“Proves nothing,” said Sean. “Anyway, why would some gringo want to kill your president? If anything, I imagine some revolutionaries, maybe. But the locals, these protests, why bring in an outsider?”
“A good reputation,” Estevez said. “Let’s face the facts—if there’s one thing you gringos love to do, it’s shoot people.”
Greer could see his reasoning, but something else about all that information was pulling at her, nagging her conscience.
“Our president will be making an appearance at the Presidential Palace in Plaza Grande. That would have been your opportunity, and the gun would give you the means.”
“What about the motive?”
“Money, of course. I’m sure we’ll find some.”
“Wait a minute,” Greer said, thinking out loud. “You say you’re expecting a gringo coming into town, right?” Sean and Estevez looked on as Greer reasoned it out. “Any word on what he looks like?”
Estevez shrugged. “As I say, a person can change their looks.”
“But if he didn’t,” Greer said, “any chance he’s said to be blond-haired with blue eyes?” Estevez looked on, intrigued, but Greer focused her attention on Sean. “Think about it, Sean. Spencer’s here to kill the president! He was the sniper who missed us in front of the Radisson.” Sean seemed to give it some thought, but it was all coming together as far as Greer was concerned. “He’s got operatives, and those are the guys on the ground. We didn’t accidentally draw them to him—they’ve been here all along.”
“I suppose,” Sean said, glancing at Estevez. The Ecuadorian detective looked on, eyes shifting from Greer to Sean and back again.
“Definitely! That’s why Spencer faked his own death, so he could go on doing this! Lord knows how many people he’s killed between now and then!”
“Operatives, like the fake doctor and that shooter back in New York,” Sean said.
“Exactly.”
Sean turned to Estevez. “Well?”
Estevez sighed. “Why should I believe anything you tell me?”
“But if we’re right,” Greer said, “this could be your only chance to save your president’s life. And if we’re wrong or lying, you’ll still have us in custody.”
Sean added, “Saving the president would be quite the feather in your cap, Estevez. Maybe get you outta this crappy little office. Maybe on upstairs, with the big boys. There’s a lot of money floating around up there, Estevez, money you know just doesn’t trickle down to the likes of you. But … city commissioner, something like that? That’s where the bribes are, am I right?”
“None of that is any of your affair,” Estevez snapped. But after a moment of reflection, he went said, “On the other hand, it is my duty to protect the president if I can.”
“There you go,” Sean said.
“Your duty,” said Greer.
Estevez sighed again. “All right, what can you tell me about this blond gringo?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Greer and Sean directed Estevez and a six-man team to the apartment building where they’d found Spencer. She didn’t have much confidence that he’d still be there, and she didn’t know how they were going to support their story if Spencer left no evidence at all, which was likely.
Greer and Sean stood at the front of the building with a big uniformed officer to guard them. Greer glanced around and up at the window of Spencer’s room.
“You really think Spencer’s a paid assassin?” Sean asked.
“What else? I know we’re not.” Greer looked up at the window again. “He’s not up there, obviously.”
“If they caught him unarmed, they could march him down and out any second now.”
It made some sense. If they caught him with a sniper rifle, which he’d have to have if he was the window shooter, just the kind of weapon he would use to kill the president of any country, that would prove the theory and set Greer and Sean free that very day. But a nervous curl in Greer’s stomach told her it wouldn’t be that easy. And she did not want to go back to that holding cell, not under any circumstances. She was convinced that if they brought her back there, they’d be bringing her out in a body bag.
“If they don’t find him,” Greer said, “then what?”
“If they keep us in custody and he does take a shot at the big man, that’ll prove our theory too.”
“Unless they decide to hold us as accomplices. Then we’ll be locked up for the rest of our lives!” Sean nodded and didn’t seem able to contradict her. “Sean, if Spencer and his crew were hunting us down today, not only would he be gone, but he’d probably just bag the whole project. He could just vanish, go underground. That screws us too.”
“Yeah.” That one simple word sent a chill up Greer’s spine.
Sean kept looking up at the window, and Greer fixed her eyes on the lobby door next to the little convenience mart.
Ka-boooooooommmmmmm!
A massive fireball rocketed out of the apartment window, glass shattering, drapes already burning. A wave of heat and energy pushed them back even from across the street. The officer ran to his car and grabbed the radio transmitter, spitting some numbers in Spanish, clearly calling for the fire department and backup.
Sean grabbed Greer’s hand and bolted, Greer nearly losing her footing as she scrambled to keep up.
“Sean?”
“Just run!” She followed him down the street, and he turned a corner. They ran through the pedestrians, the crowd thickening as they gathered to watch the apartment building burn. Sean pulled her down another street, Greer’s feet sliding on the grimy concrete. They weaved and pushed through the crowd, Greer glancing behind her and seeing only more pedestrians, no uniformed officer in pursuit.
But they couldn’t afford to stop, so Sean led her further from the burning building, sirens getting louder in the distance as they raced to the scene. Greer’s lungs were straining, her muscles cramping. When she felt like she couldn’t run another step, her body bent forward at the waist. Sean stopped and turned.
“I think we’re okay,” Sean said.
Gasping to breathe, Greer asked, “Why’d we run like that?”
“Think about it, Greer. If we don’t stop that assassination, or at least find your ex-husband, they’re going to think we rigged that apartment.”
“Rigged? You mean Spencer boobytrapped it?”
“Must have.” Sean looked around. “Not much doubt now about him being a cold-blooded killer. But we have to pull back, lay low until— When did the detective say the speech was happening? Tomorrow at noon?”
Greer nodded. “I haven’t got my purse, my passport …”
“I’ve got my wallet,” Sean said. “That’ll get us into an apartment for the night.”
“Then what?”
“Then we wake up and find that rat bastard before he kills the president. If he gets away with it, we’ll be left holding the bag … for a long, long time.”
They’d run from the nightlife district to a more rundown part of town. Laundry hung from lines strung between buildings. People gathered by the dozens at bus stops and under the overpasses.
Greer spotted a small hotel, and the two checked the traffic before scurrying across the street and into the lobby.
She let Sean handle the check-in, he and the woman behind the desk trading Spanish in a civil tone. She hoped her own anxiety wasn’t showing, but by the way the girl kept staring at her, she wasn’t so sure.
The girl looked at her, looked back at the computer monitor, fingers clicking on the keyboard. Her eyes shot up to Sean, who stood with cool reserve. He seemed nonplussed, but Greer was increasingly worried.
Is there some government database we’re already on, she wondered, some kind of thing that goes out to hoteliers and local cops? I mean, for all they know we just blew up a building here, and we’re foreign terrorists!
Every minute that went by made Greer’s stomach turn a little more and the muscles on the back of her neck tighten. A lump ros
e in her throat. The girl said something to Sean, then turned and stepped into a little room behind the registration desk. Greer looked at Sean with worry in her face, not wanting to have to say it. Her eyes were saying it all.
Let’s get the hell outta here!
Relax, he seemed to say. It’ll be fine.
Every second that ticked by was like an eternity, but Greer knew he was right. They couldn’t sleep in the street, and even showing their faces was going to be risky. Every cop in Quito had their descriptions by now, and they were probably scouring the streets.
The girl came back to the registration desk. She handed Sean his credit card, two room key cards, and set down a registration agreement for him to sign. He did and gave the document back to her before leading Greer up the stairs to their third-floor room.
“I didn’t like the way she was looking at me.”
Sean cracked a little smile. “Probably just, y’know, no luggage. Middle of the day …”
That actually made sense, and she was feeling a bit foolish about the girl’s scrutiny. Still, she felt a lot better once she was in the room and lying on the bed. The springs squeaked beneath her. But relief was hard to come by, and relaxation impossible. Her mind was still going a mile a minute with too many thoughts to process.
“Hey, Sean, won’t they check your credit card?”
“If it was under my name, but it’s a company card. Comes in handy in my line of work.”
“I’ll bet.” Greer sighed and put her hands over her face. Sean sat down next to her, and she sat up while he wrapped a comforting arm around her. “Sean, I … I don’t know if I can handle this!”
“You’re doing a great job so far, Greer. Just … you have to be brave, stay strong.”
“Be— Sean, I … I don’t know how it was for you, but that holding cell was terrifying.”
“I know. It’s meant to be.”
“I’d die in there. I mean, I can fight, I have some training, but … I’m just not meant for a life like that. I guess some people could survive in there, but not me, Sean! I’m not even interested in trying.”
“I appreciate that, Greer, I really do. And I feel the same way. You think I wanna die in that shithole?”
A terrified gasp spilled out of her mouth. “Oh God!”
Sean pulled her closer. “But we’re still a long way from that, Greer. It’s a big city, and their police force is stretched to the limit with those protests. So I think our chances on the street are very good. And I’m sure we’ll be safe in here ’til then.”
“And what about tomorrow? We’ll have to be searching for Spencer without being seen ourselves. How are we going to manage that? I can’t dye this black hair any other color, and I think going around bald will only attract more attention.”
Sean nodded. “You make a good point. But we can’t just do nothing, or we’ll end up … well, I don’t want to upset you any further, but …”
He thought it out, and Greer did the same, not content to sit back and have him do the thinking for her.
“Wait … maybe we should shave our heads!”
“What?”
“I’m not vain. I don’t care. Maybe with the right outfit, I would look, I dunno, Muslim or something, Afrikaner.”
“Afrikaner?”
“South African whites.”
“I’m familiar. I’d have to do it too—they’ll be looking for both of us.”
“So? I think you’d probably look very handsome with a shaved head.”
“Yeah? I never thought about it.”
“Sure, it’s very virile, very masculine.”
“Well, I’m not worried about that.” He sighed, searching his imagination for some alternatives. “All right, well, we’ll need a pair of shears or something, and some clothes. You stay here. I’ll go.”
“Wait, what? No, we should stick together, Sean.”
“I don’t think we should go out together, and I don’t want you wandering the streets alone. Don’t worry—I’ll be a half-hour, tops.” He gave her a kiss, lips strong yet tender, his fingers glancing her cheek, eyes locked on hers.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Sean glanced up and down the street before stepping out of the little hotel’s lobby. The traffic was backed up, but nothing out of the ordinary considering the presidential appearance the next day. The sidewalks did seem more congested, and he had good reason to deduce it would only get more crowded by the next day at noon and remain so for a good while thereafter.
He pushed through the crowd, keeping his focus on the shops. Though South America was known for importing its few, and therefore expensive, electronic items like laptops and smartphones, there were still tech shops all over the place. Finding an electric hair trimmer was easy enough, and then it was left for him to find some appropriate clothes.
Maybe we should just wear our street gear, he thought. A lot of people shave their heads, and a colorful costume may only draw attention.
He knew that was true of himself, but the question of Greer was something else again. Few women went around like that, and passing herself off as an Afrikaner seemed less than reasonable. But something struck Sean’s memory—a cancer sufferer. It was a gruesome thought, to be sure, but putting her in a wheelchair and a shawl would be a good way to disguise her until the crucial moment.
But he knew that finding a wheelchair for sale in Quito wasn’t going to be that easy. There were plenty of pharmacies, more than seemed reasonable. But they were unlike the pharmacies in the United States. In Quito, one walked up to the pharmacy counter, part of the storefront, to buy whatever was available. Wheelchairs didn’t seem to be anywhere among them.
Sean thought about Greer, his worry automatic. She was facing terrible danger. Even leaving her alone was a risk, though it was the least of all risks. It wasn’t the rest of the day that worried him, but the next day and every day thereafter. He’d tried to project confidence and reason, and he hoped it had elevated her spirit. But he also knew it was more a show than anything else. He was more afraid for Greer than for himself, but he was still afraid, and that worried him as much as anything else.
His impulse was to go directly back to the hotel, and his legs followed that instinct. But as soon as he stepped out of the store, Sean recognized one of the two shooters whom he and Greer had evaded just the day before. He was clearly looking around, catching the faces of passersby, looking into stores as he made his way down the street directly toward him.
Sean was unarmed and trapped in a small pharmacy stand, where liquor bottles and cigarettes were sold along with the other crucial healthcare items. He turned to hide his face, but he could sense the man slowing down as he passed, glancing at his reflection in the glass storefront.
“Hey,” said the guy in a heavy New Jersey accent as he stopped and turned, “you got the time, pal?”
Sean knew the guy had him clocked. There was no way around answering and no answer to give that would pacify the thug. He had to be dealt with, and fast. So Sean said, “Sure, pal” before turning and throwing a hard punch directly into the guy’s stomach. He bent forward and gasped, taken completely by surprise. A second punch further debilitated the man, and Sean was tempted to give his head a good sharp twist to break his neck. A hard shift to the side would then sever his nerve endings and render the man paralyzed from the neck down.
But he couldn’t be sure if it was the same man, so he had to let him live with the regret that he might have punched an innocent man who just happened to be talking to the wrong person at the wrong time. But he’d recover. And if he was one of the guys chasing them, that would be a bad, bad thing. He knew he had no choice, however, because a possibly innocent life was at stake. So Sean shoved him out of the way, leaving him to writhe on the floor and struggle to regain his breath. Then he walked quickly and purposefully down the street.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Greer stood at the window, the streets of Quito bustling beneath and beyond it. She reviewed the fact
s and recalled Sean’s reassuring tone. He seemed convinced things would work out, but Greer just couldn’t see how.
We search the windows, spot him despite the fact that he’ll be in hiding, and then get to him in time? Won’t his door be rigged the same way he rigged his other apartment? But then … he’d be killed too.
What if he’s not in a room at all, but in the crowd. It’s going be packed there tomorrow, packed with cops looking for us. Will shaving our heads do the trick? And what if they intercept us before we get to Spencer, or he doesn’t show at all?
There was too much to keep track of. But with a lot of luck and the advantage of knowledge and preparation, they stood a decent chance. It was the only one they had.
What if they nab Sean while he’s out there? He won’t rat me out, that’s for sure. He’d never do that. But it won’t take much to hit every hotel within a certain radius to come up with the place where he registered, credit card or not.
Greer looked out over the streets, shaking her head.
Or the mob could still be out there too. There were at least two others, one driver and one shooter in that car, who got away when we were arrested. Where are they? Around the next corner? Could Spencer have tied up a few loose ends and killed them himself? If they’re alive, they know we’re alive. They could be out there right now, looking to finish the job they started.
Feeling suddenly vulnerable and conspicuous, she backed away from the window and closed the drapes.
Greer sat alone on the bed, a chill in her blood. She wrapped her arms around her waist, feeling suddenly isolated and alone. Her stomach turned with nerves, but also with terrific hunger. She realized only then that she hadn’t eaten since very early in the day, and the sun was already going down. It had been a long, miserable day, and hunger was quick to overtake her, to the point of nausea.
Should I go out, get something? she wondered. I mean, if it’s safe for Sean, it’d be safe for me too, wouldn’t it? He’s right about the police—half this town is protesting the other half, and there riots in the streets, actual riots in the streets! What are the odds that a cop’ll drive by just where I happened to be, just when I happen to be there? If so, that cop’ll nab Sean on his way back in with the stuff.
Dead to You Page 11