“You fucking bitch. I’m going to enjoy killing you.”
I had no idea who this guy was or why he was trying to kill me. An assassination attempt on one of the DEA agents made sense, but me? I had just arrived. How could my attacker have known who I was or that I was even here? Could I really have been the target, or was I simply in the wrong place at the wrong time?
I couldn’t quite tell. He called me “agent,” but he didn’t say my name. He could have been sent here to target any agent. But if Cabrera or the real Fredy were here, they would never have let him inside. The story didn’t add up. A plethora of questions had found their way into my head. I had to stop my internal dialogue and concentrate on killing this guy. My escape depended on it. I had already determined my odds of surviving a dash to the door were nil.
I maneuvered to the right side of the desk near the row of filing cabinets lining the wall. My body temperature had taken off like a rocket. My forehead was slick, and I could feel a trickle snaking its way down the left side of my face. Where was he? I couldn’t stay put for much longer. I slowed my breaths and listened. A second later I heard him. He was on the move. Now, Abby! I popped up, not knowing if he had me targeted or not. He had. I barely missed having my forehead seared in half by hot lead. I had to act quickly. I reached out and grabbed the leg of the plastic chair next to me and chucked it high over to where I had last seen him. As soon as I let go, I moved around the desk, rose up and pumped two bullets into his chest, sending him backward to the ground. My plan had worked. I caught him looking.
I held my weapon straight out and listened for a moment. All I heard was the thumping in my chest. He was obscured by office furniture, so my approach was cautious and my finger remained on the trigger. When I finally had my eyes on him, I saw that his eyes had rolled back into his head. He was dead, all right.
I searched the body, avoiding the pool of crimson that grew under him, but found nothing worth noting except his weapon. It was custom built, a .45 caliber. I rooted through his bag and found it was filled with old newspapers. His laptop was empty. All of that tapping was a game of Solitaire. Was this a hit? If it was, he wasn’t a very good assassin. A professional would have put a slug in my face the moment I opened the door. Speaking of moments. I started to see the signs—signs that should have sounded the alarm.
He had jiggled the knob for so long that I opened the door for him. Was that part of his plan? It worked. My second oversight was that he didn’t speak to me about anything regarding Riggs. That’s because he knew nothing. I had confused it with rudeness. Why did he wait until the call to make a move? Was he unsure? Had he shown up for Cabrera or López?
That phone call, coupled with the assassin’s incompetence, saved my life. I should have been dead.
Chapter 15
Cabrera arrived fifteen minutes after I shot my attacker dead. He was shocked.
“I’m as confused as you are. We get death threats all the time, but what government agency doesn’t? This is the worst we’ve seen it, though.”
“So nothing like this has ever taken place?” I asked.
“No, nothing to this degree. Emails, notes outside the door, human waste thrown on the windows—”
“Ewwww.”
“Yeah, tell me about. We flip a coin to determine who cleans it. Every now and then, a rogue shot comes through the window, but that stopped after we installed bulletproof glass. Anyway, we figured most of these threats were just talk.”
“Do you think he was after me?”
Cabrera knelt next to the body. “How could he be? Fredy and I were the only ones who knew you were coming.” He stood up and threw his hands up. “I don’t recognize this guy, but he had to be here for either Fredy or me. We’re known entities among the cartels. We made the lives of the drug lords harder. It only makes sense for us to be targeted.”
“So he could have been waiting for either of you to return?”
Cabrera shrugged. “It’s possible. And then the phone call spooked him.”
The police and the medical examiner arrived shortly and proceeded to do their jobs. Cabrera had busied himself with them, so I took that opportunity to step outside and call home. It’s not often the job shakes me up, but it did that day. At that moment, nothing was more important to me than hearing the voices of my children and Po Po. I didn’t bother to tell them what had happened. I was content to listen to whatever they had to say. Nothing was too trivial. I often forget how precious life is, and it’s not until these reality checks knock on my noggin that I remember. Yet within a week… Oh, who am I kidding? I usually forget within a day. I hate that about myself.
My pity party didn’t improve much when I started thinking about what would have happened to them had I been killed. What’s the plan, Abby? I didn’t have one. I wiped away the tears that had welled. First things first: When I get home, I need to figure out a plan B. In the meantime, I would try not to beat myself up and instead focus that energy on enjoying my family. Hard to do when you’re almost four thousand miles away.
When the medical examiner finished up and the body was removed, Cabrera had a cleaning service take over. A few hours later, everything smelled like fresh pine, and it looked like nothing had ever happened. I notified Reilly about the hit and let him know that my fact-gathering assignment had taken a dark turn, but I was fine to continue. Reilly agreed that most likely I wasn’t the target but instructed me to be extra careful.
“There’s only so much I can do for you while you’re in Bogotá, Abby. The sooner you wrap things up, the better.”
Tell me about it.
Cabrera and I closed up and headed over to his favorite watering hole. We both needed a drink. We sat quietly, tilting back our bottles and creating bubbly fountains. At a time like this, beer seemed fitting. Then we ordered four shots—even more fitting.
“It’s aguardiente. The translation is firewater.” He rubbed his hands together and smacked his lips. “It’s like a brandy. This one has a citrus flavor.” He picked up the shot glass and raised it. “Here’s to survival.”
I tapped my glass against his and chucked the clear liquid back. The burn wasn’t bad, and the taste of oranges came through.
He immediately picked up the second shot glass. “Best to get two drinks into us, considering…”
Who was I to argue? I felt a small tinge of numbness around the edges of my face.
Cabrera looked me in the eyes. “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have left you alone.”
“How could we have known?” I said with a shrug.
He grabbed my right hand, and I watched it disappear between both of his. They were warm, surprisingly soft. I didn’t think we were that friendly. Or maybe the agents in the DEA really look out for one another. Whatever his motive, it made me feel safe.
“I’m serious, Abby.”
“I’m glad you called when you did.”
He studied my face for a minute. “Listen, I was going to invite you out tonight, you know, to the club, but I’m not so sure it’s a good idea.”
“Good, because I’m not in the mood.”
“There’s nothing more we can do today. We should both go home and relax. Tomorrow we fly to Mitú.”
“Oh, wait. There was something I wanted to ask you before the whole Fredy ordeal reared its head. I read in the report that there was another victim with similar wounds to Agent Riggs’s and the couple’s, but there’s very little information about this body and where it was found. Yet if I’m correct, this one had the eyewitness.”
Cabrera looked away from me and chewed on his bottom lip. “I was afraid you would ask about that.”
“Why?”
“Because that one was found in the jungle. He was a member of an indigenous tribe.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“I’m not. We’ll need a guide who can speak the language of the tribe. And then there’s the equipment and supplies we’ll have to stock up on.”
“Supplies? E
quipment?”
“We’ll be hiking into the jungle. There are no roads.”
My jaw unhinged and swayed in the wind. My reaction must have made me look like a newbie agent.
“Still interested in pursuing the other victim?”
“Of course,” I blurted out. I wasn’t about to be seen as the weaker half of the team. I honestly didn’t know what a hike in the jungle would entail, but I wasn’t afraid. How hard could it be?
Chapter 16
The following day, we touched down at Mitú Airport a little before noon. Even though I slept most of the plane ride, I still felt a bit groggy when Cabrera woke me. What struck me first as I exited the plane was the noticeable moisture in the air. I quickly retrieved my sunglasses from my purse to shield my eyes from the bright light reflecting off the ground, the plane, and the buildings at the small airport. I had purposely hydrated before going to sleep last night to avoid any headaches. No need for the sun to foil any of my plans.
The black tarmac was unforgiving in the heat. It didn’t take long for perspiration to bubble up on my forehead during the seventy-yard walk to the terminal building. My steps were slow and sticky. I kept my head down and wondered how a few brave weeds could dare to make their home in this manmade desert. As I walked along the empty airfield, only one thought came to mind: Couldn’t the captain have parked the plane closer? I retrieved a napkin from my purse and dabbed gently.
“It’s the jungle.”
“Huh?”
“The jungle,” Cabrera motioned with his head toward the distant tree line. “It’s what makes it much more humid here than Bogotá.”
“What else can the jungle do?”
“It kills people who aren’t careful.”
A little dramatic, aren’t we?
As my time in Colombia continued to grow and the trip I had envisioned grew less and less recognizable, I briefly rethought investigating the second body.
When we reached our hotel forty minutes later, I was beat. The heat had sapped my energy, making me want to do nothing but sit still in icy, air-conditioned bliss. Thankfully, I’d had the foresight to pack a pair of shorts. I couldn’t imagine walking around in jeans. I changed into a tank top and slipped a thin cotton buttondown over that to hide my holster on my hip. A pair of hiking boots finished off my outfit.
I met up with Cabrera in the lobby where he handed me water. “It’s important we stay hydrated.”
I thanked him and took the bottle.
“The local officer who is handling Riggs’s case is scheduled to meet us here any minute. He’ll drive us out to the location where they found the body.”
Just as Cabrera finished giving me the heads up, a dark-skinned man dressed in a khaki uniform approached us. “Dom,” he said, extending his arm, “it’s good to see you again.”
Cabrera shook the man’s hand. “It’s been too long, my friend.”
I watched the two men hug it out like they were old college buddies. I hadn’t been aware that Cabrera knew the officer so well.
He then turned to me with his arm out. “David, I’d like you to meet Agent Abby Kane. She’s with the FBI and is here to help with the investigation of Agent Riggs’s death.”
The man with a smile larger than Cabrera’s took my hand and gave it an enthusiastic shake. “I’m Captain David Gómez, but you may call me David. I’m sorry to hear about the attack at the office.”
Oh, I hadn’t realized my situation had become news.
“I mentioned it to David when I spoke with him yesterday,” Cabrera offered, sensing my surprise. “He had his men reach out to some informants. Maybe some information about this guy will show up.”
“Nothing so far,” Gómez said.
“Same thing on our end,” Cabrera added. “The fingerprints came up empty.”
Seriously? You didn’t think to mention that to me? “They did?”
“Sorry, Abby. I got a text earlier from my contact. I should have told you sooner.”
I hoped this wasn’t his way of protecting me from bad news. Maybe he’d forgotten that I was an FBI agent who also shot her attacker dead. That’s not a detail that’s easily overlooked, right? I appreciated the concern, but I certainly didn’t need any coddling.
Cabrera broke the awkward silence by slapping his friend on the back. “David is with JUNGLA. It stands for anti-narcotics jungle company. His unit is integral in conducting raids on the drug factories located deep in the jungle.”
“A special unit for the jungle, huh? I never would have thought, but it makes perfect sense.”
“Everyone is surprised when they hear about it.” Gómez pointed to the lobby exit. “My truck is right outside. Let’s get moving.”
When he said his truck, I expected an SUV. What we got instead was an old Toyota pick-up truck. That meant one thing: an Abby sandwich.
There I was, forced to sit on the middle hump because of my tiny frame. To make matters worse, the ride was bumpy, and the two slabs of muscle on either side of me created an oven-like effect that later had me peeling my leg off of Cabrera’s.
Later, we pulled over onto the side of the road. “This is where we found the body,” Gómez said, pointing to an irrigation ditch alongside the highway. I spun around, surveying the area. There were a few fields with crops, but most of it looked like ranch land as far as the eye could see.
“What on earth would bring Agent Riggs out here?” I asked as we exited the vehicle.
“Gómez turned his head toward me. “What brought him out here is what you can’t see.”
What? I shook my head and raised my shoulders at him.
He pointed down the highway toward a hill that obscured the view into the distance. “There’s a rest stop not too far away. It has a gas station, a couple of shops and places to eat, a tiny bar, and a place to rent rooms by the hour or day. It’s the last sign of the civilized world before the road takes you into the jungle.”
Cabrera chimed in. “We think someone asked him to meet them there because of its location.”
“So the thought is premeditation?” I asked.
“Look, a big part of how we get our information is through informants. Some are normal citizens who saw something strange, but most are either current or ex-employees of the drug lords who have grudges against their bosses. Sometimes the drug lords’ enemies come to us with information. Any one of them could have a reason for killing Riggs.”
I let my eyes sweep across the area where Gómez said the body had lain. Nothing popped out. I walked the area, knelt, and scanned the ground but saw nothing. “I take it no irrigation has run through here since Riggs’s death.”
Gómez shook his head. “This is an abandoned farm, but any evidence of him being here has probably been washed away by recent rains. Come on. We’ll head to the rest stop. Maybe it will help.”
I assumed my snug-as-a-bug position as we drove for another ten minutes. Seconds after we crested the tiny hill, the rest stop came into sight. It really was the last stop of civilization. Behind it, I could see the rain forest. It stood tall like a green wall separating two worlds.
We spent another hour walking around the area and talking to employees at the various businesses. Not much came of it. They told us what we already knew: Agent Riggs was here. He’d had dinner at the small restaurant and then headed over to the bar where he was seen having drinks, shooting pool—essentially, relaxing. We exited the bar and stood under an awning and out of the sun’s grasp.
I turned to Cabrera. “In the report, it stated that Riggs had a room reservation at the hotel in Mitú. Why?”
“It was his first trip. I told Riggs to spend the night, get to know the town,” Cabrera said.
Gómez also confirmed that he had met with Riggs a little before three but wasn’t sure about his plans. “After I finished with Riggs, I went about my way and he his.”
I shifted my weight and rested my hands on my hips. “Captain Gómez—”
“Please, call me David.”
“Okay, David. You said his body was found at eight the next morning.”
“That is correct.”
“No car?”
“We don’t rent cars. It’s easier to hire a taxi,” Cabrera answered.
“Was he attempting to walk back to Mitú?”
Gómez shrugged. “An employee from the bar said he was drunk when he left.”
What I had heard so far all seemed plausible, but it made no sense for a DEA agent to operate this way. Why go to the rest stop for dinner and some drinks? Why not stay in Mitú? It’s easier. A drunk man walking home doesn’t seem strange if the walk isn’t far. The rest stop was a thirty-minute drive from town. That’s not walking distance.
“Well, if Riggs came out here to meet with an informant, then we have a problem.”
“Why’s that?” Cabrera asked.
“No one in town saw him meet with anyone.”
Chapter 17
Outside of Mitú, the silver sedan sped along the two-lane highway, barely missing a crossing rabbit. The rear lights burned bright as the vehicle slowed abruptly and made a left turn onto a dirt road. It rapidly gained speed and left a brown plume in its wake as it headed straight toward a large, windowless building.
A few minutes later, the vehicle slid to a stop, and a thin man wearing wire-framed glasses jumped out of the driver’s seat. He swiftly approached the concrete building. There were no commercial markings on the building’s façade, and there appeared to be only one entrance: a steel door. Two men dressed in fatigues and brandishing AK-47s manned the entrance while on the rooftop in a crow’s nest were a couple of snipers with three-hundred-sixty-degree views.
The building sat back about a hundred fifty feet from the main road, surrounded by trees and brush. One could easily drive past without noticing it. The locals had learned to stay away from buildings like that.
Tenderloin (Abby Kane FBI Thriller) Page 6
