by Cherry Adair
Angélica screamed and thrashed, making the chair jump and buck on the rain-flattened grass. They couldn’t hear her, but the sound of Maza’s voice sent her into a tailspin. One of the soldiers held down Angélica’s wrist with one knee. She tried to bite him. He got her other wrist buckled, and looked up at a camera for approval.
“Good man. Bruno. You and Iván stay there and wait for my orders. The rest of you may go.
“Do you see,” he told Riva conversationally, oblivious to the runnels of blood sliding down his face and neck, and his blood-speckled shirt and pants, “Bruno has been honored with the same bracelet that we wear.” He depressed the yellow button. “Are you pleased with my gift, Bruno?”
“Sí, jefe.” At the sound of his boss’s voice, Bruno’s head shot up as he finished securing Angélica. “It is a great honor.”
Pretty easy to lip-read, since Maza zoomed a camera in for a tight shot of the three people in play.
“Secure her feet—no. Never mind.”
The poor guy just stood there patiently, the rain flattening his hair. He exchanged looks with Iván.
“I don’t need a show-and-tell. Just a tell, my dear.” Riva brought his attention back to her. “Why don’t you fill me in so that I can interpret my visions and see when the optimal time is for you to… Is what you told Angélica true? Are you here to take back control of the ANLF? So far, Escobar, all my visions have shown me is you drenched in blood. This much is true and has already come to pass.”
If that was the case, her job here was done, and Gideon would be happy as a pig in shit to watch her put a bullet between psycho Escobar Maza’s fucking eyes.
After they figured out how to get the thing off her wrist.
Until then the fucker had to be allowed to live.
“That’s what you wanted help with? Taking back the ANLF?”
Maza smiled, showing off unnaturally white teeth and glints of his gold caps. “You didn’t have a vision about this scenario?”
“Honestly, no. No, I didn’t.” She frowned, as if perplexed.
“Good, because that is not my purpose for returning to Cosio.”
“Is it something to do with the dozen men in business suits coming here from around the world?”
“My legacy is to make a big impact on Cosio. No one will ever forget my name.”
“Which name?” Gideon asked. “Maza or Diaz?”
“We are one and the same. I was born Carlos Diaz, and the name will hold me in good stead. I will run the SYP as Escobar Maza and the ANLF as Carlos Diaz, returned from the dead. The two entities will be a massive, secret conglomerate, controlling sales and distribution of Demon’s Breath and cocaine worldwide. I will be my own competition, driving up prices, completely controlling the markets. This is my legacy.
“Ah.” He glanced up at the monitors. “I’ve been looking forward to this. Watch my dear, Chela. Just watch. Iván? Shoot Bruno. In the chest will suffice.”
Without hesitation the man lifted his AK and shot Bruno from a distance of five feet.
“What the fuck was the point of that?” Gideon demanded. Angélica was screaming her head off. Fortunately, they couldn’t hear her.
“Wait for it. Wait for it… Ah.”
The monitors lit up like the Fourth of July. The building shook. Gideon grabbed Riva’s upper arm to steady her. The brilliant flash whited out the monitors. Moments later they all flickered back to life.
With a cruel smile, Maza looked at Riva. “One minute after Bruno died, the chemicals in her bracelet combined. The mixture detonated. Should I die—” He pointed to the monitor and the still smoking field, where there was no indication that three people, or a chair, had ever been.
The entire area was one giant, fucking crater.
“Should I die, my dear Chela, one minute after my vital signs stop, your lovely bracelet will detonate and take out not only you, but anyone foolish enough to be anywhere within a thousand-foot radius.” Maza smiled, his gaze encompassing both Gideon and Riva. “Shall we go?”
“Go?” Riva asked. “Go where?”
“To Santa de Porres, of course. My destiny awaits me.”
Ignoring Gideon, Maza smiled at Riva. “You and I, my Chela, deserve a little relaxation. My work is done for now and you, of course"—his eyes softened, as much as Maza’s cold eyes ever softened, as they settled on her—"must need to relax, too. You’ve spent a horrendous few days in the jungle.”
He was fucking serious. Even though Riva was rarely surprised by the evil people in the world, this bizarre, sudden shift to pseudo-tenderness was jarring. After blowing up his wife, the mother of his child, and two loyal, dedicated soldiers with an easy push of a button, in addition to obliterating a man’s head right in front of them all, he had the freakin’ nerve to talk about relaxing. The man was a true sociopath.
Riva inhaled deeply, reminding herself she was Graciela. She was the woman who would take this monster out of the world, making it a safer place. She pasted a sad, tired, Graciela-like frown on her lips. She let her exhale sound like a sigh of longing for the relaxation he mentioned.
“A good meal, time to bathe at your leisure, a good night’s sleep? Yes. I will take excellent care of you, my dearest Chela, never fear.”
“It’s hard to relax with this.” She held out her arm.
“With the assurance of my safety and well-being, and once my project is complete, I will let you return that piece of jewelry to me.” He turned his palms up in a show of surrender. Riva didn’t believe he’d ever surrender anything. “We will continue our long-distance relationship with no ill feeling.”
Riva imagined him lying in a pool of his own blood, releasing his last breath. Yes. It would feel so good to take him out. If not for the powerful incentive not to die herself, he’d be dead right now. Riva gave him a cool look. “Knowing that if you die, so will I, does not change your fate, Escobar. My visions tell me that if you go through with your plans tomorrow, you will die. That you have now inextricably joined our fates will have no bearing on the outcome.” She paused to make sure her words connected. “We will both die.”
“But your vision tells you that some of my own people will attempt to kill me and your Dante will keep me safe. Surely two opposing visions?”
“If you try to go through with your plans tomorrow. You will die, he can’t help you there. If, however, you wait the three days that I’ve seen, and your plans are successful…” More time for her team to figure what the hell he had up his sleeve. She closed her eyes for effect, nodded her head firmly, and said, “Dante will save your life when the men against you try to take away what you have built. That is all I can tell you.” And I just made that up. Not a damn thing is going to save you, asshole. Not a damn thing.
Maza glanced at Gideon. “You must join us for dinner this evening, Dante. When did you realize you were not my son, Sin?” He gave Gideon an assessing look. “I suspect you were intelligent enough to stop taking Angélica’s drugs at some point. Am I right?”
“The only thing keeping you alive right now, old man, is that damned bracelet.” Gideon made no pretense of hiding how he felt. Jaw tight, eyes glittering, he was a bomb about to explode.
“She bought you in Venezuela, is that correct? Intriguing, I’d love to hear more.”
“What do you know about it?” Gideon demanded.
“I know everything; do you think I do not? Nothing has occurred in the past seven years in the ANLF that I did not know about. Am I to take it that you disposed of Andrés? Ah, I see that is so by your look of satisfaction. That boy was always competitive. He didn’t have the balls to follow through on things, but he wanted Angélica’s approval as well as mine. He played both ends against the middle, but he had his uses. Andrés Garzon was ordered to be your good friend. You trusted him.”
“Until I didn’t. I slit his throat.”
Maza shrugged. “A small loss, but one I risked taking when I tasked him to bring you and my dear Graciela to me. So be it.
In the end, you came to me on your own. God’s master plan at work. You will join us for dinner. I’m sure yours is a fascinating story to tell. Ah, I hear the helicopter. We leave for Santa de Porres. We’ll spend a pleasant evening in the city. I will take you to one of my favorite restaurants for dinner, and you may sleep in a comfortable bed for a change. Tomorrow I will change the world.”
A grandiose statement that gave Riva a bad, bad feeling, because she believed him.
“You’re really going through with this? This doesn’t sound like the controlled, rational man, I’ve been advising for years. Why so impetuous on this project, my dear?” Riva asked, calmly.
“Despite bringing me all this way so that I may be with you for this big event, you’re ignoring what I tell you, and doing exactly as you want? Why did you bring me here, Escobar? To what purpose? You could’ve ignored me via telephone, you didn’t need to bring me all this way for nothing. I almost died out there. I fought my way to your side, and for that I’m rewarded with this?”
She thrust out her arm. “This is how you repay me for the years I’ve assisted you in making exactly the right choice at the right time? Money I’ve guided you to, the business dealings I’ve ensured happened as planned, with the right people? This is my payment?” She dropped her hand, as she watched his microexpressions.
Puzzlement. Smugness. Triumph.
“You are angry?” He gave her a puzzled look. “I don’t understand why, my dear. Everything will be just fine, you’ll see.”
“I did see. It won’t be fine. Your stubbornness will cause my death as well as your own.”
“I don’t need to be psychic to assure you, you will not die, my dear Chela. You will keep me safe as a baby in its mother’s arms. Nothing will befall me when I have both you and your Dante at my side to ensure my continued good health. He might wish me dead, but he will not do anything to endanger you. Therefore I have two extra bodyguards who will protect me with their lives. You are my talismán de buena suerte. Is that not so, my dear?”
Crazy, yes, but Riva had to acknowledge that Maza was more brilliant than crazy. Whether he knew Gideon’s true identity remained a mystery. Whether he knew the circumstances of how Gideon and Riva had joined forces, Riva couldn’t tell. What Maza had figured out was that Gideon was going to do everything in his power to protect her, even if that meant protecting Maza. His ability to divine that truth made the man fucking brilliant and made her shiver.
Maza didn’t need a psychic. His own intuition was damn good enough.
Maza’s ten-million-dollar AgustaWestland helicopter was a far cry from the beat-up, faux Red Cross Alouette Riva had arrived in a lifetime ago. The state-of-the-art chopper seated fifteen, with herself and Gideon buckled into middle seats surrounded by Maza’s men. He sat up front with the pilot.
Thirty-four minutes after leaving his jungle compound, they landed lightly on the rooftop of the twenty-story Hotel El Loro Rojo in downtown Santa de Porres. The midafternoon sun baked the rooftop helipad enough that Riva felt the scorch through the thick soles of her boots as they ran across the roof, crouching to avoid the rotating blades overhead. A squad of Maza’s men was waiting for them, armed and watchful.
A cursory glance beyond the roof’s edge showed a colorful, overcrowded city with a traffic problem. Splashes of vivid green indicated tree-lined streets and a large park. The sharp smell of gasoline from car exhausts and the sweetly scented fumes from the hotel laundry vent nearby mingled with the pungent odor of Jet A fuel.
Smelled good to Riva. Civilization.
The muted din of the street was silenced as they entered through a door to the service area.
“Tac team in three,” Control informed her.
“I will send someone for you at nine.” Maza stopped outside the elevator bank. One of his men pressed the call button.
He’d combed his windblown hair and tucked in his blood-splattered shirt as soon as they were inside, and looked ready to go out on the golf course and play a few holes. Apart from the gore on his clothing, he didn’t look anything like the psychopath he really was. They could be convention attendees, arranging a dinner date.
Wasn’t he in for a surprise.
Riva caught Gideon’s eye. No way to give him the same heads-up she’d just gotten. But she used her eyes to indicate he watch the elevator, and hoped he got it. If not, he’d know soon enough.
“That’s a long time from now,” Riva told Maza, tapping a quick code on her ear, seemingly absently, as she spoke. Thirteen tangos. Dead center. Principle left three feet.
What the hell was Maza up to? “I should be with you to advise you.” To protect your freaking ass. That one-minute warning, should someone get to him, was not going to give her any time to kiss her ass good-bye.
She just hoped he didn’t get killed in the crossfire. Still, she looked forward to the shitstorm they were about to unleash on his ass. “No need, my dear.” Maza patted her forearm. The same forearm that still had blood splatter and hastily wiped streaks of blood, now dried to a smeared crust. “Have a nice rest, enjoy the hospitality of this fine hotel. I’ll have someone come for you at eight fifty-fi—”
The elevator dinged, and the doors glided open.
All hell broke loose. Four T-FLAC operatives, dressed casually to blend with hotel guests, fanned out from the elevator cage, guns blazing.
Everyone knew to protect Maza at all costs.
“Two each,” Riva yelled, as she liberated the closest soldier’s AK from his hands. “You snooze, you lose, amigo.” And shot him in the belly. He dropped at her feet in a pool of blood. Jumping over him, she took down two more of Maza’s men in quick succession. Exhilarated to finally be doing what she was trained to do, she swung the AK at a soldier aiming for one of her men and hit him a glancing blow on the temple. He swung with a roundhouse kick, knocking her on her ass and sending the AK skittering across the floor.
Shit. Should’ve seen that one coming.
Fighting the slick, bloody floor, she tried to get her feet under her.
Lightning fast, Gideon’s reflexes came into play as he grabbed a handgun from the man beside him, shooting him with his own weapon point-blank. “Fish in a barrel. Hardly sporting. Need help there, Rimaldi?”
“You have your own problems, Stark. On your left.”
Focused, and not caught off guard as Maza and his men were, Gideon got that guy and two more as he squeezed off a round of answering fire. He kicked a weapon out of reach, and her way, as he spun to throw off a soldier who’d tried to grab him in a bear hug. Adroitly he came up, taking the man off his feet and flinging him across the small room. The guy crashed into the far wall and lay still. Neck broken.
“Nice one, Stark— Dios. Deacon! Maza’s making a run for it!” Heading back to the roof and the chopper.
Deacon, an operative she knew vaguely, and closest to Maza, grabbed him from behind in a headlock, dragging him into the elevator as bullets flew around the small landing.
Maza’s men, suddenly remembering that this wasn’t about them, that they were there to protect his ass, opened fire, just as Deacon turned with their boss in a choke hold.
Riddled with bullets, Deacon’s eyes rolled up and he let go of Maza to crumple to the floor of the elevator. Dead.
Maza dropped on top of the dead man with a gurgled shout. Out of the corner of her eyes, Riva saw with dread that he, too, had been hit with the hail of bullets from the soldiers’ submachine guns.
She scissored her feet, causing her soldier to stagger to maintain his balance. Straddling her with legs like tree trunks beside her hips, he fought the clasp on his holster, trying to liberate his weapon. “Yeah, you do that, amigo.” Riva slammed her palm up into his balls, putting her weight into it. He screamed like a girl and dropped, writhing in agony. An operative put him out of his misery as she staggered to her feet.
“Maza’s hit!” Gideon yelled, jumping over two bodies to get inside the elevator. He pulled off his shirt, cramming it a
gainst the gushing blood on Maza’s chest. “Don’t you dare fucking die, asshole! We need a medic!”
“Right here.” Kyle Wright crouched beside Maza on the floor.
Littered with bodies, the landing was liberally covered in blood, gore, and shell casings.
The massacre had taken less than two minutes.
In the end, all of Maza’s men went down, they lost one operative, and Maza bled profusely all over his pastel-colored golf shirt and chinos as he lay on the floor of the descending elevator, wounded, but still, thank God, alive.
“Car’s outside the sub-basement kitchen,” Control said in everyone’s ears. “Elevator disabled. It’s a straight shot. Hit it. Hold the blood inside that guy, Doc. Keep Maza alive.”
“Copy that.” Riva recognized Kyle Wright from a previous op. He was an operative first, and a medical doctor when push came to shove. It was shoving hard now. Crouched on the floor over Maza, he felt his pulse. “Give me handful of those bandages, Ellis, and hurry.” Dave Ellis, who’d been wearing a small backpack, already had it open and was digging into its contents.
Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God. “That’s a lot of blood,” she observed, trying to maintain her cool. Every beat of his heart sent out a fresh rush of bright red blood. If Maza went now, his freaky little bracelet would bring down not only her, Gideon, and the T-FLAC team, but also the entire freaking hotel.
Gideon, standing beside her, but not touching, said, sotto voce, “Almost over.”
Yeah, but which way? She’d like to believe they’d get Maza to the safe house alive. Prayed they’d keep him that way until they got the device off her. And really. While she prayed that if she exploded, she wouldn’t take out anyone else, who the hell would miss her if she disappeared from the face of the Earth? Operatives died in the line of duty all the time. Maybe some of her fellow T-FLAC operatives and handful of friends would miss her. Until the next op.
“I might be out of practice, but I’m an excellent doctor,” he told her, staunching the flow of blood with the bandages. They were high-tech, engineered to control blood loss, and had saved countless lives on the battlefield. “Although I suggest we haul ass, muy rápidamente.“