by Odell, Terry
“Hey, I'm speculating. Blueprints might have been a basement, and Fozzie took it from there. All that matters is we’re here. How he figured it out is moot.”
“So, your man Fozzie. He’s a private investigator? Searching for Crystal Montlake? You think he’ll help me find Trish—assuming they’re not together?”
“I’m sure he will,” he said.
Jinx sounded like he’d left something out, but they’d reached the end of the tunnel. He checked the cell phone, shrugged, and stuck it in his pocket. He wandered around the space, running his fingers across the dirt, as if he could sense where the opening might be.
“So,” Elle said. “Your surveillance guy. Didn’t he tell you where the exit was?”
“Should be here,” Jinx said. “Fozzie’s never wrong.”
“Never?”
“Okay, sometimes it takes a little longer, but he’s always come through. No reason to think this time will be any different.”
Elle grabbed the flashlight. She played it over the floor, the walls, the ceiling. Dirt. Lots of dirt. “I’m not seeing a door,” she said, trying to keep the worry out of her voice. “This tunnel might have been closed off years ago. Maybe it was an early route for the cartel’s drug runners, and they don’t need it anymore. Are you sure we’re even outside the compound?”
“What good is an escape route if it doesn’t let you escape? Patience,” Jinx said. “Fozzie’s got a lot on his plate right now.”
Patience. Easy for him to say. It wasn’t his sister out there. Elle found a rock large enough to sit on, tried to even out her breathing. “Like what?”
“Like making Aguilar think his compound is being attacked by a rival cartel for starters.”
Elle jumped off her seat. “What?”
“We needed a distraction so we could get out,” he said.
Had she heard footfalls? She aimed the flashlight back the way they’d come. Were they in the middle of a cartel war zone? “Blowing up the place would do that,” Elle said.
“Oh, we’re not blowing up the place. Fozzie’s taking down a few more links in the cell network, and we’ve made sure none of the cell phones work. No big deal.”
“How did you do that?” And how did Jinx seem so calm?
His chest inflated. “I took a few liberties with their system’s programming. All the calls Aguilar is initiating are going to have nasty repercussions.”
“So all of Aguilar’s test calls are making things worse?”
“Guilty as charged. For now. We'll undo what we’ve done later, when it serves our purpose.”
“Which is?” Elle asked.
“Letting them think everything’s working, which it will be. But we’ll have ears inside their operation, which we can share with the authorities.”
Elle felt a rumbling beneath her feet. She jumped to her feet. Jinx stood and took her hand. “I think our ride is here. This way.” He pointed with the flashlight. He tugged her about ten feet away from the end of the tunnel, against a wall. “On the ground, please.”
The rumbling grew louder, closer. He shoved her down and covered her body with his. His face pressed against hers. Under other circumstances, she might enjoy this. As she waited for whatever Jinx seemed to know was coming, she tried to think of those circumstances.
The earth shook. The ground danced a salsa under them. A boom ba boom, and then dust and debris filled the air.
Chapter 17
Elle squirmed under Jinx’s weight. Her ears rang, but she’d definitely heard someone speaking. And not with a Mexican accent. Then, the weight disappeared and a strong, callused hand was helping her to her feet. She wiped dust from her eyes, shook her head and blinked.
A man stood beside her. His mouth moved, but she couldn’t make out anything over the ringing in her ears. “Can’t hear you,” she shouted, pointing to her ears.
He smiled. “No worries. Only temporary.” He exaggerated his pronunciation and she nodded that she understood.
“Fozzie?” she asked, her voice reverberating in her head.
He gave a sweeping bow as if to say At Your Service. Then grabbed her hand and turned her toward what she could now see was an opening in the tunnel wall. She followed, Jinx close behind.
Outside, Fozzie led them about a hundred yards through the jungle on a path he illuminated with his flashlight. Without the swirling dust, she saw he wore camo gear, an automatic rifle slung over his shoulder, pack on his back, and a sidearm holstered at his hip. She lengthened her stride to keep up, cursing the impractical dress sandals she wore. Fozzie wore combat style boots.
They reached a small clearing—more of a wide spot in the path—and he paused. “You two all right?”
“Fine,” Elle said, glad she could hear again. Jinx had said they had a ride out of here. “You have a Jeep parked nearby?”
“Not exactly,” Fozzie said.
“Not exactly a Jeep, or not exactly nearby?” Elle asked. “Because my sister could be around here, and I have to find her before I leave.” She turned to Jinx. “Where’s the paper I gave you?”
Jinx fished it out of his pocket. She unfolded it and smoothed it out. “I’m pretty sure one of Aguilar’s staff risked a lot to give this to me.”
Fozzie aimed the light at the paper. “What does it mean?”
“I think it’s a map. Very vague, in case someone else found it, is my thought. The big square in the middle is probably the compound. The smaller one over here” —she tapped the paper— “might be the staff quarters.”
“Then what are these?” Jinx asked. He pointed to five circles, each with an X in the middle and a number between seven and fifteen alongside. He gave Elle a wry grin. “You know, X never marks the spot.”
She half-laughed. “Except when it does.”
Fozzie wrinkled his brows.
“Indiana Jones. Last Crusade,” she said.
“Ah, right,” Fozzie said.
“Then there’s this squiggly line,” Elle said. “A river? And could these Ms and upside-down Vs be mountains?”
Jinx handed the paper to Fozzie. “You catch anything like this layout on your recon?”
Fozzie studied the paper. “The circles could be cell towers, but the distances aren’t to scale—not by a long shot. If they’re numbered, it’s not on the towers themselves.”
“Could it be an alphabet code? You know, where the numbers stand for letters?” Elle had been puzzling over the semi-map since she’d seen it, but nothing had clicked. Maybe three heads could figure it out. But if Diego was trying to tell her something about Trish, why couldn’t he have made it even the tiniest bit more obvious?
“Can we work this out on the go?” Fozzie said. “We’ve got a bird to catch. Two clicks that way.” He pointed off to his left, then started walking. Forced march was more like it. Elle half-jogged to keep up, her feet complaining with each step.
Elle did the math. Two clicks. Two kilometers. A little more than a mile. She ran the 5K when she competed in the annual cop games. Three miles was a normal workout for her. She could do a mile, no problem, even in these stupid shoes. She debated taking them off, but walking in bare feet would probably be more painful—and more risky—than the sandals. Shouldn’t take much to keep up with Fozzie, encumbered by his weapons and a backpack.
Wrong.
“Don’t suppose you’ve got a pair of sneakers in there?” she asked after a few hundred yards. “Size seven-and-a-half?”
Fozzie laughed.
“Didn’t think so,” Elle muttered.
“If it gets too bad, he’ll carry you,” Jinx said.
Although Jinx’s tone was casual, Elle didn’t think he was joking.
“You’re not a private investigator, are you?” Elle said to Fozzie, although she already knew the answer.
Fozzie laughed again.
“But you are going to help find my sister, no matter who or what you are. Aren’t you?”
“Do my best, ma’am.”
Why
she believed a total stranger dragging her through the jungle was beyond her, but Elle trusted him. The way she’d trusted Jinx. She told herself she’d become an excellent reader of people, judger of character since becoming a cop, that these two men were with Blackthorne, the good guys, and a modicum of her anxiety subsided.
Besides, she didn’t have much of a choice. Finding Trish on her own would be next to impossible, and going back to the compound would be tantamount to suicide. A shiver of panic trickled down her spine—or was it sweat? Either way, she posed the question that had worked its way to the forefront of her brain.
“Are they coming after us?”
“We’ll be long gone before they know you’re missing,” Fozzie said.
“You don’t think that explosion was a clue?” she asked.
“It wasn’t the only explosion, and right now, they’re running around in circles because they can’t talk to each other,” Fozzie said.
“Right. You messed with their cell phone reception.” Elle hopped, shaking one foot, trying to dislodge a twig from her sandal.
Jinx held out a hand to steady her. “We fixed it so reception will be spotty, calls will drop. After three tries, the phones will go dead. They’ll find antennas are down at two critical towers and think that’s the problem, when in fact, the problem is in the switching system. It’ll seem to fix itself, they’ll revert to business as usual, but the Mexican authorities will be able to eavesdrop.”
“They won’t think you knocked down the antennas?” Elle asked Jinx.
“I’m sure they will, but since I was in the compound at the time of the… incident, we hope they’ll think it was a rival cartel,” he said.
“Oh, they should,” Fozzie added. “That’s a plus for us. These guys are always watching their backs, assuming the worst of each other. They’d never suspect a clever Aussie was behind it.” He snorted. “Of course, planting a clue or two leading to a rival never hurts.”
“You had time to leave clues?” Jinx asked.
“Hardly took ten seconds to spray the rival’s initials on the downed antennas. Something I’m sure you’d never have thought of.”
“You are something else,” Jinx said. Elle heard the underlying admiration in his tone. She was sure, had the light been better, she’d have seen a smirk on Fozzie’s face. Whoever these guys really were, they interacted like cops. And maybe that’s why she felt comfortable going along with whatever plans they had.
As long as they include finding Trish.
“Just up ahead,” Fozzie said. He quickened his pace and now Elle was jogging for real. She was breathing faster, and heard Jinx’s ragged breaths from behind her. Fozzie, on the other hand, didn’t seem winded at all.
When she saw a helicopter in a clearing, she was only half-surprised. Right. Fozzie had said they had a bird to catch.
He clicked a remote, then opened a door on the side of the chopper. “Ladies first,” he said, gesturing her in. He handed her his flashlight. “Take a seat in the back.”
She hoisted herself into the cab, Jinx’s hand at her elbow. Catching her breath, she played the light around the chopper’s interior. There were two seats in what she’d consider the cockpit, given the joysticks and array of instruments, although there was nothing separating them from the rest of the aircraft. There were two rows of seats behind those, but there was still a lot of “back” space left.
Fold-down seats lined one wall. Locked cabinets were fastened above them. The other wall appeared to contain a large sliding door. Farther back were large metal trunks containing God only knew what.
Jinx climbed in, halting inside the door, gazing around, his eyes wide. A tiny grin played across his face. She guessed computer jocks didn’t get many rides in helicopters.
Jinx sidled between the seats. “Better than a Jeep, isn’t it?”
“Depends on where we need to go,” Elle said. “Unless this takes me to Trish, I’m not sure how good it will be.”
“It’ll get us away from Aguilar for starters. Then we can regroup.” Fozzie pointed out a five-point harness. “Buckle up.”
“I’m going to be up front,” Jinx said. “Manning the computer. We can see more from the air. Let me have the note from Diego. Maybe I can match it to something below.”
“Do you have paper and pencil?” she asked Fozzie.
He reached into a console beside his seat and drew out a small notebook. He ripped out a page and handed it to her along with a pen.
She jotted down the numbers from Diego’s note, then returned it to Jinx.
Fozzie twisted over the back of his seat and extended a headset. “It’s going to get loud.”
She settled the headset over her ears and in the relative silence, concentrated on the numbers she had in front of her. Was it an alphabet code? An anagram? She wasn’t sure Diego’s English skills were sophisticated enough to encrypt something that way, but it was worth a shot.
After taking the numbers and substituting their corresponding letters, she had G, I, L, M, and O. She wrote them down in various orders, wishing she had Scrabble tiles to manipulate. MILGO? GILMO? MOGLI? GLIOM? Was it a password she’d need when they figured out where they should be going? Why couldn’t it say “Trish is here?”
Looking up, she watched as Fozzie flipped switches and Jinx tapped on a computer keyboard. The seat vibrated beneath her, and even with the headset, she heard a quiet whine as the engine started and a whup whup as the rotors spun. Then, with only the slightest sensation of lifting, they were airborne.
She realized the two men were talking. Her headset kept her from hearing anything they were saying. Then it hit her. Their headsets had mics. And hers didn’t.
Jinx pulled up a map program, although the canopy beneath them made it hard to see anything but treetops. Not to mention the images weren’t real time. He flipped the mic on his headset down toward his mouth. “Is there a river around here? A stream? A creek? That might be a reference point.”
“I’m flying,” Fozzie said. “In case you didn’t notice, there’s no co-pilot on board. Don’t tell me that with all your snazzy computer skills, you can’t work simple surveillance equipment? We’ve got five cameras mounted outside. Back out of that waste-of-time program and start with the main menu.”
“I’m in Research,” Jinx muttered. “I find things in databases, in search engines. Do a lot of social engineering. I’m not a field agent.” He closed the program and perused Fozzie’s equipment.
Nothing simple about what Blackthorne had on this helo, but Jinx wasn’t going to be beaten by computer systems he’d never seen before. “You have infrared on this puppy? FLIR? Night vision?” Jinx swiveled the computer on its tray so it faced Fozzie.
Fozzie reached over, tapped a few keys, and Jinx saw five images, all displaying heat signatures. “Got it.”
He spent the next few seconds figuring out how to switch from camera to camera, imagery to imagery, how to zoom in, how to change their orientation. Kind of cool. He wondered if he might take Fozzie’s place every once in a while.
Yeah, right. Remember, you’re here because a team is missing. Could easily be you down there, maybe living on lizards and bugs. Maybe infected with some horrendous tropical disease. Maybe bleeding to death.
Thinking about the team brought him back to their mission. “Any word on our guys? Near as I could tell, this compound isn’t anywhere near where the op went south.”
“But the op was inside Aguilar’s sphere of influence,” Fozzie said. “They could have been brought to a place nearby.”
Jinx explained what Bill had told him about Aguilar’s personal staff living inside the compound, but outside the mansion. “He said they don’t see strangers. But a waiter said he’d seen someone who looked like Elle, and she thinks it was her sister.”
Fozzie did helo-flying stuff for a minute or two, then flipped a switch. He faced Jinx. “Being optimistic, maybe she had potential as house staff.”
“Which basically means being A
guilar’s concubine until he gets tired of her.” Jinx glanced at Elle, who seemed engrossed with her pen and paper.
“If that’s the case, what does he do with the castoffs?” Fozzie asked.
“Crap, Fozzie, we were only inside a few hours, and most of that I spent getting into Aguilar’s computer system so we could screw up his phones. I didn’t have time to interrogate his staff. Elle tried, but Aguilar’s bought their loyalty. She managed to charm a waiter—Diego—but we kind of left in a hurry, so we didn’t have time to chat with the man. And even if we had, Aguilar couldn't turn our team into houseboys. If he got them, he stashed them somewhere.” Jinx refused to consider the alternative possibility—Aguilar had ordered them killed.
Fozzie flipped another switch, turned a dial or two. Jinx turned his attention to the camera controls, zooming in, looking for—what? A Walmart?
People, damn it. A river. Get your head in the game.
He studied the map—for lack of a better term—that Diego had given Elle. Studied each of the camera feeds, trying to see if any came close to matching. No circles with numbers beside them. Pity.
“You think the boss will spring for subdermal transponders?” Jinx asked. “Hell, dogs and cats get them.”
Fozzie grimaced. “You and your Star Trek. And PIT tags for pets don’t have GPS, just ID, although I’m sure the technology is out there.”
“Well, if it is, this op should convince Blackthorne we need them.” Jinx studied the screen. A jab to his shoulder nearly set him through the roof—or ceiling—or whatever you called it inside a helo.
He snapped around. Elle stood there, fire in her eyes, grasping the back of his seat with one hand, waving her headset at him with the other. He couldn’t tell what she was saying, but it definitely wasn’t pretty. His lip-reading skills were low, but he recognized a few choice four-letter epithets. He took off his headset. The helo’s background noises were minimal—ultra-quiet mode being an upgrade Blackthorne had sprung for.
Fozzie was suddenly busy with flying stuff and instrument readouts. Jinx tried a smile. Elle was having no part of it.