Mitchell began readjusting the camera for a wide-angled shot, and that’s when I realized the drone was no longer providing video for the operation.
I didn’t know whether the surveillance plane had run low on fuel or if something else had happened to take it out of service, but I knew it was going to be a whole lot harder for Carlton and the team in the Ops Center to understand what was happening on the ground now.
However, Mitchell’s camera was able to track the threesome as they made their way down the pier together. Then, near the place where Hernando had bought the beers when he’d first arrived, the men disappeared around a corner and were out of sight.
Bledsoe said, “I have a bad feeling about this. I’m going after him.”
“We came here in my Jeep. I’ll go.” Mitchell said.
“No, I’m going. Give me your keys.”
Carlton quickly intervened.
“Could one of you focus the camera back on the yacht? We need to see what’s happening on the boat.”
The camera made a dizzying sweep back down to where the yacht was berthed, and I heard the sound of a door opening and closing.
I was betting Bledsoe had followed Hernando.
Mitchell confirmed this. “Toby is following The Messenger.
Carlton muttered, “He doesn’t have adequate backup.”
No one disputed that.
* * * *
As the camera focused back on the main deck of the yacht, several lights on the lower deck were extinguished.
A few minutes later, the lights in the pilothouse came on.
Mitchell said, “Three males are approaching the yacht. They’re about halfway down the pier now. Shall I move the camera again?”
“Affirmative.”
Mitchell zoomed in on the pier.
The camera showed two men coming toward the yacht carrying duffel bags in their hands. A third man, walking between them, appeared to be barely out of his teens and had a knapsack slung on his back. He also had a mobile phone or an iPod in his hand and ear buds in each ear.
As they neared the boat, the camera zoomed in on their faces.
Although I’d just assumed the two men with the duffel bags were the crewmen who’d left the boat a few minutes earlier with Hernando, as soon as I saw their faces, I realized I was wrong. The men approaching the yacht were much older.
I studied the face of the younger guy with the knapsack. For a split second, I thought he looked slightly familiar, but before I could decide if I’d seen him somewhere before, the camera pulled away.
After they boarded the boat, the iPod guy immediately disappeared below deck. Then, within a couple of minutes, there was a shout from the pilothouse, and one of the older men began retracting the gangplank from the dock, while the other one took the two duffel bags and went below deck.
Mitchell said, “I believe they’re making preparations to leave the dock.”
A few seconds later, Carlton asked Mitchell, “Didn’t Toby say the yacht had a five-member crew?”
Mitchell quickly replied, “Yes, sir. That’s what we were told.”
At that moment, I realized the two older men who’d just boarded the yacht had to be members of the crew, and the men who’d left with Hernando must have been serving as Ahmed’s bodyguards and had been there to deal with any threats to Ahmed’s safety.
This revelation made me uneasy, and by the urgency in Carlton’s voice, I thought he must have felt the same way.
He said, “Ben, leave the camera and go after Toby. I believe he’s in big trouble.”
Within a few seconds, the computer screen went blank.
* * * *
For the next several hours, I sat in the hotel room waiting to hear from Carlton.
Although he had his own unique set of quirks, and he occasionally interfered with my personal life, Douglas Carlton was the only operations officer I trusted, especially if things went sideways during a mission.
Right now, things appeared to be going sideways in Costa Rica.
While I knew Carlton was monitoring communications and trying to locate additional resources for Bledsoe—maybe even alerting the embassy—I was also certain he would get back to me eventually.
While I waited, I watched the local news.
Then, a late-night talk show came on.
After that, I turned the television off and grabbed my computer.
After logging back into the Agency archives, I began trolling through the NSA cable traffic from Costa Rica.
There was nothing of interest there.
Finally, at around four o’clock in the morning, my phone vibrated.
Carlton asked, “Are you clear?”
“Yes.”
His voice was raspy, and he sounded exhausted. “This is strictly off the record.”
“What happened?”
“We lost Toby Bledsoe.”
“Lost him? Lost him as in you can’t locate him right now or—”
“He’s dead, Titus.”
As I listened to Carlton giving me a description of what had happened to Bledsoe, I paced in front of the king-sized bed like a caged tiger.
“About an hour ago, Toby and Hernando were found in a motel room outside of Limón. They had both been shot. We believe Toby followed Hernando to the motel, and when he tried to rescue Hernando from Ahmed’s men, they were both killed.”
“Did Ben have any contact with Toby after he left the observation post?”
“He got him on his cell phone a few minutes after he left the pier. Toby told Ben he was following Hernando and the two men, and they were traveling south along the coastal road near the Cahuita rainforest. By the time Ben got a taxi, Toby was at least thirty minutes ahead. When he entered the Cahuita National Park, his phone service dropped off.”
“Couldn’t something be done from the Ops Center?”
Carlton sighed. “Toby was Salazar’s man. That meant I had to step aside and let him run the show after the yacht left the harbor with Ahmed. Salazar contacted the embassy in San José and told them to inform the local authorities one of our embassy personnel had gone missing in the Cahuita National Park.
“It took them a couple of hours, but they located the car in the parking lot of a resort. When Ben arrived, the police had already entered the room and found the bodies. He said Toby had managed to kill one of the men, but the other one had gotten away. The men had strapped Hernando to a chair and from all indications, they had already started torturing him by the time Toby arrived on the scene.”
Carlton’s voice trailed off as he ended his narrative, “Who knows what Hernando gave them before Toby got there.”
Toby Bledsoe hadn’t been one of Carlton’s operatives; he wasn’t running him, but, even so, I had to believe his death was as difficult on Carlton as if Bledsoe had been one of his own.
I tried to think of something to say.
Nothing came to mind, so I went into an operational mindset.
“I’m absolutely certain Toby never mentioned anything about me to Hernando,” I said. “He couldn’t have given me up to his interrogators, because he knew nothing about me.”
“That’s also my assumption.”
“Ben Mitchell is another matter, though. He’s been burned, Douglas. He can’t stay in Costa Rica after this.”
“I’ve already arranged for him to be at Langley by the end of the day.”
It briefly crossed my mind to let Carlton know how Mitchell had reacted to Ernesto’s murder. I even thought about suggesting someone keep a close eye on him when he arrived back at the Agency. However, I wasn’t sure that was necessary, and I didn’t want Mitchell subjected to a bunch of psychiatrists, so I decided to keep quiet.
I asked, “What’s your assessment? Were those men working for the cartel?”
“Salazar thinks so, but coming from him, I guess that’s not surprising.”
“No, it isn’t, but I’m inclined to side with him on this one.”
“We’re analyzing t
he video from last night and running the photos through the database. If those men were working for the cartel, we should get a positive identification soon.”
“Maybe they were already acquainted with Hernando, and that’s why he agreed to go with them. They looked very friendly with each other from the moment he stepped on the boat.”
“I agree. They could have suspected Hernando was a snitch and the whole thing was just a setup. Or, if Hernando was asking too many questions, Ahmed could have told the men to get rid of him. We may never know until we grab Ahmed.”
“I don’t believe Toby ever expected Hernando to act so foolishly, otherwise, he would have been better prepared. Toby’s always been the cautious type.”
“There are some here in the Ops Center who are taking Toby’s death pretty hard. It’s particularly tragic because Toby was going to retire next year.”
“I talked with him for several hours the other night, and he never mentioned retirement.”
“So you were able to patch things up with him then?”
“Pretty much.”
“Toby’s death must also be hard on you.”
Carlton didn’t know the half of it.
The other night, after I’d pulled away from Bledsoe’s upscale house, I’d suddenly realized I should have told him about the decision I’d made in Tehran, the decision that had changed my life. He might have laughed at me, but at least he would have heard the truth.
Now, he was gone forever.
“It’s hard on me for several reasons, Douglas.”
“We’re tracking the yacht by satellite now, but, it may be a few days before we’re able to determine Ahmed’s destination. What’s your gut feeling? Where do you think Ahmed is headed?”
“Take a look at Roberto Montilla. Find out what’s on the Trade Minister’s agenda for next week. After reading Sam Wylie’s field reports, I’m convinced Hezbollah is making Venezuela its home in Latin America, and Montilla may be facilitating those efforts. Have Katherine examine the connections between Ahmed and Montilla.”
“We can get Montilla’s schedule easily enough. In the meantime, you need to concentrate on your family.”
“When will I be briefed in on the revised operation?”
“We’ll do it here at Langley in a couple of days. Probably on Saturday. Do you want Travel to book your flight on Friday after your mother’s funeral or would you prefer to wait until Saturday morning to leave?”
That was an easy choice.
“Make it Friday.”
While that was an easy decision, my next one was a little harder. In the end, though, I didn’t feel I had any choice.
“When Ben arrives at Langley, assess him for Level 1 status. If he makes it through the vetting process, consider assigning him as my second on this Venezuelan assignment. After Toby’s death, he needs to get back in the field immediately, and I don’t think this operation is going to be a one-man job.”
“You’ve never voluntarily accepted additional personnel for an operation before. Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“No. Ben needs the experience, and I need Ben. That’s it.”
“Well, that’s a first.”
Chapter 20
Thursday, June 7
After sleeping fitfully for about three hours, I awoke the next morning to the sound of thunder.
The sky from outside my window was overcast, and I saw rain coming in from the southwest. Although I wasn’t prone to moodiness or depression, I felt shrouded in a gray fog.
I realized the weather and my lack of sleep had to be contributing to my mood, but I also knew I had to go to the funeral home in a few hours to view my mother’s body.
Then, of course, there was the death of Toby Bledsoe.
I kept wondering if I’d stayed in San José, if Bledsoe would have even traveled to Limón in the first place.
My self-analysis did little to lighten my mood, so I opened the drawer of the nightstand and pulled out the hotel’s Bible. It fell open to Psalm 42.
After reading a few verses, I realized whoever had written the psalm had experienced the same emotions I was having.
He said his soul was downcast, and that’s exactly how I felt.
Unlike me, though, he had the solution.
He advised, “Put your hope in God.”
Feeling foolish because I hadn’t considered this, I bowed my head.
After praying about what was bothering me and explaining the kind of day I was anticipating, I went on to talk about the anger and resentment I had toward my father.
In the midst of this conversation, I found myself weeping.
Then, as if nature were at one with my soul, I heard the rain outside brushing softly against the windowpanes, and I found its melancholy whisper strangely soothing.
Once my prayer was ended, I felt cleansed, with the prospects of the day not quite so dim. I even smiled when I thought about going downstairs and having a couple of cinnamon rolls for breakfast.
But, an hour later, when I sat down to breakfast, I wasn’t thinking about cinnamon rolls.
* * * *
After getting dressed, I headed downstairs to get some breakfast. The moment I opened the door, though, I couldn’t believe who was standing on the other side about to knock.
“Nikki?”
“Hi, Titus, may I come in?”
Seeing Nikki Saxon standing in the hallway outside my hotel room left me speechless, and all I could do was motion her inside. When she brushed past me, I could tell she was amused by my reaction.
Finally, I found my voice. “What are you doing here?”
She dropped her purse on top of the desk and turned to face me.
“On the phone yesterday, you sounded like you might need a friend.”
She looked at me expectantly, as if she wanted me to react to this statement, but I was still in shock and didn’t say anything.
She hurried on. “I just wanted to be that friend.”
Standing there across from her, I had a flashback to the first time I’d met her in Oklahoma when she’d arrived at a crime scene and was about to interrogate me. At the time, I was so distracted by her beauty, I wasn’t able to answer her questions.
I felt the same way now.
She usually wore her dark brown hair pulled away from her face, but now it was loose and falling down around her shoulders. There were wispy, shorter strands of hair across her forehead, which seemed to accent her almond-shaped eyes. I noticed she wasn’t wearing any lipstick.
“I don’t know what to say, Nikki. I think I must be in shock.”
She smiled. “You’re not alone. I surprised myself.”
“How did you find me? I know I didn’t mention where I was staying.”
She tilted her head and gave me a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me look. “I’m a detective, remember?”
“Oh, yeah, that.”
She pushed up the sleeves of her dark turquoise shirt and gave me a smug look. “You made it easy, though. You told me you were staying in Grand Blanc, and you’re registered here under your own name.”
“You’re right, Detective. I probably need to work on my clandestine tradecraft.”
We smiled at each other.
I wanted to give her a hug.
But, I didn’t.
I said, “Thank you for coming, Nikki. I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you.”
“And thank you for not throwing me out. I wasn’t sure how you’d feel if I just showed up here unannounced.”
“You’re not out of the woods yet. Unless you’re able to answer a couple of very important questions to my satisfaction, I might have to send you packing.”
“Oh, really? Well, now I’m scared. What’s your first question?”
“Who’s taking care of Stormy?”
She laughed.
It was a melodic sound, and days later, I was able to recall it perfectly.
“Don’t worry. When I told my captain I was taking a few days of
f, he volunteered to take care of Stormy. He owns a farm south of Norman and has two labs of his own. I imagine Stormy is having a blast right now.”
I nodded. “Okay, you aced the first question. Now here’s the second, would you like to have breakfast with me?”
She grabbed her purse from the desk. “Are you kidding? It was too late to eat when I got in last night, so now I’m famished.”
As we headed down the hallway toward the elevator, she asked, “When am I going to meet your family?”
“Ah ... probably this afternoon. We’re supposed to be at the funeral home around two.”
As we took the elevator down to the first floor, I considered how I was going to explain Nikki’s presence to my family.
Was she my girlfriend? Nothing of a romantic nature had ever happened between us.
Was she a colleague? Although we’d worked together on a murder case, I could hardly tell my family that story.
I still hadn’t made up my mind what to tell them, when I spotted Uncle Harold speaking to the desk clerk in the hotel lobby. Without thinking, I put my arm around Nikki’s waist and quickly pulled her around the corner to the breakfast room.
“What was that all about?”
“I’m sorry, I know that was rude of me, but I saw my uncle in the lobby, and I didn’t want to share you with anyone right now.”
When she looked up at me and smiled, I decided that, although it was difficult to define my relationship with Nikki, it was easy to identify my feelings at that moment.
I felt happy. Really, really happy.
* * * *
During breakfast, Nikki never asked me where my assignment had taken me since I’d left Norman. Instead, we talked about her life, the robbery case she was working on, and Stormy’s funny antics when she took him to a dog park one day.
After we’d met in Norman, although I’d revealed my true identity to Nikki, I’d only given her the minimal details of my work for the CIA; I was a covert officer. I worked in the Middle East.
That was the extent of it.
At first, she didn’t believe me. But after verifying my Agency status with a former operative, now employed by the Oklahoma State Bureau of Investigation, she appeared to accept my job and didn’t inquire any further into my professional life.
Two Days in Caracas Page 14
