“I’ll take you to one of the big hotels. Catch a taxi to your parents’ place. Give me the address and directions and a phone number, and hopefully I’ll see you, with Catalina, sooner than later.”
Sofia scribbled down the information and handed it to Jet, who slipped the paper into her pocket and nodded. “Let’s get out of here. The clock’s ticking.”
Jet dropped Sofia off at the nearby Hyatt hotel and watched her step into the taxi in the front of the queue at the entrance. Once she was confident Sofia was on her way, she plowed into the sparse night traffic and made for the park, turning over possible strategies in her mind as she drove off in Tomás’ Mercedes. She hadn’t told Sofia everything – she didn’t need her losing it at the thought of what Jet was contemplating.
She dialed Matt’s cell, but it went to voice mail. He was probably in the shower, or reading Hannah a bedtime story – another endearing habit he’d developed since they’d become a couple. Or rather, a family. Something she’d never believed she’d have.
The guard’s revolver, still in the trunk of her car, would have come in handy, but there was no time now to stop by the apartment and get it. A shame, but not a deal breaker, because she more than knew, as someone who had killed with as innocuous an item as a credit card or a pencil, that a gun was more of a convenience than a necessity after dark.
She felt the wooden handle of the boning knife she’d lifted from Sofia’s kitchen next to her in the center console, and smiled. No, a gun was just one way of leveling things. There were other, equally effective methods.
Which the kidnappers were soon going to find out, with any luck at all.
Chapter 16
Jet parked two blocks away on a quiet residential street, the only illumination coming from occasional porch lights. A shaggy form slunk into the gloom at the sound of her door closing – one of the many street dogs that occupied the downtown, using the complexly interwoven network of irrigation canals to move around the city, where they fed on steak offered to them by outdoor diners who were suckers for begging canine eyes.
She left the cash in the trunk. There was at least a fifty-percent chance that the kidnappers had no intention of ever returning Catalina, especially after the gun battle. Jet checked the time as she moved along the sidewalk, thankful that she was wearing her black running shoes in preparation for the now-distant walk at the zoo instead of her customary boots. The rubber soles left no footsteps, so she had silence in her favor.
The park loomed ahead of her, a dark rectangle surrounded by mature trees, the longest sides two blocks long, the shorter, one block, she knew from her time on the computer. The streetlights, like many, had long ago burned out and never been replaced, affording her even more shadows to move between – and more cover for the kidnappers to stage an ambush.
She walked the perimeter and, other than a few vagrants loitering in its depths, didn’t see anyone that looked like a threat. As she rounded the corner on the side nearest the statue, she saw movement in a car at the far end of the block, across the street. Her watch said she still had ten minutes before the rendezvous, so she continued on her way and then circled the block to get a better look at what had attracted her attention.
Jet neared the intersection and glanced, seemingly uninterested, down the thoroughfare. She caught a glimpse of two men in a dark sedan with the unmistakable shape of a child’s head between them. Her heart rate increased as she considered her options, but she continued walking, just a woman on her way to dinner or to meet a friend.
At the next block she cut over to the park and entered its inky grounds, giving the three bums sharing a bottle a wide berth. The last thing she needed was an unplanned-for distraction from her objective and, while she had not the slightest worry about walking away unscathed if attacked, a mugging attempt would consume valuable time.
There was only one direction the men would be coming with Catalina. She knew from her walk that there were several oak trees along the sidewalk leading to the section with the statue. She eyed the closest tree and took a run at it, her feet pushing off the trunk and propelling her higher, as she’d learned to do with her Parkour hobby. Her hands grabbed the lowest of the thick branches and she pulled herself up, and, once standing on a thick one, steadied herself with others using her hands. She glanced down at the caliginous sidewalk below.
It could work.
~ ~ ~
The lights of the critical care ward had dimmed now that visiting hours were over. Only a skeleton crew of nurses manned the floor, gathered at the central station where their patients’ vital statistics displayed on a bank of blinking monitors. The rooms were three-quarters full, but if tonight was like most others, the ward would lose ten percent of the patients overnight as they succumbed to whatever trauma had brought them there. Most were victims of traffic accidents, the number one killer of the adult population under sixty and, due to the high velocity favored by motorists, the ward never wanted for admissions.
An orderly padded on crepe soles from the emergency stairwell at the end of one of the corridors, listening for any signs of movement from the staff. Satisfied that they were all at their consoles gossiping or having a late night snack, he counted the rooms until he came to his destination.
The door opened soundlessly and he stepped inside the dark room. The only lighting came from the heart monitor tracing an unending jagged graph beside the bed, where a figure lay still, snoring softly. The orderly crept to the bedside where an IV bag was suspended, half full with clear fluid, and withdrew a syringe from the breast pocket of his dark green smock. With a glance at the patient, he unhooked the IV drip and emptied the amber contents of the syringe into the line, taking only a few seconds before reconnecting it.
The stairwell door was closing behind him when he heard an alarm sound from the front of the ward. He smiled to himself at how easy it had been to make five thousand dollars. If only all his contracts were that straightforward.
An ambulance with its emergency lights flashing off the hospital’s windows pulled into the driveway with another casualty as he pushed through the doors and made for the street, unnoticed by anyone, an unremarkable man in his thirties, his face in need of a shave, dressed in hospital scrubs, heading home after another long and thankless stint caring for the infirm and the hopeless.
~ ~ ~
Raul coughed, the habitual hack of a lifelong smoker. A nicotine stink rose from his clothes, his hands stained from a two-pack-a-day habit. He glanced at the dash clock, turned to his partner, Arturo, and tapped the car window.
“It’s time. Let’s get this over with.”
Arturo placed a call on his cell phone to the vehicle at the far end of the park, there to prevent an ambush. Luis’ instructions had been clear – they were to get the money and kill the mother and daughter, ending any chance of his being implicated in a scheme that had gone disastrously wrong. Of course, there would be outrage at the senseless violence in the usually safe city, another example of how the deteriorating economy or the decline in moral values had led to ruin, but it would all be forgotten in days and he would be back to business as usual, one more threat effectively eliminated.
Neither Raul nor Arturo had the slightest qualms about executing the pair. This was their chosen line of work. It was just a job – another in a long string of assignments unremarkable except for the method of extermination. Luis had instructed them to simulate a robbery gone wrong, using knives, like the street people that populated the city’s nocturnal haunts would if someone had tried to steal their valuables. They’d flipped a coin: Arturo would slice the girl’s throat with a practiced hand that would result in practically no pain. Raul would take the mother. It would be over in a matter of seconds and they’d be long gone by the time anyone arrived to help.
Both had dressed in rags, the anonymous uniform of the homeless, dark and dirty, indistinguishable from the silent army prowling the nocturnal streets. The only difference was that both men wore latex gloves and
had Glocks in their waistbands, in addition to the sheathed bone-handled hunting knives they would use for their chore – knives that could be purchased in any of countless curio and tourist shops in town.
“Okay. They’re in position. There’s nothing on the police frequencies and nobody around but some drunks hanging out in the park. So we’re good.”
Raul grabbed Catalina’s arm and pulled her roughly out of the car. Her face was swollen where he’d cuffed her several times to show her he meant business when he told her to stay quiet. She’d quickly gotten the message, reduced to a state of steady snuffling as silently as possible, quaking in fear, instinctively understanding that the men holding her captive meant her nothing but harm.
They crossed the cobblestones, dragging the little girl as they moved, just an object in their eyes, not a human being – a distinction they couldn’t have articulated if asked, but part of the professional insulation they’d learned in their teens when they’d first taken to murder-for-hire as their vocation, the economy then, as now, in freefall, no jobs available for even those with educations. Not that either had spent more than a few years in school, preferring to make easy money in the drug trade, seeing no point in pretending to try to learn anything when their real education took place on the streets.
Their footsteps echoed off the sidewalk as they moved down the block. Catalina had begun bawling again, quietly, her fear increasing as they approached the park.
Arturo drew back his hand to strike her. “Shut up, you little bra–”
Jet dropped behind him from the branch above and plunged the boning knife between the C2 and C3 vertebrae, severing his spinal cord. He collapsed in a heap as Raul spun, groping for his Glock. Jet slashed at him with the bloody knife and sliced his ribs through his soiled jacket, but it wasn’t enough to stop him and she followed it up with a strike to his eyes, trying to blind him.
The blow missed by scant millimeters. He bellowed in rage and pain as he whipped the gun free. Jet head-butted him with the top of her skull, shattering his jaw even as she kneed him in the groin, putting all her might into it. His finger spasmodically pulled the pistol’s trigger, and a detonation shattered the silence. The bullet ricocheted harmlessly off the concrete a yard away. Jet spun and leveled a kick at his profile. It connected with his ruined face and snapped his head to the side, his neck broken like a dry twig from the force of the blow.
Raul tumbled to the sidewalk, his weapon clattering by his side, the entire exchange over in under ten seconds. Jet knelt to bring her eyes to Catalina’s level.
“Are you okay, Cat?” she whispered.
The little girl nodded, wide-eyed, shocked by the sudden violence but obviously relieved to see a familiar and trusted face.
Jet touched Catalina’s face where she’d been hit. “Let’s get out of here. I’m going to carry you so we can run faster, okay?”
Another nod. Jet rose and retrieved Raul’s gun, and then moved to Arturo and felt in his clothes for his. She found it and slipped one in her front waistband and the other in the back, then hoisted Catalina and took off at a sprint, staying to the shadows thrown by the park foliage until reaching the corner and bolting across the street.
Luis’ men were running through the park as fast as they could, alerted by the shot, their weapons in their hands. When they reached the sidewalk, they stopped at the lifeless bodies lying in a pool of blood as lights flickered to life in the surrounding apartments. After scanning the street and seeing nothing, they erred on the side of prudence and retraced their steps to the other side of the park and their waiting car, dreading the report they’d have to make to their boss, but driven by the sirens keening only a few blocks away, attracted by the gunshot.
Jet reached Tomás’ car and strapped Catalina in before starting the engine and pulling away. As she neared the closest intersection, the night was split by two police cars, lights flashing and sirens blaring, headed to the park. Jet waited for them to pass and took in the bruising and swelling on Catalina’s face. She glanced at her clothes to ensure there was no obvious blood splatter on them. The light changed. She returned her eyes to the road and gave the car gas, glad that this chapter of the little girl’s life was finally over.
She thumbed her phone on and made a call, but got voice mail. She left a message and returned her full focus to the road, on her way to Sofia’s parents’ estate nestled among the vines in Lujan de Cuyo, one of the premier wine-growing regions in the country. Jet didn’t think there was any threat to Sofia now, but she couldn’t predict any backlash from the kidnappers and, until the police were involved and had tracked them down, Sofia was best off remaining well away from the menace of the city’s predators.
Behind her, a motorcycle kept its distance, its headlight jittering in the night as Jet rolled toward the road that would take her south.
Chapter 17
Luis sat at his desk in the warehouse, a bottle of single malt Scotch in front of him, two fingers still left in his glass, and eyed the man delivering the report about the disastrous encounter at the park. The speaker was clearly rattled. When he finished, Luis took a long pull on his drink and set the empty glass next to the bottle.
His words held the warning hiss of a snake. “How could this have happened?”
The man hesitated. “I don’t honestly know. By the time we made it to the front, they were gone. The only good news is that Armando is tailing the Mercedes the woman’s driving so we’ll know where she’s headed.”
Luis rose and shook his head. “I knew we shouldn’t have gotten involved in this scheme. It felt wrong when that dolt proposed it, and it’s done nothing but go from bad to worse. Now we’re out the money, we have no girl, and I’ve lost more men in one day than I have in the last five years.”
The subordinate stood with his head bowed, his body language contrite.
Luis’ second-in-command cleared his throat. “The question is what we do now. Do we leave it, or continue to pursue the ransom?”
“With Tomás dead, we’ll never have another chance to get paid. I don’t like the idea of walking away.”
“But the situation has also changed. We have a random variable that we didn’t know about that’s altered the game. Armando saw her take down our men – alone.”
Luis nodded. “True. But she’s only one woman. We may be guilty of underestimating her, but we won’t make that mistake again.”
“What do you want to do?”
“Let’s see where she’s going. And get some of the boys ready. Our best.”
The second-in-command rose. “I’ll get right on it.”
Luis sat back down and poured another healthy dollop of Scotch. “Do that. And you?” he said, addressing the gunman. “I want you to be part of the group that goes after her. I’m holding you personally responsible if there’s another screw-up. I don’t need to explain what that means, do I?”
The hapless man shook his head. “No, sir.”
Luis waved him away with his glass.
“Get out of my sight.”
~ ~ ~
Carl drove at a moderate pace as Tara recounted the situation at the apartment. Hannah was in the back seat, sitting quietly, watching them both as they talked.
“Then you have no idea whether he’s dead or not?” Carl asked.
“No, but it’s a fairly safe bet after a five-story drop into a pool. Don’t get me wrong – I’m hoping that’s not the case, but I’m not betting on it.”
“Then why the girl?”
“Insurance. If he does survive, she’ll be instrumental in leading us to him.”
“How can you be so sure he won’t just disappear, assuming he made it? Why would he stick around and endanger himself with some mystery woman?”
Tara patted the pocket with the photo in it. “Call it a hunch. He has snapshots in the apartment of the sweet little family together. Looks like our boy has gone native.” She paused, thinking. “I know Matt. If he’s bonded with someone, he’ll do everything p
ossible to protect them.”
“What do we know about her?”
“Nothing, except that she looks pro, based on the casino footage. I have to admit, when I saw it, it was almost like watching me…”
“Except nobody’s as good as you are.”
“If you’re angling to be promoted into Ken’s position, you’re going about it the right way.”
Carl shook his head. “Poor bastard. I’ll bet he never thought the end of the road would be in a swimming pool with a kitchen knife sticking out of him.”
“Just goes to show you the importance of keeping on your toes. That could have been avoided. He should have taken his time. He rushed it and paid the price.” Tara frowned, her disgust evident. “I don’t need to tell you that headquarters isn’t going to be happy if we had Matt in our hands and killed him. We’re not going to get the diamonds back from a corpse.”
“What do we do if he’s dead? And how will we find out?”
“I’m sure Luis has contacts with the local police. I’ll have him put out feelers. If there were two bodies picked up, it’s game over.”
Carl’s eyes swiveled to Hannah in the rearview mirror. “What do we do with the kid if he’s dead?”
Tara shrugged. “She’s of no use to us in that case. I say we give her to Luis and let him deal with it. Maybe he can sell her and make a few bucks. I know that Dante’s big in that market, so it should be worth something to them.”
Carl nodded. “What a world, huh?”
“Don’t hate the playah, hate the game, isn’t that the saying?”
“True dat.”
A ringing trilled from Tara’s pocket. She felt for the phone and stared at the screen before allowing the call to go to voice mail. A notification flashed at her a few seconds later, and she selected the speed-dial button Matt had programmed for voice mail and punched it. She listened intently to the message and smiled as she searched for the button that would put it on speakerphone so Carl could hear it. When she’d found it, she pressed another button to replay.
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