“I’ll have to make a few calls, but I’ll guarantee your safe passage to the States.”
“He mentioned San Francisco.”
My head reeled. “Why there? More testing?”
“I don’t know. I do know the drug works, though, and with its addictive nature, it will be very easy for him to create and command a group quickly if that’s his plan.”
“Elan, are you sure he’s heading to San Francisco?” Cabrera asked.
“Not one hundred percent.”
“We have to get the word out on this guy—notify border control before he leaves,” I said.
“How?” Cabrera asked. “We don’t have a picture of him. How will they recognize him? The only person who can do that is Elan.”
“How about a sketch artist? Do the Colombians have a guy we can use?”
“Good idea. I’m sure they can dig up someone.”
“Anything would help.”
What turned out to be a simple consult on an investigation had blown up into a matter of public safety. A madman with the ability to turn a person into a crazed Hulk with genius-like intelligence and have them do his bidding—that’s a hard concept to grasp. So not only was time an enemy, but we had believability to contend with. To make matters worse, only one person could recognize the man we were about to chase.
Cabrera stood up. “We must leave right away. We have to assume Zapata has already slipped out of the country.”
I leaned closer to Elan. “From now on, you do not go anywhere without me. Is that understood?”
He nodded.
“One more thing,” Cabrera said. “How confident are you that you could identify Zapata?”
“I would recognize him even if he had a disguise on.”
“What are you thinking?” I asked.
“In case the sketch artist thing doesn’t work out, I can have my people pull footage from the customs area for all flights into San Francisco from Bogotá and load it onto a hard drive. It’s a nine to ten-hour flight. He can use that time to comb the footage.”
“I’ll do my best to find him,” Elan said as he looked at me with tired eyes. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. “Excuse me. I have been here a long time. I need to call my wife.”
While he made his call, Cabrera pulled me to the side and out of earshot. “You know I’m coming with you.”
To be honest, it hadn’t dawned on me to ask for his help. My brain had already slipped into problem-solving mode and what needed to happen back in the States, but it made complete sense for us to continue working the case together. It actually felt good to know he had my back.
I looked around the empty office. “It doesn’t seem like much is going on here anyway,” I said with a chuckle. “You can tag along.”
Chapter 46
Cabrera offered to escort Elan back to his hotel, but I wouldn’t have it. The investigation had taken a few quick turns and had the potential to unravel. With Elan being the only person who could identify the madman we were after, I felt it was my responsibility to be the protective shield around him. And besides, the city I called home was in trouble. I hoped he would understand my need to control every aspect of the investigation from here on out and not take it personally. He needed to trust me. Though why couldn’t I trust him?
“Are you sure you don’t want me to take care of this one thing?” he said with raised eyebrows.
I squeezed his arm. “We’ll be fine. I’ll take him to collect his wife and then book a large suite for the three of us back at my hotel. Probably be a good time to wrap up any loose ends you have here in Bogotá. I’ll need your full attention moving forward.”
“Meet us at the hotel tomorrow morning,” I said as we left the office. “We’ll head over to the airport together.”
On the cab ride over to the hotel, my eyes had settled on Elan. His unassuming manner gave no hint to what he had created: not his boyish mess of hair, not his rumpled wardrobe, not his polite, almost meek way of speaking. He was so… normal.
“What’s the matter? You keep looking at your phone.”
He shifted his eyes up toward me. “It’s my wife. She didn’t pick up when I called, and she hasn’t responded to my text messages.”
“No one knows you’re here, right? She’s probably sleeping or taking a shower. Give it some time.”
He tucked his phone away and stared out the window. He seemed to believe what I had said. My gut, however, didn’t buy it.
The cab stopped outside a building that looked more like a small bed and breakfast than it did a hotel. I grabbed Elan by the arm right as he exited the vehicle. “I’ll lead the way. Got it?”
Elan nodded and waited until I exited the cab.
“Give me the keys.”
“We’re on the second floor, room four,” he said before handing them over.
We hurried through a small, empty lobby and up the stairs. I hesitated when we stepped out of the stairwell into the hallway. The second floor had only three rooms.
“There,” Elan pointed to a door at the far end of the floor.
I raised a finger to my lips and drew my weapon before quietly leading the way.
“Why are you using your gun?” he whispered.
I frowned. Didn’t I just tell you to be quiet? “It’s a precautionary measure.”
When we reached the room, I told Elan to stay outside until I had a quick look.
“I’m not waiting outside,” he shot back.
I looked him squarely in the face. “You have no choice in the matter.”
“I’ll be all alone out here. What if someone tries to kill me while you’re gone?”
“Scream.”
Once I was sure he wouldn’t rush past me, I inserted the card key into the door and returned it to Elan. With my weapon out front, I entered and closed the door behind me. The sun hadn’t completely set, so the room still glowed with an abundance of natural light. There were obvious signs that someone, other than Elan, had been here, but I didn’t see anyone. Maybe she went for a walk or out for some food.
I saw that the bathroom door was partly open and the light was on. Slowly, I made way toward it, listening for any sign that someone was on the other side. I heard nothing. I pushed the door open and found an empty bathroom. The shower curtain had been drawn shut, and a pile of woman’s clothing lay on the tiled floor near the sink.
A melodic chime rang out as I stepped inside the small space. On the counter next to the sink, I spotted a cell phone. Surely she would have taken her phone if she left the room. A crumpled bathmat lay in front of the tub. It was damp.
I stood there for a moment and readied myself for my next move—the shocking discovery. I hated that part of the job. I was usually spot on when it came to guessing what was behind curtain number one. I reached out, grabbed the plastic, and yanked it to one side.
<><><>
Elan couldn’t take it any longer. He had been pacing a small area in front of the door. His fingernails were nonexistent. Thoughts, horrible thoughts, filled his head as he waited. There shouldn’t have been a wait. Adrianna should have been right on the other side of that door. The fact that he still stood outside the room wasn’t a good sign. He ran his hand through his hair repeatedly while mumbling to himself. This was all too much. He couldn’t stand another minute outside and burst into the room.
<><><>
I heard a noise behind me and spun to find Elan standing near the door, his hand still on the knob. His eyes had bulged, and he had frozen in place. I didn’t need to imagine the thoughts his mind concocted when he saw me standing over a tub.
“Elan,” I called out.
He said nothing.
“She’s not here.”
Only after hearing those words did his posture relax, and he let go of the knob.
“She’s not… But where is she?”
He took a few steps forward, pausing for a moment as though he thought I had lied and wanted to keep the truth from him. I still had th
e shower curtain clutched in my hand when he reached me.
I half expected him to breathe a sign of relief, but instead, he bent over, his arm resting on the sink for support as tears started to well. A single hand cupped his opened mouth. His body stiffened with paralysis as he breathed in deeply. Was this a cry of relief or a cry of fear?
I rubbed his back. “Elan?”
He didn’t respond but only continued his empty stare into the tub.
“Everything is going to be fine.”
His head turned up to me, revealing red-rimmed eyes. I grabbed hold of his arms and stood him up straight.
“Her phone is still here.” I pointed.
He picked it up. “The messages I sent—they’re unread.”
“It looks like she was ready to have a bath when—”
“When what?”
“I’m not sure.”
Elan bent down and picked up the blouse. “She was wearing this when I left.”
“She could have stepped out for something, maybe bath oils or—”
“No. They took her.”
“Who did?”
“Señor Zapata’s men. I know they did.”
“Why? He has the recipe.”
He shook his head. “He already killed my brother. Sooner or later, he would have to kill me. It’s the only way to ensure that only he can manufacture the drug.”
“Let’s not jump to any dire conclusions. I still think you might be of worth to him, especially since you said the drug hadn’t been fully tested. Something could go wrong.”
I walked back into the bedroom area and checked all the windows and doors. There were no signs of forced entry. I doubled back to the bathroom where Elan still fidgeted with Adrianna’s phone.
“Does your wife know what type of man you were working for?”
He looked up from the phone. “Of course. Señor Zapata is her brother.”
Just like that. Another big piece to the puzzle had been revealed in the most casual of manners. It’s people like Elan who make my job harder than it needs to be. Why not blindfold me, tie my hands behind my back, and sock me in the stomach, huh?
I let my eyes roll in lieu of a smart reply. “Faro Zapata is your wife’s brother. You’re family? Anything else you want to tell me?”
“I’m sorry. There’s so much. I didn’t leave it out intentionally.”
I started to question Elan’s motives. Being related to an ex-FARC drug lord who had your brother killed is not something someone in his position forgets to mention. He could very well be in on this. Watch your back, Abby.
“Is she safe with him?”
Elan shrugged. “That’s a good question. I suspect his family treads lightly around him and shows him the ultimate in loyalty. By leaving with me, Adrianna breaks that trust.”
“Is there anybody else who could have taken her?”
“No.”
“Well, there’s no sign of someone breaking into the room. Either she let them in, or they had a key to the room. Let’s check with the front desk and see what they know. They might have seen her leave with someone.”
I watched him walk back to the closet in the hallway. “Hold on. I want to see if her passport is still in the hotel safe.”
He slid the door to the side and immediately took a sharp, deep breath. Adrianna’s phone fell from his hands and bounced once on the carpet.
“Elan…?”
He was frozen. It seemed like time had stopped, too. Every step I took toward him felt like a struggle. One step forward, two steps back. I couldn’t get to him faster no matter how hard I tried. Whatever was in that closet had grabbed hold of him tightly, tightly enough that my calls went unnoticed. It felt like minutes passed, not seconds, as he fell backward into the wall behind him. His shirt scratched against the stucco as he slid downward into a crouched position.
I reached for my weapon, aiming at the closet. Elan’s lower jaw dropped further, and his eyes stretched wider. He raised his left hand, struggling to point. Short, deep breaths followed. His other hand covered his mouth. His head moved slowly from side to side.
Another step brought me closer to the closet. A small light illuminated the inside. My head turned; my eyes followed. What I saw jerked me to a stop. Hanging by her neck from the clothes bar was Adrianna. Her face had been beaten into fifty shades of blue, burying her eyes beneath a swell of skin. My eyes followed the trail of blood running from her mouth, along her neck and toward the middle of her chest, where a large butcher knife buried up to the handle served as the exclamation point.
The closet had the same effect on me that it had on Elan. I could hear his heavy breathing turn to cries. I had seen worse, but this was bad. Close the door, Abby! I knew I had to do it. Elan had seen enough. Close the DOOR, Abby! I had seen enough, but I couldn’t stop staring at the one thing that had us both helpless at the moment. Carved into the flesh of her stomach were two words: El Monstruo.
Chapter 47
After touching down at San Francisco International Airport, Zapata got into a white van and hurried to South San Francisco, the industrial area of the city. A nondescript warehouse set among many others was his destination, his safe house.
Arrangements had already been made with special friends in the United States who had supported him while he led the charge with FARC and still supported him currently because of the money they made from his lucrative drug trade. They had provided everything he needed to continue work on MZ-1.
Zapata’s van came to a stop in front of a black metal gate. A twelve-foot perimeter wall spread out from there and along the sides of the building, affording the occupants a great deal of privacy. A man exited the vehicle and opened the fortified gate, allowing the van to continue and eventually disappear into the warehouse.
The warehouse was an old food-processing plant. The side of the building showcased remnants of a painting: cans of tomatoes stacked near a basket of the red fruit. Inside there were no signs of canning machinery. The entire building had been gutted and refurbished to meet Zapata’s needs. Half of the building had been fashioned into a fully functioning lab while observation rooms filled the other side.
Several men in lab coats appeared. One stepped out in front and greeted Zapata and his men. “Hello. I’m Dr. Simon Espinoza,” he said, extending his hand. Zapata ignored it and continued to look around the facility.
Dr. Espinoza retracted his gesture and continued with a smile. “My team is happy to finally have you here. We’re eager to get started.”
“Can I trust you and your team?”
“Of course. I’ve recruited very able technicians. They are capable of executing any type of work that—”
“That’s not what I meant,” Zapata interjected. “No one must know what we are doing. There are people who would want nothing more than to get their hands on my product.”
“Of course. I understand. Everyone here has signed nondisclosure agreements; I can assure you of that.”
“I have an addendum. Tell your employees that if any one of them leaks any information about what is taking place in here or tries to pass information to some other individual, I will personally kill them—but not before I make them watch my men torture their families. Is that understood?”
“I don’t think we need—”
“I do not care what you think!” The building fell quiet as Zapata’s voice echoed off the walls. Zapata circled the doctor like a wolf would his prey. “I am in charge, and I expect that no one will question my orders.” Zapata stopped with his face inches from the doctor’s. Hot breaths exited his flared nostrils as tiny muscles rippled along his jawline. A barely audible growl reverberated from the general’s throat.
The doctor took a step back and nodded, his face frozen in a pleasant expression and his eyes locked on Zapata’s to avoid showing any disrespect.
Seconds later, Zapata’s face relaxed, and he calmed as he turned to address the group of scientists awaiting his instructions. “I want you all to meet s
omeone very special. He’s here to help us with our work.”
Zapata turned to the van and extended his arm. A smile formed on his face as the sliding door on the van opened. “This… is Malcolm.”
Chapter 48
T
he murder of Adrianna Ortega stalled our return to the States. It was unfortunate, but I needed my witness to be cooperative, and snatching him away before he could give his wife a proper funeral—well, that would piss anyone off. We spent another five days in Bogotá while the medical examiner conducted an autopsy, throughout which Cabrera served to be a big help in fast-tracking. While we waited for the results, Elan made arrangements to bury his wife, and I did my best with Reilly, giving him as much information as I could so he could start a search for Zapata. The sketch the artist had drawn of Zapata, according to Elan, was good enough. I had a sneaking suspicion that “good enough” meant “kind of looks like him.”
Strangulation was the cause of death; the knife in the chest and the body modification were the handiwork of a sick man who liked to play with his victims after he killed them.
I knew the sooner I could extract Elan out of Colombia, the safer he would be. He was still a walking target. I suspected that Zapata had ordered the hit, and it was only a matter of time before an assassination attempt on Elan would be made.
We were holed up in a suite back at my hotel, rarely leaving and relying on room service for all our meals except when Cabrera stopped by. He always brought food. And his smile.
“I don’t understand. She wasn’t a threat. Who could do this to his own sister?”
I looked up from my laptop. “Faro Zapata, that’s who.”
Elan scooted back on the couch. The television was on, but he paid it no attention. “Why would he send El Monstruo?”
“What do you mean?”
“El Monstruo killed my wife.”
My head tilted to the side as I pursed my lips. Why is this so difficult? Is he calling Zapata a monster?
“You haven’t heard of him, have you?”
“Who?”
“The man we call El Monstruo. Most people think he doesn’t exist, but he does.”
Tenderloin (Abby Kane FBI Thriller) Page 15