by Fred G Baker
“You passed out, so I helped you into your room. You were dead asleep by that time.” He saw a question on her face. “Don’t worry. Nothing happened.”
Relief flooded her features. “Oh, you are such a gentleman, Roberto. How can I make it up to you?”
He felt trapped, so he took the easy way out. “It would be nice to talk and have a cocktail, but I’m late for a meeting now. Maybe we can talk later? I could call you when I get back to the hotel.”
“Oh, let me give you my phone number. Maybe dinner?” She looked hopeful. She fumbled in her purse for a pen. She found one and then looked for a piece of paper. “Here, give me your hand.” Before he could pull away, she was writing her number on his palm. “There, now you can’t lose it.”
He retracted his hand and said goodbye. She stood there as he walked quickly away. He reached the car park and climbed inside his rental. He couldn’t believe what was happening. He was a little angry at being caught off guard like that—but he was attracted to the woman, too. He would have to make a clean break somehow, or things could get even more complicated.
He thought she was just looking for a fling, not anything serious or business related. It was just an instinct that he had. He wouldn’t mind that sort of thing himself, if he wasn’t in the middle of an operation. She seemed like a nice woman to get to know better, except of course for her employer. It couldn’t really work out. But, still, he wouldn’t just dump her. He liked her.
Rain began to fall on the windshield. That was when he noticed there was a crack in the glass where a stone had hit it last night. He hadn’t seen it in the dark. He would deal with it later. He backed the car up and drove out the front gate, nodding to the guard on duty as he went. He had to think. Maybe he could have Gordon tell Vargas that there was a Mrs. Wilson, at least as far as he was aware. Maybe that would work and let her down gently.
***
It rained on and off all afternoon—never becoming intense, but bad enough that you had to carry an umbrella at all times. When he arrived at the warehouse, Madeline was there packing rucksacks. She opened the door and he rushed in, out of the rain.
“It’s a no go for tonight,” he said immediately. “The people at NSP are getting cold feet after last night’s riot. The police won’t issue a permit either.”
She spun around and stared at him. “Shit, man. That’s bad news.” She looked disappointed. “We need that diversion.”
“We’ll have to improvise. Something ordinary—no demonstrations. Like a drive-by with Molotov cocktails. But we still need someone to execute the plan.”
“Let me tell Lightchurch.” She picked up her secure cell phone and moved away to dial a number.
Wilson took the opportunity to visit the men’s room, where he washed the ink from his hand after memorizing Vargas’s phone number. He might need to call her later. When he exited the bathroom, Madeline was already pacing the floor.
“He said he’ll see what he can do to help. I feel like I’ve let the old man down.” Her downcast eyes told that story, a frown on her face.
“Don’t worry. We’ll think of something.” He walked over and put a hand on her shoulder. “But we must decide now whether we should postpone until tomorrow.”
She straightened up, standing close to him. “We’ll have to postpone. He can’t get another team together by tonight.”
“True.” He walked over to the table and leaned against it as he thought. She paced the floor.
“Did you get up there and recon last night to learn the guard schedule?” He remembered her plan to do so.
“Yes, no problem. They generally shut down construction by six o’clock, right at dark. Most people leave the site, but some walk to the big warehouse structure in back. Some craftsmen, plumbers, and others who work indoors continue on for a couple more hours. Then, they seem to just camp out in one of the warehouses. The guard shifts are at seven a.m. and seven p.m. sharp. Trucks continue to make deliveries up until about eleven. There are lights in the warehouse until about that time, and then everything shuts down—except the guards, of course. They patrol every hour on the half-hour, on a regular route onsite. They sweep the exterior every two hours, on the hour. I made it until three this morning before I cut the cord and came back to my place to sleep.”
“Sounds very thorough. Good work.” He thought about what she had said. “So, we go at two a.m. tomorrow? Or, technically, Sunday morning?”
“Sounds like a plan,” she said, as she looked at her watch. “Guess we wait and hear from the old man.”
There was a crack of thunder outside, and then heavy rain began to drum on the metal roof. “Rain is down,” he said. “I hope it rains tomorrow night too.”
“What do we do tonight? Besides wait, that is.”
“Want to help me see what those Venezuelans are up to out by the airport?” he asked.
“Sure. Sounds like fun.”
***
“What did you tell Vargas?” Madeline asked, as she and Wilson sat in the front seat of his Noah rental, surveilling the men in the sports facility.
“I said I was stuck up north at Grenville and wouldn’t be back until after midnight. She said she would wait up for me.”
“That must be hard to turn down.” She smiled in a conspiratorial manner at first, but then her face hardened to a serious expression. “But remember your cover story. You can’t mess around with her during this operation.” She poked a finger at him, as if he needed a warning. “Be professional and let it go.”
“I think I got it covered,” he said seriously. “Gordon, the guy at the bar, is going to tell her I’m married. That should cool her jets.”
“Kinda mean if you ask me. You should just tell her you’re not interested. You’re a dedicated family man or some shit like that.”
“Right.” He sat forward in his seat and pulled his binos up to watch the men at the door of the building, where the Venezuelans were. “Hey. What are these guys doing?”
They had been surveilling the address for four hours, to get a feel for what the Venezuelans were up to at the rental property. They had sat in the car at two locations where they would be unobtrusive. Then, they had split up and spied on the building from different locations on the low hill nearby. They came back to a parked observation point and compared notes. By that time, they were both wet from the intermittent rain showers.
“What we’ve seen is a lookout front and back, men coming and going. Most are coming and staying inside. I think they might be sleeping in there tonight.” Wilson summarized their findings.
“Let’s go eat dinner and come back after midnight. That gives us three hours to kill,” she said.
“We don’t need much for a recon at night, but one weapon might still come in handy in case we’re seen,” Wilson said.
“Shall we eat at the Boat House at the marina?” Madeline asked. “We can pick up what we need on the way back. I know the restaurant because I live near there.”
“Sure, sounds good. You live on a boat or something?”
“No, an apartment just up the hill.”
“And I can stop at the hotel for a few things.”
“OK, but let’s drive now, so we have plenty of time,” she said.
Finally, they would make a move.
Chapter 8
Saturday
They came back to their parking spot at 12:33 a.m. They were dressed in the same dark clothing they would wear the following night at the construction site. It was a good test of their gear, and the rain was just heavy enough to cover their movements in the dark.
They approached through the parking lot, where fifteen Toyota Land Cruisers were lined up along the side of the building. There were guards at the front and back doors, where the two main entrances were located. There were other doors, but they were apparently sealed for unknown reasons. There were five windows along each side of the building, but they had been covered over with cloth curtains on the inside and wooden planking on the ext
erior, almost like they were shut up for a hurricane. They chose the west side of the building for their approach, because there was less light on that side, and that was where the vehicles were arrayed.
Wilson went first, scuttling along on his hands and knees between vehicles toward the wall. He reached the first window and evaluated it for a look inside. No luck there. He advanced quietly to the second window, while Madeline acted as lookout for any troublesome guards. The second window was also sealed up tight.
At the third window, they had some luck. Apparently, someone had pulled back the cloth covering and pushed out one of the planks that was nailed over the window. Cigarette ashes and butts lay on the ground below the window, confirming that several men smoked without leaving the confines of the building. Thirty or forty butts suggested that many people knew of the open window.
Wilson stood partway up and looked through the narrow gap of the curtain. He could see that there were some low lights on inside, probably so that men could get up to use the restroom facilities during the night. He could see what looked like a series of low platforms arranged in rows on the floor inside. They seemed heaped with something on their tops, making their form hard to identify in the dim light. There were ranks and ranks of them.
Just then Madeline came on the radio earpiece. “Movement by the rear. Stay low.”
Wilson looked along the wall and caught sight of a man in uniform rounding the corner of the building, lazily looking up at the sky as he shuffled along the wall. He stopped and faced the wall, fumbling with his pants. It was clear what he was doing—the sound of a trickle of liquid splashing on the ground. Then, he began whistling as he pulled up his zipper and returned around the corner to the rear of the building.
As Wilson rose up to the window again, he smelled cigarette smoke and saw a trail of smoky breath billow through the window gap. Someone was standing inside the window having a final smoke. He waited for five minutes. The smoke stopped and, shortly thereafter, a butt flew out the window.
He returned to the gap and looked inside. This time, it was lighter because the door to an inner room was open and its light cast across the entire main area. He could make out that the low, rectangular objects were, in fact, cots with men sleeping on them. There was a stack of equipment along the far wall of the room—long wooden boxes painted drab green.
Another man came toward the window, stopping just before it to light a cigarette. Wilson could see his face clearly in the flickering light of the flame. He was one of the Venezuelans he had seen before at the Hempstead bar. He was too preoccupied to notice Wilson outside.
That was enough. Wilson dropped back to the line of vehicles and crawled over to Madeline. He whispered, “I’ve seen enough. You want to look?”
“Yes, and maybe I can get a low-light photo too.” She crawled up to the window, moving like a black panther through the light rain, her sleek body a shadow against the building wall. She waited for the smoker to finish. Then, she cautiously rose up and peered inside. She spent a few minutes taking photos and then returned to Wilson. They both scurried away in the darkness and returned to their parked car.
The rain became torrential as they drove back to the warehouse. They ran through the rain to enter the building. They downloaded and examined the photos on Madeline’s laptop. She said, “The lighting was poor, but you can see the beds clearly. It looks like there are ten rows, with eight or ten cots per row. That’s eighty to one hundred men sleeping there.”
“That’s a lot of manpower—and they have nothing to do with the conference, as far as I can tell.” Wilson clicked through a few more photos, then stopped on one that showed a man standing by an inner doorway. The light partially illuminated his face. “See if you can enhance this guy’s face. He might be the one I saw by the window.”
Madeline pulled the machine closer to her on the table and opened her copy of Adobe Photoshop. She opened the file and began manipulating it. After five minutes she said, “That’s as clear as I can make it with these tools. Do you recognize him?”
Wilson studied the face a few moments. “It’s definitely the man who came to the window for a smoke, and I think I’ve seen him at the hotel bar. He had several men with him on a drinking binge. It seemed like he was in charge.”
“OK,” she said. “I can have someone with real talent enhance these photos and we may make out other faces then.” She paused. “It might be hard to find a technician on the weekend.”
“What are they doing with a hundred men hidden near the airport?”
“And those boxes along the back wall looked like shipping crates for rifles—at least the ones I had in view.” She sat back in her chair. “They’re definitely planning something.”
“But what?” He looked over at Madeline’s pensive face. “Why there? Why now?”
Madeline stood up and started changing out of her black field clothes, her back to him. He watched her undress and then slip on her street clothes, including flip-flops. She looked over her shoulder at him. “You changin’ here?”
He stood up and followed suit, watching her slender form. “Are you a runner? How do you keep fit?”
“Yeah, I run. And swim.” She sat on a chair and watched him pull on his clothes. “I never got into weight training, but I do a little to firm up here and there. How about you?”
“More or less the same, but I don’t care for indoor pools much. Too much chlorine.”
“Get some swimming in while you’re here. Best beaches in the world.” A wide grin spread across her face. “Maybe we can do a beach day together when this mission is done.”
“Sounds good.” He grinned at the thought. “Hey, I want to leave my computer here overnight. Do you have a secure room?” He showed her the computer case he had with him.
“Yeah, over here.” She walked to a heavy steel door and opened it, revealing equipment inside. “You might keep your gun on you given what we saw tonight. You may need it. I always carry mine.” She closed the door and locked it.
“Who’s covering Lightchurch while you’re with me?”
“He has two regular security men now, while I’m on assignment with you. I’ll probably go back as his detail when this is all finished.” She picked up her day bag and led him out the door to the parking lot.
“We’re on schedule for tonight, right?” he said.
“Yes. I’ll get the photos reworked and update Lightchurch. What do you have on your plate today?”
“I’ll find out more about the Venezuelans and what they’re up to. I have to work an asset.” He grinned at her and she snickered.
Chapter 9
Saturday
“Thank you for inviting me to lunch today, Roberto,” Tori Vargas said warmly. “I had nothing really planned for Saturday—and what little I did only took a few hours. So, now I am all yours.”
She wore very tight shorts that showed off her legs and a shear blouse that revealed her curves at every move. Wilson wondered if she dressed so provocatively all the time. He appreciated her looks and enjoyed her conversation, but still wondered if she had an agenda. He certainly did. He must find out if she knew what was happening at the sports facility. If not, he could move on to other sources in his search for information.
“I’m happy you could make lunch. How was the salad? It looked very good.”
She smiled sheepishly. “Oh, it was delicious—and the rum punch here is very good.” She laughed quietly. “I will have to be more cautious this time and not drink so much, like before. I was so embarrassed.”
“I already told Gordon that two drinks is your limit—at least during lunch.” Wilson was being very pleasant, even doting on her. “But before we become more familiar, I have something I should tell you.”
She gave him a serious look, eyes peering into his as if she were plumbing their depths. “Roberto, I know. Gordon was so kind as to tell me. You are still married. Is that what you wished to say?”
“Yes, but I didn’t know how to bring it
up without being presumptuous.” He tried looking innocent. “I wasn’t sure you thought of me in that way.”
“My friend, we all have our little secrets, don’t we?” She gave him a sly grin. “A small affair is not so much, is it?”
“Are you married, Tori?” he asked in an understated voice.
“No, not now—but I once had a man. He was killed three years ago.” She looked genuinely sad at the thought. “But not now. I am alone.” She attempted a smile.
He smiled and raised his drink for a toast. “Then, let’s not worry about anything and enjoy our time together, shall we?”
She perked up joyfully. “Yes, let’s have some fun. What are the words from that song? Girls just want to have fun, yes?” She slurped down some of her punch and looked absolutely carefree.
“Why don’t we go swimming before the sun gets too hot?” he suggested. “Then we can relax for the rest of the day, until dinner . . . if you don’t have any plans.”
Vargas giggled with pleasure at this. “Oh yes. I can try out my swimsuit. It is brand new.” She grabbed his hand and stood up beside the table. “Oh, this will be a fun day, yes?” She leaned into him as he stood up and hugged him quickly.
“Great. I’ll sign for the bill while you change. Let’s meet by the beach gate when you’re ready.” She hurried off, a large handbag over one shoulder.
Wilson hoped he wasn’t getting in over his head. He had the afternoon free to spend with her. If she had some information, he would at least learn some of what she knew. He had a plan. It didn’t seem fair, but that was what he had to do.
She was at the beach gate when he returned, and they locked arms as they walked along the sand looking for the ideal spot for their beach chairs. He pulled out two chairs for them and placed them under a small sea grape tree and they spread out their towels. He unbuttoned his shirt and kicked off his shoes. Meanwhile, she dramatically let her cover-up slip off her shoulders—revealing her breasts and her hips in a breathtaking show of her curved and toned body. She looked like a swimsuit model in her new bikini—which covered only a fraction of her breasts, held on by a miracle of design, and the thinnest of strings for her thong.