Double Down

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Double Down Page 9

by Carolina Mac


  Jesse trigged in and said, “I’m okay, Blacky.” He always knew what Blaine was thinking. “If anything is wrong, I’ll tell you right away, otherwise we won’t talk about it. Deal?”

  “Yeah, okay. Deal.”

  Maybe you won’t, but Annie will. I’ll have to talk to her.

  Blaine sent Travis and Farrell to retrieve the luggage while he took care of the vehicle rental. Fortunately, the clerk spoke some English and with Blaine’s smattering of Spanish, they fumbled through. He took the keys to a Jeep Rubicon,

  rounded up the boys and followed the clerk’s directions to the car lot.

  “It’s a thousand degrees and already pitch fuckin dark,” said Farrell, “We’re gonna have to wait until morning.”

  “Good one, Einstein,” said Travis. He leaned over the

  console and said to Jesse, “Press ‘hotel’ on that thing, boss, and see what you come up with.”

  “I’ll do it,” said Blaine, “Jesse ain’t computer literate.”

  “Rude,” mumbled Jesse, “but true.”

  “Good thing we got air in here,” said Farrell. “Dandy

  supply of heat outside.”

  “Equator,” said Blaine. “What else do you want?”

  “Nothing, bro. I got you.”

  Travis snorted.

  Blaine veered sharply to the right amid a chorus of

  honking horns. “That fucker didn’t stop at the sign. See that?”

  Jesse chuckled. “You testing my heart already?”

  Blaine followed the GPS and pulled up in front of a stucco building that might once have been a hotel.

  “Shit-hole, boss,” said Farrell from the back seat. “Next.”

  The second one, three blocks further on the left was a big chain. “This one has a name. Hilton good enough for you, Farrell?” Blaine parked in the lot at the side of the building without waiting for confirmation from the back seat, and the boys grabbed the luggage.

  Farrell had his hands full when a slim kid appeared out of nowhere and filched his wallet out of his back pocket. “Hey.” Farrell dropped the two bags, turned and gave chase. Travis was on his heels. Farrell dove before the kid reached the fence at the side of the parking lot and took him down. They rolled on the warm asphalt, Farrell outweighing the kid by seventy pounds. “Give me back my wallet, you little fucker.” He smashed the kid a good one on the face.”

  “Ow, you didn’t have to hit me. I would give it back.”

  Travis reached down, grabbed the kid by his dirty t-shirt and hauled him to his feet. “I’ve got him. Call the cops.”

  “No. No ‘policia.’ I do you favor. What you need?”

  “You speak Spanish?” asked Travis.

  ‘Si.’ Very good.

  “What’s your name?” asked Farrell.

  “Victor.”

  “Okay, Victor, you owe us,” said Travis. “Tomorrow morning you be in the hotel lobby by six a.m. or we call the police. I bet they know you, you little thief, and you have a nice long yellow sheet.”

  “I don’t trust him,” said Farrell, “he won’t show up.”

  “Si, I come. Victor always pays his debts.”

  Farrell chuckled. “With stolen money?”

  “My baby sister, she is hungry. No baby food.”

  “That’s a sad story,” said Farrell, “probably a lie, but here’s five bucks. You show up tomorrow and my boss will pay you to translate for him.”

  Victor showed shiny white teeth. “Pay me American

  dollars?”

  Farrell nodded. “Yep, good old US bucks. A job—probably a foreign concept to you—but, yeah, a real job.”

  “I work hard. I come.”

  Farrell and Travis retrieved the luggage strewn across the parking lot and joined Jesse and Blaine at the registration desk.

  “What took you guys so long?” asked Blaine.

  “Hired ourselves a Columbian kid to translate,” said Farrell. “His English is pretty good. Problem solved.”

  Blaine raised a dark brow. “Oh, yeah? Good work.”

  ANNIE SAT in their favorite booth at Boots and Saddles waiting for Tyler to show up. She refilled her glass from the pitcher in front of her and kept her eyes focused on the door. Her mouth curved into a smile when she saw him. She’d loved Tyler Quantrall from the day she met him, but at the time she’d been dating Jesse. Circumstances always seemed to screw them over, but their hearts knew the truth.

  “Hey, cowboy,” she said as he slid into the seat beside her. She moved over, but not much.

  “Where’s Jesse?”

  Annie inhaled, then spit it out. “He went with Blaine to Columbia. I couldn’t stop him.”

  Tyler pounded the table and Annie grabbed onto the

  pitcher of beer. “He can’t fly. He can’t have any stress.”

  Her eyes welled up with tears. “We had a huge fight over it and I lost. He packed a bag and left with Blaine.”

  “Brian is going to hemorrhage out his eyes when he finds out.”

  “I know it.” She pointed at the pitcher. “Have a beer.”

  “Jeeze, I need one.” Tyler filled his glass. “What the hell is he thinking?”

  “He can’t stand not being part of the team. It’s not QI

  anymore, but it’s the same thing—his crew.”

  “Did that Logan asshole go too?”

  Annie shook her head. “Nope. He came to the gate this morning and begged for his job back. He said something to Blaine and my sweet boy punched him in the face.”

  Tyler curled his lip. “I found him as annoying as hell.”

  Annie looked up and stiffened.

  “What?” Tyler looked where she was looking. “Can’t

  believe it. What’s he doing here?”

  “No idea.”

  Race ambled along the row of booths and sat down

  opposite Tyler. “Hey, the groom is gone for eight hours and the bride is on a fuckin date.” He laughed and signaled to the waitress. “You always were a wild one, girl. That’s why I love you so much.”

  “How did you get here, sugar?”

  “Rode the Rat Rod.”

  Annie nodded with a hint of anger bubbling inside her.

  I never let anyone touch it since Jordie died.

  “You following me, Race?”

  He grinned, his face as handsome as ever. “Thought I would, the kids are asleep, and I had nothing better to do.”

  The waitress arrived with another pitcher and a glass for Race. He laid the killer smile on her and winked.

  Something’s going on with him. He barely smiled once since his surgery.

  “Well, Tyler and I aren’t on a date. We were just

  discussing Jesse. I’m worried about him taking this trip to South America and so is Tyler.”

  Race chugged his first glass of beer. “Don’t worry about a thing, baby. If something happens to your husband, you’ve always got me to fall back on.” Then he laughed.

  FABIANA STOOD UNDER the hot water trying to release some of the tension in her body. Her assignment had gone badly, through no fault of her own. It had taken six months of her life to gain Lucho’s trust, but he loved her now—trusted her completely. She knew every detail of his organization and had supplied the information to Jacko the last time she was in Santa Boria.

  ‘Hernando’s storage sheds are full. Tell Zahn I’m in the middle of a drug war and I can’t wait any longer. You must move in now before Juan Sanchez raids the compound and takes it all. Once Sanchez gets his hands on it, you will never get it.’

  Lucho flung the door of the ensuite wide open and barged in. In Spanish he shouted, “Fabiana, we must leave. They are coming, dozens of them. Roberto has the Jeep at the gate.”

  Where are my people? I told them yesterday was their last chance to take the cartel down. Why didn’t they come?

  She replied in Spanish, “Go, Lucho. Hurry. I’ll dress and be right down.”

  “Prisa.”

  Fabiana
pulled on jeans and a white t-shirt, not taking time for underwear. She pulled her secure cell out of its hiding place and pressed his number again.

  Why won’t he answer? You know the answer to that, don’t you, stupid girl. They aren’t coming. They burned you.

  Bursts of gunfire echoed on all sides of the compound,

  followed by short periods of silence. Then yelling and

  shouting in Spanish, too far away to understand. And more gunfire.

  Loud clunking of heavy boots on the stairs, accentuated by excited shouting told her time was up. She had no chance to get to the gate.

  You knew the risks when you took the assignment. This is it.

  Fabiana shoved her cell into her shoe, lay on her back on the tile floor and squeezed under the bed.

  Paralyzed with fear, she could do nothing but listen as she lay crushed beneath the bed. Heavy footsteps of men in boots, ran in and out of every room on the second floor. Why? What were they looking for? The safe was downstairs. They would have found it easily.

  Then she smelled it. Gasoline. Sanchez would burn Lucho to the ground. She held her breath and hoped they would leave quickly after setting the fire. If they did, she might have a chance to get out before the smoke killed her. A slim chance.

  Boots pounded through the door of the master suite and a voice shouted in Spanish. “Where is she? Find her before the smoke gets too thick. She has to be here. She wasn’t with him. Check the closet. Search the bathroom. Look under the bed.”

  Smoke and fumes grew thicker in the bedroom. The air was hot and heavy. The back of her throat burned. Fabiana wanted to cough the toxins out of her lungs, but if she dared to make a sound they would find her.

  It would be a far better fate to die in the fire, than at the hands of Juan Sanchez. A vile and despicable man. Lucho had told her stories about Juan. They had grown up together in Santa Boria. Once best friends, and now sworn enemies fighting the biggest and most violent drug war Columbia had ever seen.

  Footsteps stopped beside the bed and she dared not breathe. A big hand reached under and groped in the dark. She tried to inch away so he couldn’t touch her clothes or her body.

  A mewling sound escaped her lips as a hand with an iron grip, grabbed her ankle and pulled her with such force, she slid out from her hiding place and across the tiles.

  “I have her,” he shouted.

  “Give her to me,” hollered Sanchez. “No time left.” Sanchez snatched her from his soldier and tossed her over his shoulder like a bag of feed. He held tight as she screamed, kicked at him and sank her teeth into his neck.

  He laughed as he ran down the stairs, between the blazing, crackling handrails. “I have the prize,” he shouted to his men. “I take her home with me.”

  His army of men cheered as their leader burst out of the burning building. He tossed her in the back of a truck with two men to watch her. “Drive her home,” he called to them, “I go to load the coca.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Wednesday, March 8th.

  IN THE SMALL restaurant off the lobby of their hotel, Blaine sat opposite Jesse, both lingering over their second cups of strong Columbian coffee. Travis and Farrell had eaten, then gone outside to smoke in front of the hotel while they waited for the would-be interpreter.

  “They hired a kid who tried to rip off Farrell’s wallet?” asked Jesse. “How much can we trust him?”

  “Not too much,” said Blaine. “Have to keep an eye on our wallets and phones.”

  “Fuck,” said Jesse, glancing at his. “Another text from Ace. She’s gonna lose it by the time we get back.”

  “She loves you, Jesse. She’s worried she’ll lose you, and she’s lost too many people in her life already.”

  “Yeah, I know that’s what it is. I’ll cut her some slack.”

  Blaine finished his coffee, paid the check and he and Jesse wandered outside to see if the kid had shown up. “Any sign of him?” asked Jesse.

  “Not yet,” said Farrell. “It was kind of dark last night, and I didn’t get a good look at him, but he seemed small.”

  “I’ll get the Jeep,” said Blaine, “we’ve got to get going.”

  Farrell fanned himself with his cowboy hat and stared at Jesse’s cotton shirt soaked with sweat. “Fuckin hot country, boss. You okay in the heat?”

  Jesse nodded. “I’m from south Texas. I can take it.”

  Blaine rolled around to the front of the hotel and the boys hopped in the Rubicon. Still no sign of Victor. Before taking off, Blaine programmed the town Lucho Hernando reportedly lived in, Santa Boria, into the GPS.

  “Thirty miles from here,” he said to Jesse. “Half an hour if it isn’t through the jungle.”

  “Kid running behind us waving his arms,” said Farrell.

  Blaine hopped out and hollered, “Victor, are you looking for me?”

  “You give me job, senor?”

  ‘Si,” said Blaine. “Get in.”

  Farrell shoved over and let Victor in the back. “How much you pay me, senor?”

  “Depends how hard you work.” Blaine eyed the kid’s short black hair and black eyes in the rearview. Somebody had cut the kid’s hair and made a choppy mess of it. Probably his mother. His dirty white t-shirt was three sizes too big. Maybe the story about his baby sister having no food was true. “Do you know where Lucho Hernando lives?”

  “Cartel,” Victor mumbled. “Everybody knows Lucho. Stay away from Santa Boria.”

  “When we get to Santa Boria, do you know which way?”

  “I no go there. Don’t want to die. Too young.”

  Travis smiled. “How old are you, Victor?”

  “Quince.”

  “Fifteen,” said Blaine. “Do your parents know you’re

  coming with us?”

  He nodded.

  That might be a lie.

  Blaine drove out of downtown Rionegro following the

  directions of the navigation system. Traffic was light but

  erratic. Didn’t seem to be too many rules of the road. Or if there were any, nobody bothered with them.

  Ten miles out of town, the road narrowed to two lanes and the jungle pressed in on both sides. They passed small houses with tiny corrals, each with a horse or a couple of cows. A few places had an outdoor pen with one or two pigs. Every house had chickens roaming free. No gas stations. No stores.

  The boys kept the windows up and let the air work. The outside temperature kept climbing. The dash thermometer

  recorded one hundred and five at ten a.m. Must be wrong.

  A few miles farther down the road, a small sign welcomed them to Santa Boria. Population not listed.

  “Smell that, boss?” asked Travis. “Fire close by.”

  “Policia.” Victor pointed to the two squad cars parked in front of a small building. “I work now. You pay me.”

  “Yep, find out what’s going on.” Blaine stopped to let him out.

  Victor ran over to one of the officers and amid pointing and hand gestures, Blaine gathered that the fire was large and to the west of the village. Victor jogged back and gave his

  report. “Senor Hernando casa, all burned up.”

  Blaine felt his heart stop beating.

  “GOOD MORNING, GOVERNOR. To say I was surprised when your secretary called to announce your visit, is an understatement. I couldn’t imagine what you would want with the DEA.” He stood up and offered his hand. “What brings you to our humble offices?” Markwood pointed to the vinyl guest chair at the side of his ratty metal desk. “It must be high priority for you to visit us in person.”

  The Governor sank into the chair and clamped his large hands, one on each arm. “Don’t give me any of your crap, Markwood. You know exactly why I’m here. A girl—one of your agents—is missing. She may not be high priority to you, but she is to some of us.”

  Markwood cocked his head to one side, “By some of us, you mean Blaine Blackmore-Powell?”

  “Why did you lie to him? You told him she
didn’t work for the DEA anymore.”

  “It wasn’t a lie. She was terminated.”

  “While she was in the field on assignment?”

  He shrugged.

  “What kind of agency are you running? You put undercover operatives in the field. They feed you information and then you forget about them? The going gets tough and you pretend you never heard of them?” Scott raised his voice. “Where the hell is she?”

  “That’s classified information.”

  “I’ll be able to read all your classified files as soon as you’re terminated.” Richardson stood up. “And that should be by the end of day.”

  “You can’t…” Markwood sputtered. “You can’t fire me.”

  “I can’t, but I have a great deal of influence over people who can.”

  Markwood followed him to the door. “I’ll give you her contact in Columbia, but that’s all I can do. She knew the risks going in.”

  “Write it down... with a number.”

  Markwood scurried back to his desk, scribbled the

  information on a sticky note and handed it to Richardson.

  The Governor left the office and slammed the door.

  BLAINE PARKED behind one of the Santa Boria squad cars and approached the uniformed officer with Victor by his side. “Tell him, I am a police officer from the United States, and I need to see the Hernando compound.”

  Victor’s eyes widened. He turned to the officer and spewed out a flurry of Spanish. The officer said something back and Blaine waited. “He cannot give you permission. You have to see the Chief.” He pointed to the shabby one storey stucco building. “Inside.”

  Blaine followed the officer inside with Victor on his heels. The Chief of Police for Santa Boria and the surrounding

  district, sat behind a scarred wooden desk in the corner of the room, an oscillating fan blowing on him and ruffling his black hair and his paperwork. The Chief was a large man, clean shaven, and dressed in a crisp tan uniform. He held a pair of reading glasses in his hand.

  As they approached, the Chief glanced up and waited for someone to speak. Victor hesitated and looked to Blaine for direction. When Blaine gave him the nod to go ahead, he repeated Blaine’s request to see the compound. The Chief listened with apparent interest and held a hand out for identification.

 

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