She was unable to see the smiles on the faces of the men in the Amsterdam office.
“That’s foolhardy, and you know it,” came the protest from Lyons.
“Not worse than living for the rest of my life, knowing one of the men who killed my father has slipped away from me and I did nothing about it.”
Donnie Mullen leaned toward the console.
“As a former cop, I agree with Marcel, Francine. You’re a civilian when all’s said and done. We at ISP and the police are in the business of risk and prevention of it.”
“Then, I’ll handle it myself,” she said again.
The executive decision maker was adamant.
“Okay. Cool down everybody,” said Jack. “We’re on the same side here. May-Ling, have you and Francine discussed where such a meeting would take place?”
“Yes we have, and it included plans for cover, of course, but not with the information we have now about Torres’s clear intent to kill her. It was supposed to be a way for him to get their money back.”
“Marcel,” Jack continued, “I also agree it’s dangerous, but is it any riskier than having these guys out there with possible future attempts on Francine’s life at a time and place where we don’t have her covered? And having her go ‘Rambo’ herself on Torres is even more on the edge, don’t you think?”
Benoit didn’t reply. The man was thinking.
“What if we have a look at what May-ling and she have in mind to see if we can lessen the risk?” said Jack.
“Let me hear your plan,” said Benoit with an audible sigh.
May-Ling took the lead in explaining the process to date of baiting Torres, and the details of the eventual proposed meeting place.
The Interpol head remained uncomfortable with the strategy, more from his fondness for Francine and the Louvet family than awareness Jack Calder and his team were more than ready to protect her. After an hour and a half of discussion, he grudgingly accepted it was the least of many evils involved in the case.
“All in favour?” asked May-Ling at the end.
The whole group was in sync.
****
A telephone not being answered can be an eternity to an impatient caller. Ruben Torres cursed as the line rang out.
She’s supposed to pick up the damned thing.
It rang again. Francine counted to five before picking up the receiver. The recording signal light gleamed yellow.
“Hello.”
“Good evening, my dear. I thought you weren’t going to answer tonight.”
“I was in the washroom,” lied Francine, looking across to May-Ling at the other side of the desk.
“I hope you’ve had a good day,” said Torres. “Have you made a decision yet?”
“To be frank, Xavier, I’m not a hundred percent comfortable, but I’ve decided there’s nothing to lose by meeting with you.”
“I’m so glad to hear that, my dear. When this is over, we can discuss other things, to try to bring back some normality.”
“It will never be back to normal. My father’s gone.”
“Forgive me if I sounded insensitive. I meant in terms of trying to get on with our lives. Yours and mine. Were you able to work on some documentation?”
“Yes,” said Francine. “I had the lawyers draw up some suggested wording. In confidence of course.”
“Of course,” said Torres. “We understand this is a best efforts attempt. When and where do you want to meet?”
The bank chief told him the timing and location. Mid-morning, the day after next, and she said he would understand why she chose the particular place she mentioned. There was unlikely to be anyone else around at that time.
“Yes, I understand, my dear. Will you have anyone with you?”
“Of course. I’ll have a female security person with me. Does that bother you?”
“Not in the slightest. A wise precaution, may I say. I’ll also have another party with me, for much the same reason. As I told you, I live daily in fear of my life. Until the day after tomorrow, then. Goodnight.”
May-Ling grinned and gave the thumbs up sign.
“Well done,” she said. “Are you still okay with this?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything. Ever.”
CHAPTER 28
Marcel Benoit’s duties as head of Interpol guaranteed a desk perpetually overloaded with administrative documentation and the past weeks since the death of his friend, Pierre Louvet, had done nothing to ease the paperwork. Although his trust in the ISP squad was absolute, he felt compelled to take yet another flight to Luxembourg. The imminent risk to Francine and May-Ling tugged at his protective sensitivities. He landed at five in the morning of their proposed meeting with Torres and drove directly to the Louvet home. The smell of fresh coffee and croissants filled the breakfast room, where the two ladies, Jack, Malky and Donnie Mullen were preparing for the meet.
The additional presence of Benoit changed nothing in the plan other than to add one more man to the cover for Francine and May-Ling. All six wore radio receiver earpieces, with one open channel microphone with Jack and another with Donnie. Gone were the women’s high heels, replaced by flat, rubber sneakers. Each of the ladies wore Kevlar protective vests and denim trousers under loose top coats. May-Ling carried a Glock in her shoulder holster. A final rehearsal of commands, the last of many that morning, finished the preparation.
The men departed before seven o’clock in a nondescript, grey Renault. The ladies would follow three hours later. Within twenty minutes, Malky parked the car two streets away from the cemetery. Official visiting times for the site were one p.m. until five. Malky and Jack got out of the Renault, leaving Donnie and Marcel in the vehicle. With dark canvas bags in hand, the ISP men made a wide detour, ending at the far side of the graveyard. Satisfied there was no sign of Torres and his companion, they made their separate ways to the belfry overlooking the area. The fenestrae architecture at the top of the turret gave clear vision across the rows of tombstones and the lined pathways criss-crossing from each of the cemetery’s four entrances, while affording almost total invisibility from the ground. In their former roles with the SAS, this was textbook surveillance and sniper positioning. They removed the rifles from the canvas bags and set up their stations, Jack to the right, Malky to the left. Respective aiming always aligned in the same order, right shooter to right target, left shooter to left target. If there was ever more than one each, outside target to inner target and back out again.
“We’re set, Donnie.” said Jack quietly into the microphone. “How do you copy? Over.”
“Clear as a bell,” came the reply. “How do you copy? Over.”
“Roger. Silence now until May-Ling and Francine arrive. Let’s hope our pigeons don’t get cold feet. Over and out.”
****
“She’ll have some papers with her,” said Torres to his bodyguard. “We don’t hit them until I see what she has. Maybe we can kill more than two birds with one stone.”
He smiled at the inadvertent double meaning.
“You call it, boss.”
Both men carried pistols in hip holsters, covered by their coats.
Five minutes before ten o’clock, the bodyguard put the vehicle into gear, and they headed toward the rendezvous, twenty minutes away.
****
“The bride never arrives on time, but we’ll make an exception in this case,” said May-Ling, smiling. “You ready?”
“Yes. Perfectly ready,” said Francine, picking up a broad, cloth shoulder bag. “Papers for Mister Nante and his partners all ready for signing.”
She patted the bag and smiled back at her opposite number.
The Bank’s limousine purred toward their destination with May-Ling at the wheel.
“We enter from gate three, so that we have Torres facing us and the belfry,” she said.
****
“Gate two. We have two men entering now,” said Jack into the microphone.
“Copy that, we
’re on our way,” replied Donnie as he and Benoit got out of the Renault and started walking toward the cemetery. Both men had their coats unbuttoned with access to their weapons.
Two minutes later, the Scot was on air again.
“Our people entering now from gate three. Francine, May-Ling if you copy this, put your right hands behind your backs for a second so that I know you hear me.”
The motion followed his instruction.
“Good. We have you in full sight. Torres and another man approaching directly opposite you. Take your time. Let them get there first. I want them to stop, and you stay at least two metres away from them.”
The men reached a large marble obelisk and Torres pointed to it.
The chiselled name on the monument read ‘Pierre Louvet’.
As the ladies approached and stopped as directed, the bodyguard stepped slowly to the right of his boss.
“You got sight, Malky?” asked Jack.
“Plumb. At your timing.”
Jack watched as the bank chief removed the cloth bag from her shoulder and appeared to speak to Torres.
“Hello, my dear, Francine.”
“Hello. I’ve brought this for you… Mister Torres.”
She reached into the bag as Torres caught the name she should not have known and grabbed for his pistol. The bodyguard did the same.
“Down!” screamed Jack. May-Ling dropped instantly to the ground, Francine remained standing. Malky and Jack fired as one. The bullets ripped into the men. Perfect chest shots, throwing their bodies backward, killed before they could raise their weapons.
Francine walked forward to the dead body of her former lover and fired into his face until her gun was empty. The false papers never left her bag.
May-Ling stared at her as Donnie and Benoit arrived at a sprint. Francine dropped her father’s luger to the ground and her chest began to heave. The pent-up well broke into a sobbing fit. May-Ling hugged her close.
“It’s over now,” she said. “It’s over. I thought you said you hated guns.”
“I do, with a vengeance, but Papa insisted that I know how to use one.”
She released herself gently from May-Ling’s embrace and walked the few paces to her father’s grave and knelt down to touch the stone.
“I’m sorry Papa. I miss you,” she said in between her sobbing.
Her tears flowed freely.
Marcel Benoit bent and picked up the Luger, checked it was empty and placed it in his inside coat pocket. The weapon would disappear before the evening.
Jack and Malky joined the others at the graveside, the rifles restored to the canvas bags.
May-Ling approached Francine again, who allowed herself to be led from the cemetery. Benoit used his mobile phone to contact his friend, the local police chief, and explained what had happened.
“Please come and remove the bodies. And no, mon ami. No crime has been committed.”
****
The group returned to the Louvet home, where the ladies excused themselves to change into their normal clothing. A different Francine reappeared. In command once more of her emotions and of her household, she issued orders to the kitchen staff to prepare lunch for the assembled company. Away from the men, May-Ling opened the conversation.
“You said you were okay back at the cemetery. How do you feel now?”
“I’m okay. Really, I’m okay,” said Francine. “The crying was a relief valve. You’ve no idea the amount of rage I’ve carried since they killed Papa. I know technically I didn’t shoot Xavier, Ruben, whatever you want to call him. I was firing at a dead body. But it felt good pulling the trigger like that. In my head he was already a dead man. Does that make sense? Is that a bad thing, May-Ling?”
“Yes, it makes sense, and no, it’s not a bad thing. But you realise by not following Jack’s command to get down, you could have been killed yourself?”
“Again, I’m sorry. I knew as I was doing it, but I truly wanted to kill him. And I know I could have gotten you killed also. I’m sorry for that. It was a heat of the moment reaction.”
“Well, it’s gone now, but I want you to remember what Donnie alluded to when we were discussing what to do the other night.”
“What?”
“He told you ISP’s in the business of protection against danger and risk. You aren’t, Francine. I also said to you at the cemetery it’s over. It’s over only so far as Torres is concerned. His criminal partner, Cornelius Corrado is still out there, and he represents a far greater threat than Torres. He wants his money, for sure, but this episode shows his primary objective now may be revenge. My professional opinion is you’re at even more risk now.”
“So what do I do now? I can’t hide my face forever.”
“Nor would I expect you to,” said May-Ling. “But I recommend increased close-in cover for you in the meantime.”
“For how long?”
“There’s unfinished business for ISP. We’re already planning a strategy to remove the threat completely. We have the support of Marcel. Don’t forget, these people also killed our operatives. That made it personal. So, to answer your question, I don’t believe you’ll have to wait too long.”
“Speaking of waiting, lunch is served,” said Francine. “Let’s eat.”
When they returned to join the others at the dining table, May-Ling gave a slight nod to Jack.
The message had been clearly delivered to the client.
****
Corrado’s contacts in Luxembourg had no news of the whereabouts of Torres and his bodyguard. Ten hours had elapsed since the scheduled meeting with Francine, and no word from his number two. The syndicate head’s frustration turned into ennui, and then to anger.
How the hell had Ruben screwed this up? A simple rub out.
He knew his man was gone, probably dead, perhaps arrested, which for Corrado, may be even worse. Which also inferred that access to the frozen money via Francine Louvet was a dead end.
At times like these, he never touched alcohol, preferring coffee and more coffee. He needed his brain sharp. His two next most senior men joined him on the patio. They’d also been with him since the Legion desertion.
When Raddo drank beer, they drank beer. Tonight, they drank coffee.
“Ruben’s disappeared in Luxembourg,” said Corrado. “We have to presume he’s dead.”
Neither man flinched. An occupational hazard in their business, death was a constant shadow. Torres was a good friend, but good friends could also get killed. That was the way of things.
“Until I know what’s happening in Europe, I need you to make sure the guards are on their toes,” said the boss. “No panic measures. We’ve Hidalgo’s shipment to deliver next week. That’s top priority. Understood?”
The men nodded. As far as he was aware, none of his people in Honduras knew of the massacre in Libya. His strict instructions to the injured messenger had been to keep it silent and get himself to France for a paid spell in a private clinic to recover fully from the beatings from the security men. Corrado knew the man would obey his orders.
Neither the Libyan issue nor the disappearance of Ruben Torres changed the current situation much. His mainstream drug business was unaffected, but in the medium term the loss of cash flow from the people trafficking would have a growing impact. When this month’s cargo to San Cristobal de las Salas was completed, he’d take a trip to Europe to rethink the migrant business.
CHAPTER 29
Toncontin International airport, six kilometres from downtown Tegucigalpa, is one of the aviation world’s most dangerous landings. Its proximity to mountainous terrain, and short runway, is daunting, especially in bad weather. The clear horizon and beating sun did nothing to ease Jack Calder’s innate discomfort about flying in anything other than fast-drop military aircraft. Relieved to disembark the plane, he joined the queue at passport control and shuffled forward to take his turn. The process took only minutes and with no check-in luggage to collect, he moved through to the arrival
s lounge.
The DEA agent with the distinctive blue cap waited with a small cardboard sign bearing the name ‘Mr Jones’. Jack nodded toward the man who turned and walked toward the exit. The giveaway shape of a gun handle under a loose-fitting cotton shirt showed at the agent’s hip. Jack followed a few metres behind, and crossed the road to the car park. The click of an electronic key toward a black Ford off-road van released the door locks. Jack eased into the passenger seat.
“Welcome to Tegus,” said his greeter. “I’m Palmer. My buddy, Ellis, and the rest of the team are downtown in the office.”
“Jack Calder. Good to meet you, Palmer. My partners’ll be here on the afternoon flight. We appreciate your help.”
“No problem. Marcel Benoit primed us on what you need. Any friend of his is a friend of ours. We’re always ready to provide anything that gentlemen asks for.”
Palmer pressed the lock button, securing all the tinted windows.
“You been in Tegus before?”
“No. This is the first time,” said Jack.
“Street crime here is common, hence the precaution with the windows, and as you can see, the road surface is not the best.”
The bumpy, uneven progress proved the point every few metres.
“It’s a million times better than that bluudy airport landing,” said Jack.
Palmer laughed.
“Don’t worry, it’s much better on takeoff.”
He laughed again as another series of potholes pitched the Ford from side to side.
The trip ate up more than half an hour until the American drove into a commercial building’s basement carpark. Security shutters rolled down behind the vehicle.
The elevator ride stopped at the eighth floor. A small nameplate carried the legend ‘Tenby Inc.’
Palmer pressed the bell. Jack noted the CCTV micro-camera sunk high in the door framework. After the sound of an automatic electric lock disengaging, the door swung open, leading to a second door two metres inside. The agent and his guest stepped inside the hallway. The front door swung shut behind them as a second click opened the inner entrance to the DEA offices.
DEADLY IMPASSE (Jack Calder Crime Series #5) Page 14
