Stretching her arm as far as she could, she reached out until her fingertips touched the metal of the balcony. She forced herself to stretch a little father, and at last she could put her fingers around the rail.
She felt Simon’s hands on her waist.
“I’ve got you.” His voice was so soft, she almost didn’t hear it.
Oh, my. He might have her, but the sensual thrill of his sudden touch was sending tingles up her spine. It was a distraction.
Besides, Simon’s grip could do only so much for her. Gravitationally speaking. She couldn’t imagine he could hold her if she slipped. Then she thought of Alejandro and his friend Diego and the other boys.
Concentrate, Janey, she told herself as she inched up a bit more on the branch. At last she was able to put both hands on the balcony rail. She took a deep cleansing breath.
Then she let herself drop.
Her legs swung back and forth in thin air for a moment, as terror rippled through her. But she held on. She’d made it. She just had to pull herself up.
Silently thanking Detective Tan and her brutal pull ups at the Parker Agency, she managed to hoist her body up and swing her legs over the railing.
The balcony was a narrow space, filled with potted ferns, which along with the sliding glass doors indicated a resident. But the curtains were drawn and no lights were on, so she hoped no one inside would notice a visitor out here.
Catching her breath, she turned around in time to see Simon crouching on the tree branch, holding onto nothing.
He leapt into the air, cleared the rail and rolled into a somersault as he hit the floor, landing straight up on his feet.
She stared at him in amazement and he returned a half embarrassed smile.
“We used to jump trees in Patagonia,” he whispered.
Must have brought back memories. But there was no time for reminiscing.
Simon took off the black bag he had strapped to his back, opened it, and pulled out something long and black. “Give me a hand.”
She helped him stretch it out and realized it was a climbing net in a neutral color.
She glared at him. “You had rope?”
“I couldn’t use it down there.”
No, it would be too conspicuous. But would anyone see them using it here?
They were about to find out. A light switched on in the apartment.
“Hurry.” Simon took the rope and flung it up and over the parapet about twenty feet overhead.
The netting fell over the spires, giving them all the support they needed.
She heard Argentinian in the apartment. No time to lose. She put her foot into one of the rungs and began to climb. Her muscles protested, but the sound of Simon’s steady breathing beside her gave her comfort.
They reached the top, swung themselves over the parapet, and dropped to the apartment roof. Then they pulled up the rope net as fast as they could.
They were almost finished when the glass door of the balcony opened, and a man stepped out.
In the shadows above, Janelle froze. Simon held up a hand to signal her to stop pulling, but she already had.
Muttering to himself, the apartment resident strode over his balcony, then peered over the railing at the sidewalk below. He shook his fist at no one in particular, then went back inside.
Janelle let out a breath and saw the same relief wash over Simon’s handsome face.
“C’mon,” he whispered. “We’re losing time.”
He was right. The gangsters would be meeting in the back room any minute. She hoped no one would be early.
They hurried to the side of the building and used the net once more to climb to the flat roof of Casa Ale. Simon folded up the net in record time, and they quickly found a utility entrance that was unlocked.
Simon opened its door, and they stepped down into darkness.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
They were in the attic.
Janelle could tell by the dusty smell and the silence. But she couldn’t see anything, so she stood still in order not to knock something over and ruin the mission.
A light came on behind her.
Shading her eyes with her hand, she turned around and saw Simon on the stairs behind her with a lamp on his head. The one he’d used in the cave in Patagonia, she assumed.
Without speaking, he handed her a matching one. She pulled it over her head and switched it on.
The eerie shapes of the attic came into view. There wasn’t much here. Rafters, support beams, and the long stretches of sheet metal that was the ductwork for the HVAC system.
That was what they were after.
Silently Simon made his way down the stairs and took in the space. Then he pointed toward the far corner and they headed in that direction, going slowly so their footsteps would make no creaking noises on the ceiling below.
According to the blueprints Torres had shown them, the meeting room would be in the far corner. She followed the line of the ductwork with her gaze and saw where it turned ninety degrees and disappeared into the attic floor.
Just where the middle of the room’s ceiling would be. Where the vent was. Where Simon said he would plant the bug.
But how to get to the vent?
They had to hurry. The Castigadores would be arriving soon.
Simon crouched down and ran his hands over the sheet metal close to where it turned down into the attic floor. He reached into his bag and pulled out two pairs of safety goggles. He handed one to her and she put them on, fitting them over her headlamp while he did the same.
Then he pulled a tool out of his bag that was about the size of a screwdriver. It had a long thin handle and a rounded end. He held the far end of it to the duct, pressed a button, and light shot out from the tool.
Not just any light. A laser beam. One so efficient, it began cutting into the sheet metal instantly without making a sound.
Astounded, she watched Simon guide the light across the duct, downward, back across, and up, until he’d made a perfect rectangle. He turned off the light, put the tool back in his bag and came out with two black pieces of plastic that looked like suction cups.
They were suction cups. He took one in each hand, placed them on the section he’d just cut, and tugged it from its place.
Entry hole. The man was brilliant.
The smell of old cigarettes and mildew tainted the air, but there was no blast of hot or cold air. The weather was tepid enough that the system wasn’t in use right now, lucky for them.
Simon set the cutout piece aside and pulled out a strip of something that looked like foam from his bag. Carefully he placed it around the edges of the opening, sealing it with his black gloved fingers as he went.
A protective guard, she thought. Now they had a comfortable entry hole.
Finally, he reached into his bag one more time and took out what she’d been waiting to see.
A tiny pinhole camera on the end of a wire, attached to a small black box with two wires coming out of it. One of them she recognized as the wifi transmitter.
The bug.
Simon did something to the transmitter with his fingers, then he took his cell phone out of his pocket and tapped an icon. A picture appeared on the screen of the access hole he’d just cut.
He handed her the cell, leaned over, and whispered to her. “Once I’ve got this in place, tap three times on my leg when you can see the picture.
“Got it.”
Then he got on his knees and crawled into the hole.
Holding her breath, Janelle watched the screen.
Flashes from Simon’s headlamp alternated with darkness from inside the duct. Another flash, another flash. Simon’s legs were moving strangely.
Twenty minutes seemed to go by.
Finally he backed up and came out of the duct. “Hells bells,” he grunted, still holding the wire in his hands.
Her stomach clenched. “What’s wrong?”
“There’s not enough room. The duct narrows too much.”
He blinked at her. “Can you?”
With a scowl she handed him the phone. “Of course, I can.”
He didn’t argue. Instead he leaned in close. “You’ll have to go back in when the meeting is over. We can’t leave this equipment behind.”
“Got it.” They couldn’t let the Castigadores know their meeting had been bugged.
They switched places, she got down on her knees in front of the opening, took the bug from him, and pushed herself through the hole.
Inside the enclosure it was dark and dusty and hot, and the smoky mildew smell was stronger. Hoping she wouldn’t sneeze, she focused on inching her body forward. As she went, she could hear her breath echoing softly against the metal walls of the tight enclosure and fought back a rush of claustrophobia.
Adjusting her headlamp, she could see the bend in the ductwork just before her—where it had been too narrow for Simon. She scooted up again and finally she reached it. But she couldn’t see all the way down the hole.
Simon was tapping on her leg.
He couldn’t be seeing the room. She hadn’t placed the bug yet.
She realized he was trying to hand her something. She twisted herself painfully and stuck her hand out behind her toward the hole.
He wedged his arm in beside her and put something into her palm. When she had her hand back in front of her, she saw it was a small mirror with a low-strength magnet on the back. Wow, he was prepared.
She stretched—again—all the way to where the duct bent, and quietly snapped the mirror in place.
There it was. A perfect image of the inside of the air vent below. Dust and all.
She scooted up a bit more, watched the mirror as she pushed the bug up to one of the slots in the grill. She wiped a bit of dust away with her fingers and taped the wire to the inside of the duct.
She’d done it.
She felt Simon tap three times on her calf. The transmission was working.
She was about to crawl back when she heard a door open.
Loud footsteps sounded on the floor below.
In the mirror she could see two men enter the room. She froze. If she dared to move they might hear her.
She was stuck.
Simon could see what was going on on his phone, and he didn’t make a sound. She could almost hear him telling her telepathically that she had to stay put until the meeting was over. That much she knew, but she was glad he knew it, as well. They were in synch, too.
The screech of a chair from below racked against her eardrum, and she peeked through the vent to see what was going on.
One of the men was taller than the other. The shorter skinny man was in dark clothes, had wispy blond hair and a black patch over one eye. He was settling in at a round table with four chairs.
She became aware of the smell of food and saw the table was laden with pitchers of beer and a large plate of what looked like sausages, fried onion rings, and an assortment of breads and dipping sauces.
The management must have had this room prepared for these regular visitors in advance.
“Where’s Ponce?” said the taller man.
“He’ll be here,” said the man with the eye patch, reaching for a glass and a pitcher to pour himself a drink. He sounded like he had a bad cold.
“He’s late, Gomez.” The second man reached over and popped an onion ring into his mouth.
As he did, Janelle could see he had on a deep red polo shirt with an expensive top-grain black leather jacket over it that was tapered at the waist. His long hair was gray, and wavy and he had a neatly trimmed matching goatee. Seemed to be the type who took pains about his appearance.
“He probably stopped for a street vendor for a chori,” Gomez said with a mean sounding chuckle.
The tall man didn’t laugh. “We have important business to discuss.”
Gomez glared up at him with his good eye. “I know that, Carrizo,” he said in a threatening tone. “Sit down. You’re making me nervous.”
The taller man did as he was told, making Janelle believe it was Gomez who was in charge of this group.
As Carrizo poured himself a beer, the door to the room creaked open again, and a third man appeared.
Oh my, Janelle thought when he came into view. This one was a mountain.
He entered the room with the lumbering gait of a rhinoceros and went straight for the food.
This must be Ponce.
He had dark skin, thick oily dark hair, and a short beard. As he greedily crammed a sausage into his mouth, she could make out a large flat nose, dark eyes, and brows that were all squeezed into the center of his face in a menacing expression that took her breath.
“Buenas noches, Ponce,” Gomez croaked cynically. “You’re late.”
Ponce wiped his fingers on his shirt and sat down. “Traffic,” he said, and reached for another sausage.
“Hah. You were talking to your chiquita on your cell.”
With his mouth full, the big man grinned. “She cannot stand not to hear my voice for even five minutes.”
“In your dreams,” Carrizo smirked.
“Finish that up,” Gomez commanded. “We need to talk about Torres.”
Janelle held her breath. They knew the police inspector’s real name.
“Who?” Ponce swallowed the sausage, let out a belch, and reached for a beer as he took a seat.
“The man we met with last night?”
“Oh, si. The puny little man.”
Torres wasn’t large, but to Ponce most people must seem puny.
Carrizo leaned toward Gomez. “Did you call him?”
“I did. I set up a meeting for tonight.”
“And?”
“I didn’t show up.”
“Why not?”
Gomez took a sip from his beer and set it down. “I’m testing him. I want to see what he will do. I think he is with the police.”
Ponce shrugged. “So? We have worked with the police before. That might afford us some protection. He said he has a client with money.”
“That’s what he says.” Gomez thought about that a moment, then shook his head. “We do not have time for him right now. Fischer will kill us all if we do not deliver the order to him tomorrow.”
Carrizo smirked. “Fischer will not kill us. He will have El Puño kill us.”
Gomez pointed a finger at Carrizo. “You are right. You don’t want to face El Puño.”
Ponce waved off the comment. “I am not afraid of him.”
“Hah. He could break you in two with his bare hands.”
“I would like to see him try it. El Puño, bah. He is not even an Argentinian. His accent is Ukrainian.”
A chill went down Janelle’s spine. Ukrainian? And someone who could break the huge Ponce in two? Carrizo had to be exaggerating.
“Plans, men. Plans. We have to be at El Diamante tomorrow night by eight-thirty. Fischer’s guests will start arriving at nine. We are to take the boys to a room on the upper floor and hold them there until they are called for. He will have each guest with a request enter the room, look the boys over, and make his selection. Then the price will be determined.”
“And we will get our cut,” Carrizo said.
“Once the night is over, and all the deals have been made.”
“Fischer better not short us.”
Gomez scowled at Carrizo. “And what will you do if he does? He is the one in charge in Buenos Aires. Besides, he has people above him to pay.”
Carrizo narrowed his eyes and leered toward Gomez again. “So you tell us. Perhaps you are pocketing the extra cash.”
“Would you like me to tell Fischer you’ve been complaining, Carrizo?”
The man backed down. “No.”
“Remember. The boys have to be bathed and dressed by seven so we can get them into El Diamante in time. They have to be on their best beh
avior and ready to perform. Can you handle that?”
Ponce nodded. “Of course, I can.”
Revulsion rippled through Janelle. She hoped this evidence would help save those boys.
“After we deliver the boys, we are to stick around in case there’s trouble so wear your tuxes,” Gomez said.
Ponce let out a moan, but Carrizo seemed to like the idea.
The men chatted about what they would do with their money, finished the beer, and got to their feet. Carrizo and Gomez left the room.
But Ponce stood at the table, stuffing the rest of the food into his mouth with one hand. While he chewed, his other hand slipped lazily into his pocket and he took out his phone.
He stood thumbing it, reading his texts while Janelle’s heart pounded in her chest. Hurry up, she thought.
Suddenly he stopped and stared at his phone. Then slowly he looked up at the ceiling.
The mirror.
Its glare must have reflected onto the phone.
Janelle held her breath. She didn’t dare move.
Ponce squinted at the air vent, turning his head this way and that. And then he saw her.
Their eyes locked for what seemed like an eternity.
Suddenly the man grew smaller and disappeared, as Janelle realized she was being pulled backward, straight through the air duct. It was Simon. He’d been watching the scene. But in the last second, she’d seen Ponce going for a chair.
He was going to climb up and find that bug in the vent.
Simon let go of her, and she climbed out of the duct’s opening on her own in time to find him zipping up his bag and pulling it over his shoulder.
“I didn’t get the bug,” she whispered to him.
“Leave it. No time.”
That didn’t sound good. But they didn’t have a second to spare for discussion.
Instead, Simon grabbed her hand, and they hurried for the stairs to the roof.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
At last they were back on the street, running for the Beetle.
No one was around, thank God, and Janelle didn’t see any of the Castigadores anywhere. Had Ponce called the others back into the room? Had they found that bug by now?
Escape from Danger Page 11
