.”
The man turned and studied the rest of the group. His eyes remained on Jaime for just a fraction of a second longer than the others. Even though rumpled, she still looked good. “I’m Scott. Scott Evans.” He held out his hand and shook with the rest of them, grabbing Grant’s hand last.
It had been Tedesco’s idea to enlist the man’s aid. When the kidnappers insisted on the exchange taking place in Mexico they realized they needed back-up. Morgan contacted Evans and told him the story. Initially he wanted to call the authorities, but after Tedesco convinced him of the folly of that course of action, he seemed eager to help. Morgan said Evans was ex Special Forces, a Ranger. If that was indeed the case his help would be welcome.
Grant had come up with a plan. Morgan and Tedesco agreed to go along with it, deferring to Grant’s expertise. His specialty after all had been hostage rescue. He hadn’t revealed everything he had in mind. He would need to assess the situation further once they arrived in Puerto Vallarta.
“What unit were you in?” Grant asked.
“3rd Battalion,” Evans said.
Grant nodded. “Were you ever deployed anywhere interesting?”
He looked Grant in the eye, obviously reading the question beneath the question. “Don’t worry. I’ve seen my share of tense situations. I owe Tim and his family my best. He’s a fine man.” He referred to Morgan’s son-in-law, Tim Peterson. “He’s taken good care of me. And he pays me very well to look after his interests.” Evans clapped Grant on the shoulder. “I’ll do whatever I have to do.”
“Fair enough.” Grant turned to Tedesco. “Can I have a word with you?”
The hit man nodded. Grant led him to a small door next to the one they had driven through. They walked out and Grant closed the door behind them.
He turned and grabbed Tedesco’s lapels and thrust him into the steel wall. A bang accompanied the impact. “What the hell happened back there, you bastard.” Grant shoved his forearm into Tedesco’s th
roat. “You could have gotten us all slaughtered. The men at your bar were trying to kill us.”
Tedesco pushed him away. Anger flared in his eyes for just an instant then just as quickly vanished. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry hell. Dr. Morgan. His family. They need your help. I need to know you’ve still got what it takes.”
“Do you?” Tedesco stared from beneath raised eyebrows.
Fair question. Grant believed that of the options Morgan’s family had, he was the best. Grant believed he could pull this off, but he was forty-four after all. His shoulder stung from the tumble out of the truck. Before the last couple of days, he hadn’t been in any real action in almost sixteen years, but he had done okay. So far. But to be honest, he had also been lucky. “Let's hope so. Boom. Cause there's not a lot of other choices.”
“Look. I know you don’t believe or care. But I swore not to kill again.” Tedesco dropped his gaze. “Even though killing those soldiers would have been justified … I … well … I froze. Okay.”
“These guys we’re going up against are killers. They’re evil.” Grant waved his finger back and forth, pointing first at himself then at Tedesco. “The only chance the doctor’s family has is us. Me and you.”
“Don’t worry.” Tedesco raised his eyes. There seemed to be some steel in his gaze. “I’ll have your back.”
* * * * *
Colonel Ethan Cane stalked the floor of the Biodyne command and security center, his boots squeaking on the tile floor. Waiting. The techs on duty pored through data, searching for clues to Morgan and company’s whereabouts. One of Cane’s men dead. Another wounded. Though all his men were military, none of them would appear on any active duty rosters. Though all were Army Special Forces their files had been altered. If any were captured or killed there would be nothing to link them to the Army or USAAMRID. Any investigation into their pasts would reveal them to be soldiers for hire, mercenaries.
Cane fists clenched and unclenched as he paced. He realized his prowling was doing nothing more than making his people nervous, so he moved into his office and plopped down in his desk chair. He learned forward to study the two folders lying open on his desk. Dossiers on Ted Rivers and Grant Sawyer. It had taken some digging to find the truth about Rivers, but Cane had the full resources of the DOD to rely upon. Not to mention that his cyber guys were the best. But he still didn’t have all the pieces. A washed up hit man and an out to pasture FBI agent?
The Colonel propped his elbows on his desk and placed his chin on the tips of his steepled fingers. He needed to track these men down and right now he only had a couple of places to start the search. Pressing the button on the intercom he called his second in command who almost immediately stepped into the room. “Send two teams. Make sure they know to be discreet.”
He hated this. He was a soldier, bound by oath and personal morals to protect his country and its citizens. Not kill them. Not terrorize them. But he had been given a duty. A duty of the utmost importance to fulfill. Cane pounded his fist on the desk. Command was difficult in any battle, and this was indeed a battle. Sacrifices had to be made for the greater good. Though it went against his principals to harm innocent people, he had to remain stalwart. For every blameless victim, millions would be saved. Safe to sleep, eat, work, and play on the backs of decisions made by men like him. Men willing to do the hard things, make the tough choices.
He stood and grabbed his trophy, Grant Sawyer’s cane. He ran his fingers over the sturdy wood. One thing was certain, he would make sure, once this was over, nothing like it would be necessary again.
* * * * *
Tedesco and Dr. Morgan sat in one corner of the hangar chatting while Evans readied the plane. Jaime studied Grant. He sat alone in the back of the room, chair tipped back, resting his head against the wall, arms crossed.
Although he was trying not to be obvious, he stared beneath half closed lids, his gaze following Tedesco. Jaime knew this had to be tough on Grant. Meeting his family’s killer, the man’s apparent conversion, this whole damned situation.
A metal chair in hand, Jaime moved over to Grant and unfolded it next to him before sitting down. “You okay?”
He didn’t respond right away, but he finally shifted his eyes toward Jaime. “Yes. No.” Grant blew out a breath. “I don’t know.” He tipped the chair forward and gestured toward the room. “I mean, come on. There are over three hundred million people in this country and I’m the one that sees the case being exchanged. It’s just a little overwhelming.”
Jaime nodded. “I can imagine.” She dropped her eyes to the floor and rubbed the tops of her thighs. “I’m sorry about my little outburst earlier. I didn’t mean to pile on.”
Grant reached over and patted the back of her hand. “No. I had it coming. It’s okay.” He withdrew his hand and forced a smile.
“Are you going to be able to put your feelings about him aside?” She leaned her head toward Tedesco.
Grant stared at the man for a few seconds before answering. “Right now I don’t have any other choice.” He turned, locking gazes with her. “For the moment anyway.”
Jaime nodded, her thoughts turning to the dead young men she left at the Rusty Spur. She had left Steve Jenson a message from a pay phone to inform him she would be out of touch for a while and letting him know about the dead agents. She felt it was her fault they had been killed. Something in her expression must have alerted Grant.
“What’s wrong?” Grant said.
“I was just thinking about the two agents Cane’s men killed.”
“I wish I could have saved them.”
“I know. If you could’ve you would’ve.”
“Did you know them very well? Did they have families?”
“They were young. Both unmarried. One engaged.”
“I’m sorry.” Grant patted the back of her hand again, this time the touch lingered a moment.
She covered his hand with hers. “Me too.”
THIRTEEN
Once the plane was fueled and prepped the small band of rescuers hopped on the sleek craft for the trip to Puerto Vallarta. The flight to Aerotron, the small private airport adjacent to Licenciado Gustavo Diaz Ordaz Aeropuerto International took a little less than two hours in the Gulfstream IV.
Grant was getting a little claustrophobic in the cramped, albeit luxurious, interior of the plane. He studied Jaime through half-lidded eyes. Even though he tried to dissuade her, she had been adamant about her inclusion in the rescue. Her presence did provide an added measure of cover, she and Grant were checking in as a married couple.
The group was leaving in shifts so they wouldn’t be seen arriving at the hotel together. Morgan and Tedesco left first two hours ago and Evans an hour past, hauling two stuffed duffel bags containing their supplies with him. After Evans found out their destination he had arranged for transportation from the airport. A little cash had ensured they wouldn’t be bothered with the inconvenience of going through customs.
“It’s time. Finally.” Grant followed Jaime from the plane to make the short walk to the Aerotron office. After the cold in the States the sea-scented balmy air was a treat. Grant smoothed the front of his flower patterned Banana Republic shirt and cringed at the sight of his white legs poking conspicuously from his khaki shorts. The ensemble was purchased by Evans. Before they took off he had gotten everyone’s sizes and made a shopping trip to provide everyone clothes for the trip. Though Evans insisted the outfit was just to allow Grant to blend in with the tourists, he believed the former Ranger was having a bit of fun with him.
Jaime looked stunning in a flower patterned sun dress. She stopped in front of him and adjusted his ridiculous looking headwear, a flat brimmed Panama style hat. She stepped back and gave him an appraising look before hooking her arms in his. “I think you look fine. A little time by the pool and you’ll own it.” She laughed and pulled him toward the door, his sandals clopping against the Tarmac.
* * * * *
The driver a
ngled the mini-bus south on Federal Highway 200 for the four mile trip to the hotel. Grant released a pent up breath, relieved to have made it out of the airport with no trouble. Jaime stared out the window, seeming to be enthralled by the majestic views. The road wound downhill. Puerto Vallarta was nestled between the thickly vegetated Sierra Madre Mountains and Banderas Bay. To the left mountains rose above them, thick with lush jungle flora. To the right below them, the immensity of Bahia De Banderas gleamed like a blue-green jewel. According to the travel information Grant gleaned from the internet it was the largest natural bay in Mexico and the second largest in North America- surpassed only by Canada’s Hudson Bay. It was advertised as a diver’s paradise, filled with unique rock formations, abundant sea life, and had the distinction of being relatively shark free. Sharks that dared to linger in the bay were driven away or rammed to death by the multiple pods of territorial dolphins jealously guarding its waters. Humpback whales, sea turtles, and giant manta rays were also inhabitants.
The van rolled into town and they seemed to be carried back through time. Though a world class tourist destination, Puerto Vallarta’s winding cobblestone streets, palm trees, adobe, brick, and whitewashed buildings gave it the charm and appearance of a village. Even the modern hotels seemed to blend into the landscape. It felt as if they had arrived in a circa 1800’s pueblo.
They entered the northern hotel zone, passing an array of resort hotels, before arriving at their destination, the NH Krystal Vallarta. The hotel entrance was bordered by towering palms, fronds waving in the breeze. The driver pulled beneath a covered portico. The wall opposite the gold domed entrance lobby consisted of a waterfall flowing between the whitewashed columns supporting the roof.
The Assassin's Case Page 9
