“What problem?” El Lobizon snorted as he buckled his .357 wolf Magnum back around his waist. He watched as the dog's pink tongue licked Osorio’s lifeless eyeballs.
“The woman," Supay hissed. “The Chinese programmer."
“What about her?”
“She acted as our friend the Captain said she would. She has fled to South America.”
El Lobizon nodded. “Of course. Where, exactly?”
Supay grinned, revealing stained yellow teeth. “La Paz.”
“Not as close as we thought,” El Lobizon said, shrugging.
“No Jefe, but close enough. Should I pay her a visit? Or can she still assist us?”
El Lobizon patted the dog. The beast was compliant now that it had fed. The canine’s slobbering mouth was stained with Osorio’s blood. He wiped a trail of the crimson liquid on his shirt.
“No,” El Lobizon finally answered. “The Captain said her usefulness was at an end. She could be in Bolivia to expose us to her Chinese masters. We should finish this.”
Supay grinned. “I can be on a flight to Cali tonight. I will arrive in La Paz tomorrow.”
El Lobizon nodded. “Do it.”
“Si, Jefe.”
“And Supay?”
“Si, Jefe?”
El Lobizon clenched his teeth. His plan to fool the Americans and snub the greedy Mexicans was now in play. But the Chinese programmer was a loose end now. She alone could unravel everything.
“Take four of your best sicarios. Chinese spies may have followed her to Bolivia. They will need to be dealt with, as well as the Americans.”
Supay nodded. “Of course Jefe. It will be my pleasure.”
Supay left the room. El Lobizon continued stroking his panting dog. He held up his hand. In the room's dim light, he could see strands of crimson liquid, congealing on his skin.
He licked the sticky blood from one of his fingers. It was still warm.
He grinned, and stared into Osorio's dull, lifeless eyes.
"Now you know," he whispered. "Don't you, Osorio? I am the seventh son of a seventh son, and I have not been baptized. I am an abomination in the eyes of our lord. And I cannot die as a man dies. The legend of El Lobizon is eternal."
Chapter Ten
LA PAZ, BOLIVIA
After eight days holed up in a safe house, Caine was starting to go a little stir crazy.
In his career with the CIA he’d grown used to waiting. He'd spent hours hiding in run down safe houses in some of the worst corners of the world. Days passing the time until a contact showed, or mission details were finalized. Weeks babysitting double agents, or interrogating enemy captives.
Sometimes the safe houses were in the heart of brutal warzones. Helicopters would buzz overhead, and military patrols marched in the streets. Other times, the hidden locations were far from human settlements, hidden deep in remote wilderness areas. Most, however, were in cities like La Paz. Here, at least, the constant background noise of cars and people reminded Caine he was still connected to other human beings.
Regardless of the location, most of Caine’s time in safe houses was spent in boredom. There was nothing to do except eat, sleep, exercise and go over operation plans. He had memorized the details of their current mission until he could recite them in his sleep. Now, there was little he could do to fill the twenty-four hours in a day. Boredom was part of the territory.
Jack Tyler sat in a rickety wood chair peering through a slit in the curtains. He looked as bored as Caine felt. The chair creaked as he shifted his weight back and forth.
As the chair rocked, he kept an eye on the narrow cobbled street outside. This particular safe house was located in the Casco Viejo neighborhood. The historical area was the ancient center of La Paz. The buildings across the street were painted in washed out shades of yellow and green. Their concrete walls were pitted, crumbling and decayed. Wild splatters of graffiti defaced most of the buildings. A few of the older structures featured dark red wooden balustrades, but their wood was weathered and rotting. They too had seen better days.
The people who walked the streets were all Hispanic. They dressed in modern western clothes, but no one wore anything garish or bright. As Tyler watched, clouds darkened the sky and a light rain spattered the streets. The pedestrians hurried their pace, shielding their heads with umbrellas and newspapers.
In the eight days since they had arrived, no one outside had given Caine or Tyler a reason to check them twice.
Tyler glanced over his shoulder at Caine. “When does your girlfriend get here again?”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Caine corrected him. He’d been half dozing on a musty lounge chair. He wanted to get some sleep before they were operational, but Tyler seemed eager to talk.
“Yeah bud, whatever.” Tyler snorted a laugh. “Don't sweat it. My girlfriend Scarlett Johansson hasn’t called me back either.”
Caine kept his eyes closed, and exhaled a long, slow breath. “Rebecca will be here.”
Tyler grunted, and studied the streets again. He pulled his parka close. Their crumbling villa had no heating system. When night fell, it would get much colder, both inside and out.
Caine knew why Tyler was on edge. The local CIA Station had advised them that three Chinese MSS agents had passed through immigration. They were now operational in La Paz. A CIA surveillance team had tailed the Chinese operatives, but lost them in the city. Caine had no doubt the men were here to keep an eye on Su Liao when she flew in later tonight. There was also a real possibility the MSS agents had been sent to eliminate Caine and Tyler as well. Caine knew the Chinese would do anything to prevent the defection of a valuable asset like Su Liao.
Tyler grabbed a thermos and poured himself another coffee. “We need three people to pull off this op," he finally muttered. "Everything else we need is in place. But it only works with three.”
“I know. You did a great job, and everything is good to go. Now we just have to wait.”
Tyler looked back to the street. “Freeling said she’d be here three days ago.”
“She’ll be here.”
Caine shifted in the lounge chair. Despite his words, he was restless. Rebecca Freeling was bothering him, and not just because of her unexpected absence.
Since Hong Kong, their relationship had changed. The last time they had spoken was in Baltimore, before she had flown to the United Kingdom. Under normal circumstances, Rebecca would have tried to reach him by now. Caine kept telling himself their lack of contact was due to operational reasons. But his instincts told him it was something else. Something personal.
Did she sense how conflicted his feelings really were? Was she pulling away to protect herself? And if so, wasn’t that a good thing?
No wonder Tyler’s getting on my nerves, he thought. His partner's doubts mirrored his own… A reminder that not everything was right between him and Rebecca.
“Must be a mind-fuck," Tyler said. "You know, you two being an item. Seeing as she’s your boss and all?”
“You ask a lot of personal questions, Jack.”
Tyler nodded. “Yeah, I hear you. But this is different. She’s on the team. Relationships complicate things for everyone. Me included.”
Caine raised an eyebrow. “Speaking from personal experience?”
Tyler grinned and sighed. “Let’s just say I made a mistake once, with a woman. Well, not a mistake, but something happened. It changed everything about why I do what I do. Freaked me out, you know? Took a while to get my head out of my ass after that.”
Caine was about to ask Tyler to elaborate, but stopped himself. If they got chatty, it would increase the likelihood that he’d talk about Rebecca. There were aspects of their relationship he wasn’t ready to reveal. Not to anyone.
“She’ll be here,” Caine said again. He wished Rebecca would show up so they could stop talking about her.
He stood and joined Tyler at the window to watch the streets. Like Tyler, he kept himself hidden in the shadows to avoid dete
ction.
“You work much in Bolivia?" he asked, changing the subject.
Tyler shook his head. “Little bit, here and there. Mostly I was fighting FARC in Colombia. Drug cartels in Colombia. Training the local military in Colombia. Yeah, Colombia was my stomping ground. Oh, also spent time killing fundamentalist assholes in the Triple Frontier. You know, that shithole where Argentina, Brazil, and Paraguay meet at a bend in the Parana River. Lots of Islamic terrorists down there, oddly enough.”
“Why did the Army keep sending you to South America?”
The former Delta Force operator shrugged. “My mother was Chilean. I got my baby blue eyes from my dad, rest his soul. I'm fluent in Spanish and English. Guess some fruit salad-wearing desk jockey thought I was suited for this theatre of operation.”
“You serve anywhere else?”
“All the luxury resorts. Iraq. Afghanistan. Libya. Yemen, of course. What about you?”
“Similar places. Nothing I can talk about, sorry.”
For a moment Tyler looked offended, but only for a moment. Special Operations Group was the next level of secrecy up from Delta Force. No one talked about anything.
“You’re ex-special forces though, right?” Tyler asked. He looked Caine in the eye. “Don't deny it partner, I know you are. I just can’t work out which branch yet.”
Caine continued peering out at the street in silence.
“Let me guess. 75th Ranger Regiment?”
Caine ignored him. His attention was drawn to a woman across the street. She stood alone in an alcove, checking messages on her cell phone. Or at least giving the impression that she was. Her clothes were stylish yet unremarkable. Tight jeans highlighted her long slim legs, and practical hiking boots covered her feet. A three-quarter jacket protected her against the cold and rain. Her long hair was dyed jet black, but Caine recognized her at once.
“She's here,” Caine said, failing to hide the excitement in his voice. “Rebecca’s across the street. She's waiting for us to spot her. She won’t want us to clock her as an intruder when she comes to the door.”
Caine used the light on his cell phone, and signaled Rebecca with a quick flash. It was enough. She put away her phone and crossed the street, approaching the safe house.
Caine met her at the door. She gave him a light peck on the check. “Everything okay, Tom?” she asked.
“All good. I was starting to worry about you.”
She smiled. “Nothing to worry about. Just calling in a few favors. Gathering intel.”
Caine knew better than to ask for details. When it came to ‘need to know’, Rebecca always ‘needed to know’ more than he ever did.
He showed her upstairs to where Tyler kept surveillance through the window. “Rebecca Freeling. This is Jack Tyler.”
Tyler gave a casual salute. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”
“Likewise. Heard a lot about you, Jack.”
He laughed. “It’s all true.”
Caine watched his two companions. Rebecca was tense, closed off. Other than that he couldn’t read her at all. Tyler appeared to notice her unease as well. He squinted his eyes.
“Something bothering you ma’am?” Tyler asked.
Rebecca bit her lip and looked out at the street. The sun was setting over Mount Illimani, a snow-capped peak that dominated the skyline. “You got the report from the local station house? About the three MSS operatives in town?”
“Yeah, what about them?” Tyler asked.
“I confirmed they're here in the city. But there's more… I picked up a second surveillance team, watching the Chinese.”
“Who?” Caine asked, concerned about this sudden change in their circumstances.
Rebecca gave him a grim smile. “I have no idea. But if we want this operation to succeed, we'd better find out.”
Chapter Eleven
Within thirty seconds Caine, Tyler and Rebecca were out on the streets. Each wore a radio with a micro earpiece for communication, and extra layers of clothing to protect against the cold. Caine carried a Sig Sauer P226 handgun. Rebecca pocketed a 9mm Beretta M9 semi-automatic pistol. And Tyler had tucked his favorite Beretta Px4 Storm with .45 ACP rounds into his waistband. The weapons were easy to conceal beneath their thick winter clothing.
“So where are these MSS guys holed up?” Tyler asked, speaking over the radio's throat mic to test it out. His voice crackled over their embedded ear canal receivers.
“In an apartment,” Rebecca answered in a low, soft voice. “They're near the El Mercado de las Brujas.”
“The Witches Market,” Tyler said with a grin. “Of course they are.”
They split into two groups. Rebecca and Caine took the lead, holding hands and walking as a couple. Tyler fell behind, but stayed close enough to cover their backs. They crossed a footbridge over the busy Avenida Mariscal Santa Cruz. The curved arch overlooked rows of blue townhouses and decrepit apartment tower blocks. The manicured garden between the express road and the townhouses stuck out like a sore thumb. Much effort had been put into maintaining the colorful flowers and plants. But everything surrounding the manicured strip of land looked decayed and broken.
After taking several narrow streets that twisted through the mountainous city, they entered the Witches Market. Caine, Rebecca and Tyler had no problems blending in. The area was packed with shoppers, including foreign tourists searching for bargains. Pedestrians ambled along the narrow, cobblestone street. They walked past kiosks hawking tours to Machu Picchu and the Amazon rainforest. Other stores promoted cheap but rugged knit clothing. Panama hats and Alpaca woven rugs. Women ran most of the shops. They wore bright colored Quechan skirts, and capes with geometric Incan style patterns to attract tourists.
Caine eyed the strange, exotic items for sale in the market. Witch doctors hawked potions made from dried frogs and medicinal plants. Incan sun and moon amulets sparkled next to preserved ocelot skins and dried llama fetuses. Caine had read the latter were often buried under the foundations of Bolivian houses. They were considered a sacred offering to the goddess Pachamama. Bolivia was still a very spiritual country, despite five-hundred years of European influence.
Rebecca led Caine deeper into the market. The sun fell behind the surrounding Andean mountains, leaving the sky cold and black. Street lamps provided some illumination, but they cast inky tendrils of shadow across the market.
“Down there,” Rebecca whispered, nodding toward an even darker alleyway. The narrow, twisting passage led away from the main market thoroughfare. “Doesn’t look half as inviting at night,” she mused.
A Latino man stepped out of the darkness. At first glance, he looked no different to the millions of other men in this country. He wore a smooth black leather jacket and dark, crisp pants. His shoes were expensive and clean. His face was thin and gaunt. Caine wasn’t sure what bothered him about the man, but the hairs on the back of his neck tingled.
“Was he here before?” Caine whispered to Rebecca.
She hesitated. “I don’t think so.”
Caine let the man pass. He spoke into his mic. “Tyler?”
“I see him,” Tyler responded. “Sharp dresser. Face like a skeleton Halloween mask?”
“That’s the one.”
“I’m on him.”
“Roger that.”
“Look.” Rebecca glanced towards the cobblestones in front of them. The gaunt-faced man had left footprints. Caine crouched and touched the dark marking. He felt sticky liquid beneath his fingers. He held it close to his nose and inhaled. The iron tang of fresh blood was unmistakable.
"Blood," Caine whispered.
Rebecca gripped her pistol inside the pocket of her jacket. Caine did the same.
“Tyler?” Caine called on their radio. “Do you have eyes on target?”
“Roger that.”
“Get ready to take him out. Wait for my signal.”
“Just say the word. He’s walking east. Moving at a brisk pace, not looking for a tail. Should be easy.�
��
“Be careful. He’s likely armed and dangerous.”
“So am I,” Tyler replied.
Caine turned to Rebecca. “Which apartment?”
She pointed to the second level of a nearby building, with whitewashed walls and wooden windows decorated with potted roses. The wooden door leading inside was half open. No other door on the street was.
“What about Jack?" she asked, her voice tinged with concern.
“He knows what he's doing," Caine whispered. "Stay here and keep watch."
He stepped inside the door. Like most houses in the area, the interior was far nicer and cleaner than the outside. The first floor was furnished with some chairs, side tables and a sofa. Crosses and paintings of Jesus Christ hung from the walls.
The trail of bloody footprints led across the floor. In the dim light, Caine almost tripped over the corpse of a Chinese man. He kneeled down and examined the body. He noted two bullet holes in the corpse's chest. More bloody footprints covered a flight of stairs to his right, moving in both directions.
Caine followed the crimson tracks to the second floor. The stairs creaked under the weight of each step. When he reached the upstairs corridor, he listened for noises as he checked around the corner. Two more bodies lay in the master bedroom. Gaping bullet holes pierced their mangled faces and sopping ribcages. The sheets were a tangled, blood-soaked mess.
A shattered laptop sat on the nightstand next to the bed. Its hard drive had been ripped from its guts.
“Building clear,” Caine reported to Rebecca and Tyler. “The second team acted before we got here. Took a hard drive. Killed all three operatives. Execution style.”
“I’m only seeing the one target, still walking east,” Tyler reported. “He’s one cool customer if he took out three MSS agents on his own.”
“Nothing happening in the street,” Rebecca reported. “When I checked here earlier today there were at least four Latino men watching the apartment. I don’t see any of them now."
“That feels wrong,” Caine said.
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