by Diane Capri
The car in front of him switched off its engine. He noticed several others had done the same. He left his running.
A minute later a train passed. It rumbled by at maybe twenty or thirty miles an hour. Kale felt the vibration through the ground.
There was a diesel locomotive with an improbably wide and square front that defied any notion of aerodynamics, followed by open bed trucks stacked with iron girders. The whole train clanked as the massive weight jostled against its couplings, and the wheels squealed as they scraped against the rails.
It took a full minute for the train to pass. It sounded its horn as it left. The lights flashed for another few seconds before the barriers lifted.
The line of cars drove on. He watched them bump over the tracks. The gap between the tarmac and the rail was wide. Poor workmanship and decades of wear. The Mini Cooper took a hard jolt.
The industrial area ended a few hundred yards farther on.
The street morphed into lines of grand old terraced houses, built in the early 1900s. The wealthy owners had homes maintained by servants. These days, the houses were converted into offices, shops, and trendy restaurants, all with apartments above.
Kimball squeezed her Mini through a break in the buildings into a rear parking lot. Thirty seconds later, he’d parked and followed her until she ducked into a restaurant called de tapeo.
This location wasn’t good enough. The parking lot was hemmed in on all sides by buildings. Only one way in and out, a narrow lane that could be easily blocked.
Kale considered his options, and finally chose the most feasible one.
He needed a bigger vehicle.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Friday, August 19
Noon CET
Zorita, Spain
Jess entered de tapeo, and took a seat near a window looking out on the main street. Brisk traffic dashed along the road out front and the sidewalk filled with pedestrians in a hurry.
A waiter handed her a menu. She glanced at it. “Do you have one in English?”
“Anything for you,” he said with an Australian accent and a big smile. He returned with a handwritten menu.
“I’m David. You new in Zorita?”
She nodded. “I arrived yesterday.”
“For work?”
“Yes, so if you’re going to tell me all the great tourist sights—”
“Nah.” He shook his head. “The scenery is good, but Zorita isn’t much of a tourist center.”
“So why are you in Zorita?”
“I wanted to live along the coast, but the pay over there is pitiful. Besides, it’s nothing but bloody tourists,” he said with a wink. “Light lunch? Spaniards go for a pretty heavy meal and a siesta.”
She frowned. “Not for me. I hate napping in the afternoon.”
He pointed to the handwritten menu. “Tapas? I could bring you a selection.”
Jess looked down the list of small plates. “No mussels, okay?”
“Sure. Red or white wine?”
“I don’t really want wine with lunch.”
“You have to have a drink. Really, they just give the tapas away free. Like chips and salsa in a Mexican restaurant, you know?”
Jess nodded and looked again at the menu.
David said, “How about clara de limón? It’s pretty refreshing.”
“What is it?”
“Beer and sparkling lemonade.” When she scowled, he grinned again. “Tastes a lot better than it sounds. Trust me.”
She handed him the menu. “Tapas with beer and lemonade it is.”
A few minutes later, David brought the clara de limón and food on a tray. “The potato ones with the red sauce are spicy.” He put down a glass of water and pointed to it with another smile “Lots of ice. Because you’re American.”
The beer and lemonade mix was way better than she expected. The stuff could easily become addictive.
The conversation level in the room grew louder as more diners arrived.
She finished her food, put a twenty on the table, waved to David, and dialed Henry Morris on her way out. He answered on the first ring, before she was outside.
“Jess, how’s things?”
“Good.”
“Sounds like you’re somewhere noisy.”
“I’m leaving a restaurant where I’ve been drinking lemonade and beer.” The door closed behind her and she walked toward her car.
He laughed. “I’m not even going to ask. Making any progress?”
“I still haven’t interviewed Debora Elden. But I did meet the Grupo Lopez CEO.”
“Do tell,” he teased as if she’d met a famous Spanish celebrity.
“He called me, or more specifically, his assistant called me. Which was strange. The only person I talked to at Grupo Lopez when I went there looking for Elden was a receptionist and I’m pretty sure she doesn’t chat with the CEO very often. If ever.”
“So what did he want?”
“I’m not sure. He’s intense. His staff knows exactly what he wants. Like telepathy or something.”
“Probably they’ve been explicitly drilled on his preferences, don’t you think?”
“He made an effort to seem modest, but it was too rehearsed to be genuine. He’s obsessed by what he calls great ideas. At first I thought that was an act, too. But by the time he’d finished talking, I had the feeling he meant it.”
Morris asked, “To what end?”
Jess replied, “He wants to be famous.”
“Being the CEO of a multi-national company that bears his name isn’t enough?”
“That’s where the obsession comes in, I think. He wants his name to last for centuries. Like Aristotle, he said.”
Morris snorted. “Sounds like he thinks he’s going to get even richer.”
“Right. I suspect Rafa’s working on mosquito control, in particular.” Jess waited for a car to pass. “He said a million people die each year from malaria transmitted by mosquitoes.”
He whistled. “Maybe he has a point.”
“The thing is, Alex Cole said almost the very same words to me. And Rafa knew all about the explosion at Kelso Products, too.”
He paused. “Kelso is one of his competitors. I’d be more surprised if he didn’t know.”
“Rafa mentioned Alex Cole specifically,” Jess said.
Morris sounded more thoughtful. “The bombing attack has been getting more news coverage over there than we knew, I guess.”
Jess shook her head, exasperated. “Henry, when I used the word bomb he linked it directly to the explosion at Kelso Products.”
“Perhaps security has been on his mind since Kelso is in the same business as Grupo Lopez. Maybe he thinks his company might be next.”
Her patience for Henry’s perfectly reasonable explanations had run out. “He spent the whole evening ignoring my questions about Debora Elden, Henry. The whole time. He claimed he didn’t know her or know anything about her.”
“Like the responses you got from Kelso’s CEO.”
“Exactly. And I had the feeling that Rafa had been alerted. He knew I expected Elden to join us for dinner because I told his assistant when I accepted the invitation. And he didn’t even ask one of his minions to give him basic information about Elden?” She shook her head again, even though he couldn’t see her. “Sorry, Henry. But no. That simply doesn’t pass the smell test for me. Does it for you?”
He grunted, all business now. “No. What else?”
“Lopez said he would locate Elden for me today. But this morning, she didn’t show up for work. Her housemate said she’s gone. She travels often, never says where she’s going or when. And Elden is working on something secret that she won’t talk about.”
“Sounds like she’d meet the secrecy requirements for the CIA.” He sounded like he was only half joking. “Have you tried the boyfriend?”
“I’m hoping to catch him when he leaves for lunch. Any news from Remington about the Kelso investigation?”
“
Nothing much. I’d say you’ve made them a little twitchy about Cole’s lack of solid motive.”
“They could put some pressure on Winter. She knows more than she’s telling.”
“They’d like to, I’m sure. Until they have something concrete to confront her with, they’ve got no real leverage.”
“And what about Alex Cole in the meantime?”
“Still suspect number one, I’m afraid.”
“Can you find out where Debora Elden has been traveling these past few months?”
Henry sighed. “Probably. But this is starting to sound too dangerous, don’t you think?”
She held her annoyance in check. “I’ll find out anyway, Henry. You know I will.”
“Or you could let us do our jobs and you could wait to report the news.” He took a deep breath that she could hear halfway around the world.
She waited.
Finally, he said, “Remington asked the local police to talk to her. They’ll find out. If the boyfriend tells you first, you’d make a few points with Remington if you shared that information.”
The mention of Cantor reminded her of the time. “I have to go, if I’m going to catch him. I’ll call you later.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Friday, August 19
1:00 p.m. CET
Zorita, Spain
Kale had traded the stolen fiat for a stolen Mitsubishi Shogun while Kimball was having lunch. He waited on the main street by the alley to de tapeo’s parking lot with the engine idling. The sidewalks were busy because the lunch rush had started.
He wore a baseball cap and oversized sunglasses to conceal his features.
On the passenger seat, under the blanket he’d found in the back, he’d stashed a stolen Skorpion vz 61, a Czechoslovakian machine pistol with twenty rounds. Not the best gun in the world, and definitely not his first choice. But it was untraceable. On short notice, the Skorpion was the best he could do. It was wedged between the passenger seat and the center console with the grip at the correct angle for an easy grab.
The Kimball woman had eaten lunch at a table by a window. He watched her leave, talking on the phone as she walked toward her car.
He put the SUV in gear and released the brake. He’d selected the four-wheel drive, which in the Shogun was a traditional brute force solution that applied motive force to all the wheels without electronic compromises.
He lowered his window and listened for the Mini Cooper’s raucous engine as it bounced off the walls in the narrow alley.
The Mini emerged from the alley. He kept one eye on the Mini and watched the busy traffic in his side mirror.
Kimball edged the Mini forward, craning to see around the Shogun’s bulk.
A traffic gap approached. He held the SUV on its handbrake as he brought the clutch up to its biting point. The gap in traffic was alongside him.
The Mini moved another couple of inches forward.
Why didn’t she move? He revved his engine a fraction.
Kimball edged out another couple of inches. Low down in her Mini she couldn’t see oncoming traffic as well as he could, but she obviously realized there was an opportunity. She burst into traffic just as the gap closed.
Kale swore. He rolled the Shogun away from the curb. A passing Fiat honked. He rolled further. The next car slowed, warily. He stomped on the accelerator and engaged the clutch. The big tires chirped as the SUV lurched forward.
The Mini was a good distance ahead.
The Shogun was woefully underpowered. He kept it in a low gear for better acceleration, but a full thirty seconds elapsed before he caught up with the Fiat and the Mini.
The stately terraced houses petered out.
The Fiat pulled closer to the Mini and veered in and out, the driver impatient to pass before they reached the rough ground at the train tracks.
Kale wanted the Fiat out of the way. Twenty rounds in the Skorpion seemed like plenty until he took into account firing single-handed from a moving vehicle at a moving target. The last thing he wanted was to run out of ammo before he completed the kill.
The Fiat changed down a gear, and pulled out to pass the Mini as they were both headed for the train crossing.
An approaching train sounded its air horn.
The lights at the railway crossing began flashing.
The barriers descended to block the passage across the train tracks.
The Fiat had no choice. It slowed and pulled back in behind the Mini to wait for the train to pass.
Kimball applied her breaks and stopped ten feet short of the barrier, the first in line.
The Fiat stopped behind her at an angle, its nose pointed to the right shoulder. The Fiat had insufficient space to pull in straight behind the Mini.
Kale stopped close behind the Fiat and slammed his palm on the steering wheel. “Dammit!”
Beyond the tracks, most of the industrial buildings looked as if they had closed up for lunch and siesta, exactly as he’d planned.
A straight, unobstructed killing zone in a near-perfect location.
Afterward, he could reach the freeway in mere seconds for a clean escape.
By the time authorities arrived, he would be five miles away. Maybe more.
Dump the Shogun, steal a better vehicle, and collect his money.
But none of that would happen now.
Not with the Fiat in the way.
The Shogun simply couldn’t pass the Fiat on the other side of the crossing and close fast enough on the Mini.
In fact, with the Mitsubishi’s sluggish acceleration, the Mini could simply outrun him when the barriers lifted.
Time to improvise.
He glanced down the track. The train was still a ways off to the right.
The Fiat turned off its engine to conserve fuel during the wait.
Kale lowered his window and listened carefully. The Mini’s engine had gone silent, too.
He grabbed the Skorpion and placed it in his lap.
A rumble and a faint vibration moved the big Shogun. The train was closing the distance. Time to deal with the Mini or be forced to abandon his plan.
Kale was no quitter.
He pushed back the gun’s side lever to chamber the first round. It moved, but only with a good bit of pressure and not with precision. It stopped on the return path, an inch short of the firing position. He rammed the lever back and forth, but the lever didn’t move forward.
The roar of the train’s diesel engine grew louder.
He angled the gun to look into the chamber. The bullet was wedged in the space forward of the chamber.
He smacked the bottom of the magazine ensuring it was fully seated into the gun, but the bullet remained stuck.
He tapped the gun against the door, trying to use shock to free the obstruction.
It didn’t work.
The force he’d applied to the lever had jammed it for good. Only stripping the gun down would make it operational.
He glanced toward the train. The locomotive was a few hundred yards away and approaching inexorably.
No time to deal with the Skorpion now.
He had another gun. A pistol. But a drive by shooting with a pistol would be foolish.
The train’s horn sounded. Much closer.
Now or never.
He shook his head violently. He refused to be beaten by Kimball’s dumb luck.
He slammed the Shogun into gear and rammed into the car behind him to move it out of the way.
He shifted to low gear and put his foot flat to the floor.
The train was three hundred yards from the crossing.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Friday, August 19
1:10 p.m. CET
Zorita, Spain
Jess had stopped well short of the barriers and turned off the Mini’s engine to wait for the approaching train. The Mini was low to the ground. The big passenger train would tower above her and shake the very ground beneath the Mini’s wheels when it passed.
A
n engine revved. She glanced in the rearview mirror.
The Fiat that had been trying to pass her to beat the train was parked at an angle behind her Mini. The driver glowered in her direction.
Behind the Fiat was a big SUV.
The SUV lurched backward and hit the car behind. A loud crash of metal-on-metal reached her ears.
The SUV rocked back and forth after the impact before the engine revved again and it leaped forward.
The SUV veered the short distance around the Fiat, engine screaming.
She cringed when the SUV’s front grille filled the Mini’s tiny black window and kept on coming.
She had no room to move out of the way.
She pressed both feet hard on the brake in an attempt to avoid being pushed onto the tracks in front of the oncoming train.
She braced her head against the headrest for the impact a moment before the SUV hammered into the Mini’s trunk.
Events unfolded in rapid succession.
The Mini jolted forward.
The impact threw Jess against her seatbelt.
The seatbelt locked in place and imprisoned her torso against the seat back.
The Mini bounced into the air.
All four wheels left the ground.
The Mini dropped to earth like a lead balloon.
And bounced again.
The SUV’s engine coughed like it might stall.
Jess twisted to look at the SUV in the side mirror.
Did that idiot really believe he could maneuver through the barriers before the train arrived?
Jess shook her head. People died trying stupid stunts like that.
And killed others in the process.
The train was bearing down. Surely, he could wait until it passed.
Instead of waiting, the driver pushed his foot down on the accelerator to try again.
The SUV revved up.
A flash of heat ran over her skin as she watched in the mirror.
The front of the Shogun obscured most of the Mini’s rear window.
The glass broke into a million pieces under the strain.
She snapped her eyes closed for half-a-second just in case one of the shards landed up front.