The Santini Vendetta

by Christopher Fox

  They took the ramp onto the frozen lake and headed out perpendicular to the shore. Ruben’s intention was to make their way far enough from land so they would not attract attention–just some snowmobilers heading up the lake. The snow was not as deep here because the prevailing winds had blown it toward the opposite shore. However, there were drifts in layers—much like sand dunes in the desert—so they had to crash through the them, sending sheets of snow in the air, caught by the slight breeze and whisked away. After travelling about 2 km they turned north, staying in the troughs of the drifts until they had to turn on a westerly heading toward the house. After about twenty minutes, Ruben held up his hand and pointed to his left, then turned off his headlight. Kyle did the same and followed him as they headed toward the shore, ploughing through the drifts once more.

  It was an overcast night and while there was no moon, the white blanketing of snow reflected the city’s glow from the low clouds, making the good visibility unwelcome. As they neared the shoreline, they could see the outline of Lorenzo’s house, fully illuminated with flood lights all around.

  Guess they’re expecting us, thought Kyle.

  The glow of the floodlights extended to the shoreline even though it was several hundred metres from the house. Chances are, however, that the bright reflection from the snow would prevent anyone seeing their approach. They throttled back, lessening the noise, and entered the boathouse. The large, garage-type lakeside door of the boathouse was closed, but it only extended to the level of the lake in the summer. Now, due to the drop in water level during winter, there was a 2-metre gap below the door under which Kyle and Ruben entered the building. There was little snow in the building except what had blown under the door. Light flowed through the side windows from the floodlights illuminating the interior of the space. A large centre-console boat suspended from pulleys attached to the reinforced ceiling. Ruben and Kyle manoeuvred their vehicles, one each side of the boat and parked against the dock. They had to stand on the Skidoo’s seat to climb onto the dock, throwing their gear up beforehand. The door to the boathouse was on their left, evidenced by the exterior lights shining through the multi-paned window. Ruben unlocked the door after peering through the glass and fortunately, it opened inward as piles of snow built up against the door fell into the boathouse. They both strapped on their snowshoes and made their way to the nearest clump of landscaping that would conceal them from the house. It was impossible to cover their tracks as there were two trails made by the snowshoes. Once they were within ten metres of the rear of the house, Ruben used his throat mic to contact Alberto.

  “We’re in place,” he said.

  “OK,” came the reply. “Ready to go in ten minutes. I am at the front gate. I'm going to take out the guards, then blow the gate. Wait two minutes for me to get into position, then blast the house with the grenades.”

  “Roger,” said Ruben. He unslung the AK-74 and inserted an incendiary grenade into the GP-25 launcher.

  * * * *

  Alberto crouched down behind the wall next to the gatehouse. He elected not to wear snowshoes because the laneway had been ploughed. He made his way to the structure, edging his way along the deep snow at the wall and peering into the window. Both guards sat at a table in front of CCTV monitors, oblivious to his presence, and the only door into the hut was on the secure side of the gate. There didn’t seem to be a subtle way to approach the storming of the hut, so he attached sufficient C4 to take the gate off its hinges, inserted a detonator and set it for two minutes. He scurried back along the wall and waited, counting down on his watch. When his watched read ‘0’, a brilliant flash of light lit up the night, accompanied with a deafening explosion and shock wave. Alberto ran from his hiding place to the gatehouse with his automatic extended in a two-hand stance. He took advantage of the few seconds for the guards to recover from the concussive effects of the blast. When he reached the gate, twisted remnants scattered the landscape, and the hut was on fire. One guard came running out with his gun extended and Alberto did a double tap of his gun and the man went down. The other man emerged, hands extended above his head. Alberto grabbed a pair of plasticuffs and ordered the man to lie down with his hands behind his head. He snapped the cuffs over the exposed hands and pulled them tight.

  Alberto ran up the driveway and saw several men coming from the house. He set off a barrage of bullets in their direction with the MP5, and they retreated back to the house.

  * * * *

  Kyle and Ruben heard the explosion, followed by two gunshots and then a burst from an SMP. They checked their watches and counted down the two minutes. When the stopwatch read ‘0’, Ruben stood and launched a grenade through the large expanse of patio doors. The momentum of the grenade punched through the glass doors and a second later, a fiery explosion lit up the inside of the room. Ruben chambered another grenade and fired it into an adjacent window, repeating the conflagration. Kyle trained his MP5 on the windows and doors, but there was no movement. He then shot out the floodlights. Ruben lay down in the fresh snow, virtually invisible to anyone, and covered the rear of the house while Kyle made his way to the front to assist Alberto. Kyle lumbered his way through the drifts along the side of the house somewhat impeded by the heavy riot gear and arctic suit, despite the awkwardness of the snowshoes.

  “I'm coming around to the front,” Kyle said, thumbing his throat mic. Just as he spoke, there was an explosion and a window above him blew out in a mass of flames, wood frame and broken glass, which showered down onto him.

  “Hey,” Kyle said again into the mic. “I’m coming around the south side.”

  “Sorry,” said Alberto as Kyle heard another explosion.

  * * * *

  Alberto chambered a round into the launcher and pumped an incendiary shell through another window, this time to the left of the main entry. Staccato small arms fire emanated from various windows of the house and Alberto would spray them with his MP5, switching alternately to the AK-74 to launch another grenade. As expected, the garage door flew outward as the armoured Cadillac limousine burst through it. Alberto pumped a grenade into the front grill, launching the hood into the air on a bed of flames. The car swerved and collided with a snow bank and came to rest on top. Alberto fired two armour-piercing rounds through the windshield as he ran toward the car.

  * * * *

  Kyle swung around the corner of the house just as the limo crashed through the door and had to duck when a large piece of it sailed over his head. He was now on the driveway and reached down to shed his snowshoes, running after the car. Kyle felt the concussion of the blast and saw the hood sail into the air. The vehicle then mounted a snow bank and stopped. The rear door opened and Lorenzo jumped out, running down the driveway, gun in hand. Kyle chased after him firing his pistol over his head. Lorenzo turned and let off a leash of bullets in Kyle’s direction. Kyle felt a dumbing pain as a bullet hit him in the chest, the pads of the suit preventing it from piercing his body—but it hurt like hell. Lorenzo, wearing only street shoes, slipped on the hard-packed snow that had melted in the sun and now re-frozen. He fell face-first on the pavement, and the gun clattered on the driveway. Just as he was getting up and regaining his balance, Kyle made a rugby tackle and took him down again, both men crashing to the frozen pavement. They both got up and Lorenzo took a swing at Kyle, which he easily evaded, then Kyle drove a fist into Lorenzo’s face. Lorenzo fell backward over the snow bank and into the deep snow beyond. He got up again and tried to run away, but Kyle leaped onto the snow bank and hurled himself at Lorenzo. They scuffled a while in the snow with Lorenzo’s punches having no effect on Kyle’s riot gear, except when he punched him in the chest where the bullet had hit him. Kyle rolled Lorenzo over onto his back and straddled him, immobilising him.

  Alberto fired several rounds at the front door with his MP5 as people within the house were trying to get out. He then ran over to Kyle and Lorenzo, pushed Kyle off, grabbed Lorenzo and stood him up, holding his pistol to Lorenzo�
�s head.

  “Don’t do it,” yelled Kyle.

  “I have to do it… to end this feud once and forever,” said Alberto through gritted teeth. “For my father and for all the suffering he has brought to our family.”

  “It’s plain murder,” Kyle pleaded as he stood up. “It will make you no better than he is.”

  Rage still showed on Alberto’s face. “Scum like this shouldn’t be allowed to continue to pray on people.”

  “There’ll always be someone else to take his place,” Kyle tried to reason with him.

  Lorenzo’s face had panic written on it as the realisation of his imminent demise hit him. He felt a dizziness, then a staggering pain in his chest. He clutched at the area of pain and squinted from the enormity of it.

  Alberto gave a quizzical look. “What’s happening?”

  “Heart attack,” Kyle said as he pushed the gun away from Lorenzo’s head and grasped him. “Call an ambulance and let's get the hell out of here.”

  Lorenzo fell limp in Kyle’s arms and fell to the snow. Kyle removed his gloves, felt for a pulse and found none.

  “He’s dead,” said Kyle. “Massive heart attack.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Alberto said. “And I didn’t get to kill the bastard.”

  Kyle looked down the driveway and saw a crowd gathering to watch the action.

  “Tell Ruben we’re coming around and we’ll meet him in the boat house,” said Kyle.

  Alberto did not move and stood staring at the corpse lying in the snow.

  “Now!” shouted Kyle as he ran to the side of the house.

  The plan was to use the Skidoos to ex-filtrate because they knew when the fireworks started, leaving through the front gate would be impossible.

  Alberto keyed his throat mic. “Ruben. Lorenzo’s dead. We’re outta here. Meet us in the boathouse.”

  Sirens sounded in the distance and the three of them peppered shots at the house as they ran to the back. Kyle retrieved his snowshoes, secured the bindings and suggested that Alberto try to follow in his tracks. Alberto stumbled several times, but made it to the boat house where Ruben had both machines running. He hopped on behind Ruben and they made their way out of the boathouse, again running perpendicular to the shore with their lights off. Even with the overcast sky, visibility was good, and they travelled two kilometres in the trail they made on the way in. Blue and red lights flashed in the distance as they turned south and made their way back to the launch ramp. Their path would be easily tracked through the trail they made, but they would be long gone by then.

  They approached the ramp, drove to the parked truck/trailer and dismounted from the machines. After discarding their arctic gear and riot suits, they threw them in the back of the truck’s rear seats with the ordinance. Ruben drove the Skidoos onto the trailer, secured them and they took off to where Alberto had parked his car three blocks from Lorenzo’s house, then Ruben dropped Kyle off at his hotel.

  * * * *

  The 5:00 a.m. morning news carried the report of the fire and of Lorenzo’s death.

  An early morning attack, thought to be from rival gangs, decimated the home of Santini family Don, Lorenzo. Lorenzo suffered a heart attack during the invasion and was pronounced dead at the scene after medics failed to resuscitate him. Police are investigating and at the moment, no suspects have been identified, although rumours suggest that it may be a vendetta perpetrated by a Costa Rican rebel who earlier had kidnapped and ransomed Lorenzo’s son, Peppe.

  Kyle called Alberto.

  “The news reports a rumour that this may be linked to a Costa Rican rebel. Probably came from one of Lorenzo’s men. I’m sure the police will be scrutinising people returning to Costa Rica.”

  “Yeah,” said Alberto. “We figured that, so we plan to drive back to Toronto and leave from there.”

  “Smart thinking. How about Carmen? Did she get to the airport OK?”

  “Yes, she did, but ran into a problem because she doesn’t have a passport. Border officials took her away, but I’m sure when she explains how she got into the country on Lorenzo’s plane, they'll allow her to fly back home.”

  “I hope so,” said Kyle.

  “When are you heading back?” asked Alberto.

  “I booked a ticket on the 2:10 p.m. Interjet flight through Mexico City. Gets me into San José at 11:00 p.m.”

  “Sounds good,” said Alberto. “We’ll be returning all the vehicles and gear to Luke later today. He figured they would blame him for this, so all his men have iron-clad alibis for the time of the raid.”

  “Good thinking,” said Kyle.

  “Let’s meet up for a beer when we get back to San José.”

  “Sure,” said Kyle. “I’d like that.”

  Fourteen

  Kyle stared in the mirror at the large bruise on his chest from the impact of the bullet—better however than having a hole in his chest. It was still too early to call home, but wished Anna was still there when he got back to Costa Rica. The problem was that he rarely socialized and spent all his time working at the hotel. If it wasn’t administration it was remodelling, maintenance or Human Resources, not to mention accounting and the odd game of golf for recreation. He never had time to develop a relationship with anyone. On occasion, he would meet a nice woman staying at the resort, but any chance of a relationship ended when she returned home. Not only was Kyle attracted to Anna, it was ‘convenient’ as she was there virtually every day and her unavailability insulated them from a serious relationship.

  * * * *

  Interjet’s Airbus 320 Flight 3922 touched down at Juan Santamaria International Airport at 10:36 p.m. and taxied to the terminal. Kyle watched the seatbelt sign and when the plane ceased moving and it went off, a multitude of clicks resounded through the plane. Travellers stood in unison to retrieve their baggage from the overhead bins. Kyle had travelled business class and was near the front of the plane when it came time to exit. He grabbed his bag and made his way through customs and took the next available cab, who was happy to have a fare to Playa Hermosa.

  Kyle resided in the hotel and occupied one of the ground floor units. He had plans to build a house but those plans kept being placed on the back burner. He really didn’t have a need for a house anyway and living in the hotel had its advantages.

  The cab pulled up to the hotel at 1:15 a.m. and Kyle paid the cabby, adding a generous tip.

  “Buenos Días señor MacDonald,” the night receptionist welcomed Kyle.

  “Buenos Días,” Kyle responded. “¿Cómo está?” How are you?

  “Estoy bien,” I am fine, he replied.

  Kyle made his way to the room, cast off his shoes and dropped his bag on the floor. He then crashed on the bed and fell into a deep sleep.

  * * * *

  The warbling of the phone pierced Kyle's dream of Anna.

  “Kyle,” he said.

  “Hey Kyle, Alberto here.”

  “Alberto? How are things going?”

  “Great. Just wondering if you wanted to go for that drink.”

  “Sure. When did you want to do it?” Asked Kyle.

  “Are you heading into San José soon?”

  “I could head in this weekend. Let’s have dinner.”

  “Great idea. How about Saturday at eight?”

  “Saturday at eight’s fine. Anywhere in particular?”

  “How about La Criollita on Av. 7? Have you been there?”

  “No, but if you say it’s OK, then that’s fine with me.”

  “Great,” said Alberto. “See you Saturday.”

  * * * *

  Kyle headed into San José to meet Alberto and pondered things in his mind. Yes, maybe it was time to sell the hotel. The more he thought about it the more it made sense. He could start the charter business he always wanted. God! He missed Anna and the hotel only reminded him of her.

  Alberto sat in a booth when Kyle entered the restaurant. He got up as Kyle approached.r />
  “Good to see you,” Alberto said, offering his hand.

  Kyle accepted the hand saying, “Good to see you too.”

  They both slid into the booth and sat facing each other.

  “So,” Kyle said. “What’s new?”

  “A few things,” said Alberto. “I have accepted a position with Frederico as an agent for his security agency.”

  Kyle’s face lit up. “That’s great news. He told me he supported your vendetta against Santini.”

  “That’s good … I couldn’t tell you under the circumstances.”

  “It wasn’t for you to tell.”

  A server approached, asking if they wanted something to drink. Both ordered a local beer and she departed.

  “Seems he’s planning to build the business for when his term as Chief of Police is done.”

  “I know,” Kyle said. “He asked me to join him, but I’m not ready for that. But I am thinking about selling the hotel.”

  A surprised look appeared on Alberto’s face. “No shit!” he said.

  “It isn’t the same now Anna’s gone and I want to get into something else.”

  “What would that be?”

  “I’ve always wanted to run a charter dive and fishing business, so that’s what I am looking at now.”

  “Sounds exciting,” said Alberto. “Maybe I will get to charter your boat for some fishing.”