The following evening after midnight, Felix tracked at a distance as Rafael returned to his billet. He settled down to observe and didn’t have long to wait before the light in the doctor’s window was switched off. An hour later, the entire camp rocked as the Semtex package strapped to the Jeep’s gas tank exploded. Nothing remained of the vehicle but a mangled fusion of twisted metal wrapped around a melted engine and tattered strands of what once resembled the car’s framework. Pieces of the Jeep had blown hundreds of metres away. As planned, there were no human casualties, instead, a clear and unequivocal warning delivered.
Dinghy crossings resumed the next night.
Marcel Benoit received word of the Jeep incident via his contact in Cairo, and relayed the message to May-Ling in London.
She convened the directors to share the information with them,
“I need you all to understand, clearing out the gangs near the hospital is only a short term solution, but we’re not the police,” she said. “Neither are we politicians. These guys are not the only mob dealing in this traffic along the Med coast.”
“Agreed,” said Jack. “However, we do have a contract with Marcel and with Francine Louvet, which covers these people specifically.”
“I’m coming to that,” said May-Ling. “We could regularly take out a few criminals over there piecemeal, but they’ll continue sending in replacements. The money’s too good for them not to. The low-life fodder they use are expendable, and for the right money, Corrado and Torres’ll have an endless supply of them.”
“She’s right,” said Donnie. “We had the same thing with the London gangsters years ago. The only way to stop them is eradicating the top boys.”
“Correct,” said May-Ling. “It’s time to move on Guatemala now.”
“About bluudy time,” said her husband, partly under his breath.
****
“Empty lock up space, about twenty square metres,” said Rico. “I’ll need it for a month, Senor. You have anything like that available?”
The garage broker nodded.
“I have a few like that. I rent them at three hundred dollars, and three hundred deposit, returnable after the month end.”
“That’s too much, my friend. I can pay you two hundred up front and a hundred deposit.”
“Impossible. For that price, the open street’s available. I’ll give you discount at two hundred seventy, and deposit of two hundred.”
Rico rose from the chair in front of the broker’s desk and offered a handshake.
“Thanks for the coffee, Senor. That’s too expensive for me. Maybe another time.”
He walked toward the door. As he reached for the handle, the broker spoke again.
“How can I make money like this? My last offer, two hundred fifty rent, one hundred and fifty deposit. Cash.”
“You drive a hard bargain,” said Rico, turning back to his seat. He reached into his inside jacket pocket and removed an envelope with dollar bills. It held exactly four hundred dollars. He counted them across the table. The man scooped them slowly toward his side of the desk and counted them twice. He opened a drawer and placed the money inside and fished around in an old tin full of keys. A single key with a label bore the location of the garage lockup. Rico took the key and read the address. It was a couple of streets away from the El Verone hotel. Good.
For the second time, Rico stood and shook hands with the broker. Both knew the return of the key after one month was unlikely. For four hundred dollars, the replacement of a fresh key and lock for an unused garage space was no hardship for the broker. No invoice was asked nor offered. In most businesses in Guatemala, dollar cash carried its own language. Rico had two other envelopes in his pocket. One held four hundred and fifty dollars and the other five hundred dollars.
The lockup sat one space in from the end of a row of similar properties, all of which had at least one padlock. Rico swung open one side of the double doors and located the light switch. The sunlight still shone brightly, but he wanted to be sure the garage lights worked for night time use. A flickering fluorescent strip gave enough illumination to serve its purpose. The place was empty apart from the dust and stale smell from whatever had been stored inside recently. The Mexican locked up and went in search of his next purchase.
The intermediary reference was one he had used before, once in Chile and twice in Honduras. The phone call to the number his contact had given him required a password, which ensured the security of both parties. Rico’s and the seller’s. The location brought him off the main thoroughfare and into the market area of the city. He parked the hired car on a street a hundred metres from his destination. A group of small boys appeared before he had turned off the engine.
“How much?” he asked.
“A dollar, Senor,” came the reply from a gangling lad, no more than nine years old.
Rico produced some notes.
“Here’s two bucks. Another two when I come back. Look after it well.”
This street insurance cost little and the car would also be cleaned and polished by the time he returned.
Assorted plastic buckets and other polythene kitchenware stacked among brooms and mops in front of the alleyway, courtesy of the store on the left side of the entrance. The alcove on the other side displayed rolls of carpeting and rugs. Neither shop contained any customers so early in the day. The brick pathway led back into a small yard. The aroma from the bakery was difficult to miss. Sitting outside, two men on wicker chairs were also unmistakeable. Guards. As Rico approached, one of them stood and stared into his face. The Mexican raised his hands.
“Hi. My amigo from Cuba says hello.”
“Which amigo is that?”
“The one from outside Havana.”
The password worked. The guard stepped aside and raised his arm toward the door. The second man rose from his chair and entered in front of Rico. The other took up the rear. Inside the shop, trays of fresh bread loaves, rolls and croissants sat on the counter top, behind which an elderly woman was talking to a sole customer, another lady of similar age. The server merely glanced at Rico and the two men, and carried on her conversation. An opening with long strands of coloured beads from the top of the doorway to the floor gave way to another room. An assortment of chairs bordered a plain table, covered with a floral decoration cloth. Old calendars and posters of theatrical productions and some papers tacked to a wallboard indicated this was the business office.
The first man pointed to one of the chairs.
“Make yourself comfortable. Morro will be here soon.”
For the first time, Rico learned the name of the dealer, presuming the name was a real one. The doorway beads parted with a quiet swish and the serving lady entered. She nodded to the men, one of whom left to take her place at the bakery counter.
“I’m Morro,” she said, taking a seat on the other side of the table from Rico and the remaining guard. Nothing in this business ever surprised Rico.
“I’m pleased to meet you,” he said, without offering a handshake. “You’ll know what I’m looking for.”
“Yes,” said the woman “In general. Tell me specifically what you want.”
Rico took a folded paper from his pocket and handed it across the table. The dealer opened it and read. He noted she didn’t need reading glasses.
“We have all of this available. I presume you need it soon?”
“Yes. If the price is right.”
“The price is always right,” she said, with a smile. “The question is always whether the buyer can afford it.”
Rico returned her smile. His contact hadn’t told him Morro was a woman. Only that the dealer was reliable and direct. He was correct on both those counts.
The pencil scribble next to each item on the list took moments to write and total. She handed the paper back to Rico.
“No discount?” he asked.
“I give you my first and last price at the same time,” said Morro. “Life’s too short to haggle. Take it or
leave it.” The smile had gone.
Rico dug into his pockets and retrieved a series of packets. He counted out the amount at the bottom of the list and pushed it across to the dealer. She nodded to the guard and handed him a key. He walked to a safe in the corner of the room, inserted the key and took out an empty envelope and brought it to his boss. Without recounting the dollars, she placed them inside the packet and stapled it shut. The minder took the money and locked it in the safe, before returning the key to her.
An hour later, the guard helped Rico carry the parcelled weaponry back to where his car was parked. The waiting car washers stood in a group while their young leader stepped forward. Rico fished out the promised two dollar balance and watched it disappear into the lad’s back pocket.
Inside the closed garage the Mexican scrutinised his purchases. Four AK47s with adequate ammunition, stun grenades, Glock pistols, double-sided blades with strap-on legging sheaths and night vision goggles.
The next day, light mattresses and a folding table joined the equipment. The men from ISP would billet here, not in El Verone. The less the hotel owner knew of their movements, the safer it would be for all of them, including the proprietor and his wife.
The used car business in Guatemala is compressed into a pair of streets near the gun dealer’s shop. Rico visited several of the dealers and purchased dark coloured vans at each of two different places. By nightfall, both vehicles were parked in the garage, with full gas tanks. Until the rest of the team arrived, he would continue to use the borrowed car from El Verone. Meantime, he intended another reconnaissance run to Hotel Pedrosa toward nightfall. A target terrain can appear different in the darkness.
CHAPTER 19
Something had changed.
The perimeter bustled with activity. From his concealed observation point in the undergrowth two hundred metres from the hotel, voices filtered across to Rico. Instructions, not conversation. A thick-leaved tree afforded a higher sighting post. He trained the night glasses forward, but the glare of lights made them unnecessary. The source of the noise centred on the final approach to the building. Fifty meters from his hideout tree, several men straddled the track, two groups digging on opposite sides of the dirt-packed roadway, the only vehicular access to the property. He switched to his regular field glasses and zoomed in.
What the hell?
The unmistakeable sight of Improvised Explosive Devices being planted caused a chill in the Mexican. These bastard things could pierce armoured cars, let alone the second hand transport he had purchased earlier in the day. As he watched, the men loosely recovered the dirt at each side of what was a deadly pincer placement. Next, with practised ease, one man uncoiled a length of wire and strung it across the road at a height of six inches. Invisible in darkness. The trigger mechanism. Simple and lethal. Any vehicle striking the wire would bring immediate death to its occupants.
How would friendly vehicles move in and out?
The answer came quickly. A further eighty metres back toward the hotel, two men, armed with M16s sat, one on either side of the road, occupying plastic seats. The glasses picked out their radio earpieces. Their job as watchmen meant lowering and raising the wire under instruction, but far enough away to be safe from any explosion triggered by unwelcome visitors.
Further ahead, an unexpected burst of light engulfed the area covering the front of the hotel, including the storage pool. A range of searchlights beamed as clear as daylight. Around the pool, the guards numbered at least eight, a fourfold increase from Rico’s last sighting. The tarpaulin coverings remained as before, but at lower levels. It appeared that much of the goods stored had been moved out. Just as suddenly, the lights were extinguished, then switched on and off, and on and off again a few times, finally leaving the scene in darkness once more. Testing completed.
Something had really changed.
Thank God May-Ling wanted me to check this lot again.
****
The next morning, as per ISP standard operating procedure, Jack and Donnie flew into the country on one flight, while Malky used another airline, landing a few hours later. Rico picked them up in separate journeys and ferried them to the garage, where the newly acquired coffee-maker was put to immediate use. The first two arrivals went through the ritual checking of the weapons, in the same manner that Rico had when he brought them from the bakery.
Detail, detail, detail.
****
“Thank you, Senor.”
Cornelius Corrado replaced the telephone receiver. The caller’s message brought a smile.
A tall blondish man resembling the one in the photograph had been tagged at the airport, and the spotter claimed with certainty it was the same person. He was accompanied by a second man who didn’t fit Felix’s description of either man from the camp in Libya.
A subsequent call a few hours later confirmed the sighting of another man in black, this time fitting the description Felix had provided. The game was set.
****
The ISP men listened while Rico described both his visits to Hotel Pedrosa. His maps and notes spread across the folding table. The details of the tripwire IED trap and the searchlights were of special interest.
“Your business in Libya has spooked them is my guess. Why else would they need to fortify the place like that?”
“Competition?” said Jack.
“The biggest operators in Guatemala these days are my own countrymen. Mexico channels more than half of the drugs coming through here. But these operators are busier nearer to the border. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Mexican syndicates have a business arrangement with them. From my experience, the demand for this shit is so huge, there’s room for most of the cartels. So, no, I don’t think it’s about competition. Plus, the usual paybacks keep the local cops away.”
“And you say the pool still had stuff stacked in there?” asked Donnie.
“Yes, it looked that way,” said Rico. “Less than before, but not cleared out.”
“They’ve geared themselves and think they can handle any frontal threat,” said Jack.
“I guess we’re no’ goin’ in the front door then?” said Malky.
Jack steepled his fingers against his lips.
“On the contrary,” the Scotsman said after a couple of minutes. “I think a direct drive-in approach will do nicely.”
The movement of Malky’s coffee mug from the table to his lips froze in mid-air.
“Are ye nuts?”
“Sending a car in through the front clears the way forward,” said Jack, smiling. “Nothing says we have to be in it, right?”
“Man, ye’re gettin’ nearly as clever as yer Missus.”
Donnie and Rico nodded in agreement. They hadn’t come all this way to abort the mission.
“We hit them after midnight tonight. Can we have another run through these details, Rico?”
More planning and some rest absorbed the balance of the afternoon and early evening. As usual, Jack stayed wide awake as the familiar adrenaline feed of impending action coursed through his system. Malky and Donnie slept for a couple of hours. Rico kept Jack company, but not much conversation passed between them.
****
A bucket of lukewarm water was enough for Donnie and Malky to splash their faces on awakening. The holdalls emptied of the night combat kit; balaclavas and face blackener, black boots, pants and jackets. The weapons were checked again, and passed to a buddy for rechecking. A final tactical airing included back up plans one and two.
Rico eased back the doors as the vans rolled onto the street. He replaced the padlock and joined Jack in the first vehicle. The bonus of a cloud-laden sky pleased all of them as the first spatters of rain hit the windscreens. Bad weather always gave attackers the edge. Jack drove within the speed limits. Donnie and Malky followed in the second van at a distance of fifty metres. With different makes of vehicle there was no semblance of a mini convoy.
Light traffic in both directions, mainly taxis, dwindled to nothing a
fter an hour, by which time Rico pointed to the fork in the road he had taken twice already. A slow approach to the turn-off encountered no other vehicles. They parked one van facing back toward the city and all four men climbed aboard the one Jack was driving. The downpour from the skies increased as they made progress toward the trip wire area.
“There,” said Rico. “Straight ahead, about a hundred and fifty meters.”
The quartet got out. While the others spread out from the vehicle, Jack jammed a piece of metal against the controls and set the van in motion. They watched it move toward the danger area. With two seconds to contact they lay flat on the ground. The front wheels gripped the trip wire and the IEDs did their job. The blast blew the sides inward and upward, the chassis transformed into unrecognisable chunks of metal. Any passengers would have been blown to pieces.
In separate pairs, they moved toward the wreckage. The forward opposition guards, guns at the ready, approached from the other end of the roadway. A couple of salvoes from Malky and Rico turned them to corpses in seconds. At the same time the searchlights switched on, lighting up the hotel’s frontage. The ISP men advanced in the side undergrowth, moving quickly toward their target. The clamour of men shouting mingled with a further small explosion from the wrecked vehicle, the remnants of a fuel pocket from some part of the van. From close in, Jack and Rico fired upward at the row of floodlights and darkness returned, apart from the residual flames from the burning wreck. The defenders around the poolside were no match for the incoming gunfire. The night vision goggles made silhouetted targets easy to hit. Eight kills in less than thirty seconds. The secondary rounds of shooting from within the hotel hit nothing but undergrowth, as the attack squad had fanned out to narrow the angles at the sides of the entrance.
DEADLY IMPASSE (Jack Calder Crime Series #5) Page 9
