Hunting for Caracas

by Anthony Fox

  All in all, it seemed to be the last place on earth you would expect to find an international arms trafficker like Luque.

  But of course, that might well be the point.

  ***

  Paxman entered the Italian restaurant. His thoughts were firmly on what might be the best approach to look for signs that Luque was close by. The restaurant was still bubbling with atmosphere at the tail end of a busy Saturday lunch service. Paxman was able to pass unnoticed through the crowds to a central counter that served as a service area and a bar. There was a teenage girl with a blonde ponytail and a long, freckled face standing behind the counter. She was dressed in the staff uniform of a traditional Austrian woman’s dress, which Paxman knew from a youthful visit to Oktoberfest to be called a dirndl.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Paxman called out, leaning in close so the girl could hear. ‘The toilets?’ He hoped the word was similar in German. He repeated it a little louder, as if that would help. ‘TOILETS?’

  The waitress looked at Paxman like he was an idiot, and replied in English with a soft German accent. ‘We have, over at the back. By the painting.’

  Paxman looked over as he felt his stomach grumble. He realised he was enjoying the smells of roast garlic, pizza dough and melting cheese drifting through the restaurant. He looked to the toilet door with a frosted glass window and a picture of a stick man on it. Paxman deduced that this was the men’s toilets, although he was confused slightly by the fact that the stick man was swinging a golf club.

  Something caught his attention and his gaze drifted right, firstly to a family receiving the food they ordered, then further to one side of the restaurant, as a man stood up from his table and was lost from view as a waiter spun past, carrying two large, round plates of pizza. Paxman’s breathing caught in his throat. The waiter moved on and the man came back into view again. He left his table in the busy restaurant and immediately headed out through a side door and out of Paxman’s sight.

  Everything around Paxman blurred. He felt as if the world was suddenly moving in slow motion. He put a hand on the counter to steady himself. Turned to take in all of his surroundings whilst looking nobody directly in the eye, but also being careful not to appear as if he was hoping to avoid attention. He spun back to the waitress, who was still looking at him, making sure he had everything he needed.

  ‘Yes,’ he stalled.

  Focus. Act natural.

  Now he’d turned away his brain registered the man had been sat at the table alone, and more importantly had left the restaurant through what appeared to Paxman to be an internal door.

  ‘Is this place just a restaurant, or d’you have rooms as well?’ he managed after a moment.

  ‘Yes, we are restaurant but also we have rooms for bed and breakfast. It is either single or double room. But we are full this week.’

  Paxman nodded. A couple of customers shoved past on their way out after lunch.

  ‘Have you got a card with a phone number I could have?’ He was suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to leave himself.

  The waitress handed him a card from the counter. Paxman turned to leave. He had a good look around the restaurant on his way out, trying to appear as casual as possible. It was only at the door he realised he’d forgotten to go to the toilet. His urge completely gone. Hopefully the waitress wasn’t taking much notice.

  Back outside Paxman wiped the perspiration from his brow and got into the car.

  ‘Feel better?’

  Connelly looked over but Paxman’s thoughts were elsewhere.

  ‘Well, after being sat outside here I’m ready for some food. Let’s–’

  ‘Drive, we need to move,’ interrupted Paxman suddenly.

  ‘What?’ Connelly asked, understandably sounding confused by the demand.

  ‘Not far, but quick. Quick. We need to move away from here.’

  Connelly appeared about to inquire further when Paxman shoved him into action.

  ‘Come on,’ he insisted, pushing.

  Connelly started the car and pulled away.

  ‘Just pull in over there, across from the post office.’ Paxman pointed to a space behind an empty car on the corner.

  Connelly pulled up and put the hand brake on, but left the engine running.

  ‘OK. So what’s got into you?’

  ‘Turn off the engine.’

  Connelly thought for a moment and turned it off.

  ‘And move your mirror so we can see the restaurant,’ instructed Paxman, lowering his window and moving the side mirror until the restaurant came into view, which was now directly behind them about thirty metres back.

  ‘OK. Now tell me what the hell is going on,’ said Connelly firmly after he moved both his side mirror and the car’s rear-view mirror so there was a clear picture of the front of the restaurant in the reflection.

  ‘He’s in there,’ said Paxman.

  ‘Who?’

  Paxman lowered his voice to a whisper and looked at Connelly. ‘Luque. He’s in there.’

  Connelly frowned. ‘You mean, in the restaurant? No way,’ he replied.

  Paxman didn’t take his eyes off the reflection of the restaurant in the side mirror. He was concentrating so hard he was starting to lean out of his seat. He felt as if at any moment the place might explode.

  Paxman thought about the man in the restaurant. He’d stood up from his table, clearly having just finished a meal.

  He’d be gone in a flash.

  The table was certainly selected due to its position, Paxman reasoned to himself now. The door on the right-hand side that he now believed led to the rooms above was only a few feet away. The man stood, turned, and was gone.

  Gone in a flash.

  An enormous man. Oddly the bold head only seemed to add to his vastness. As tall as the ceiling, with muscles swelling from every body part, like a comic book superhero. Only Paxman knew this man was no hero. Quite the opposite. Paxman was an experienced soldier, having spent nearly half his life in pursuit of very dangerous people. Yet he wasn’t ashamed to admit, at least to himself, that the mere sight of Luque shook him.

  And he’d been alone. All alone.

  Luque.

  ‘Luque? Really?’ Connelly sounded sceptical. ‘Come on. Just politely sat there waiting for us?’

  ‘I’m tellin’ you. I turned to go to the toilets and, bam, there he was.’

  Connelly seemed to be waiting for the information to filter in. Both men were absolutely silent.

  ‘How certain?’ he asked.

  Paxman thought. Rubbed his chin.

  ‘A hundred per cent,’ he replied.

  ‘Did he make you?’ said Connelly.

  ‘No chance. All happened too quickly.’

  ‘So where is he now?’

  Paxman handed Connelly the business card the waitress gave him for the Floriani Restaurant and Guesthouse.

  ‘I’d bet your life he’s stayin’ in one of the rooms above.’

  ‘I should go in there and check it out.’

  ‘Don’t be crazy. What if he sees you?’

  ‘I’ll make him wish he hadn’t.’

  Paxman just shook his head, but he suspected if anybody could try and take Luque all on their own, Connelly might actually be the man to do it.

  The two men looked across from each other as one thing became clear. Fun time was over. Now the real work began.

  ‘You know we can’t act alone on this,’ Paxman told him.

  ‘Well,’ Connelly said as he took a deep breath and sat up in his chair. ‘Let’s get the others down here right away. I need to call the White Wolf and update him. We’re going to need some equipment.’

  15

  One year earlier…

  Franz Josef, New Zealand.

  The family and bodyguards were dead, the helicopter that transported them as still as the rocks it sat on, and the couple that witnessed everything were disposed of. As Caracas walked away from the Franz Josef glacier, he knew now it was all about timing.

&n
bsp; He would be late to meet his contact at the port. The rock-climbing couple had slowed him down – but, worse, he’d chased the woman back down towards the glacier and in the wrong direction from his exit point.

  So he decided to leave his camp. He burned the camp he’d spent seventeen hours bedding down in, but the initial plan was to come down the west side with the rifle and the shell casings and check that every last particle was turned to ash. Now Caracas had no choice. If he went back, he would be caught, here in New Zealand at the scene of the crime. Unacceptable.

  So he hustled for the port with nothing more than the clothes he was wearing: the black mountaineering boots, tight black cargo trousers, black merino wool base layer top, black army sniper gloves. The balaclava went in his pocket for now. They would find the rifle, the stand and the nylon carry bag, plus the two additional bodies, but the balaclava contained his DNA and could not be left here.

  The fury that still burned inside him after the perfectly planned and executed mission had gone to shit was a good thing now. It was pushing him forward, fuelling his every stride.

  Caracas reached the Waiho River a full hour later than planned. He found the boat where he’d left it. Looking down at the rippling water, it seemed only his green eye reflected back. Due to the narrowness of the river he was using a tender to travel the twenty-five kilometre stretch. The waiting motor yacht was too big for these waters.

  The journey took him thirty-two minutes, four minutes longer than calculated because of a slight head wind. Finally he broke out of the mouth of the river and hit the Tasman Sea.

  Luque was waiting with the racing motor yacht a mile offshore. The Baia’s top speed was a fuel-guzzling fifty-five knots and the tender Caracas was on fit perfectly under the bow.

  Caracas could see the anxiety on Luque’s face as he boarded, but had no time for it.

  ‘Esto es malo. It’s so late. Can we still make the port in time?’ Luque asked him.

  Caracas walked across the deck aiming for one of the three cabins below, eager to clean up and change.

  ‘Viejo amigo, what happened? Has someth—’ Luque’s words were cut off as a vicious elbow to the temple knocked the giant man back and sent him down on to one knee.

  ‘If you know we’re late, why aren’t you getting us out of here?’ Caracas snarled. The speed of his elbow so fast it had been impossible for Luque to see or anticipate.

  Caracas headed down the steps to the cabins below.

  ‘Si, Primo,’ said Luque as he gingerly stood back up and shook his head clear.

  16

  Present day…

  Feldkirch, Austria.

  They’d waited and waited for him to surface.

  Now, finally, Luque appeared.

  ‘From Alpha. We’re on. I have eyes on Matterhorn,’ said Paxman, pretending to talk into his phone, but actually speaking into the small microphone hidden on the inside of his collar. ‘Everybody in position?’

  ‘From Bravo, check.’ Connelly, covering the fire exit at the back of the Floriani restaurant.

  ‘From Charlie, check.’ Nina and Matthews at the city square around the corner.

  ‘From Delta, check.’ Kemi, in the black Range Rover parked up by an exit tunnel a two-minute drive from the square.

  All this came back to Paxman clearly through the earpiece in his left ear. They were all trained in surveillance and counter-surveillance, some with extensive experience, and each knew the trick was to be fast, clear, and remember the call signs. There was no time for error or confusion.

  The call signs also worked to avoid using any names, including the targets.

  You never knew who might be listening.

  Paxman grabbed his backpack and left the car that Matthews, Nina and Kemi hired to get to Feldkirch – an old Ford Focus – and walked over to a designer clothes store. He could see Luque in the reflection of the shop front window as the target exited Floriani restaurant for the first time, and walked casually but with purpose up the street.

  They weren’t able to locate the car Luque himself rented in Innsbruck. Paxman now hoped they hadn’t somehow missed it parked near the restaurant.

  Luque was dressed casually in jeans and a grey jumper, with a blue baseball cap and black sunglasses. Despite most of his face being covered Paxman didn’t need to see it to make an ID. The physique was a dead giveaway. Paxman’s pulse quickened.

  Luque vanished out of view as he passed the corner Paxman was on and continued up the street.

  Paxman headed to the corner. Nonchalantly he turned in the direction Luque had gone. There was a small chance Paxman himself may be being watched from the restaurant, and so he had to act natural.

  As Paxman rounded the end building Luque again turned and disappeared from view, this time to his left towards the square.

  That’s helpful.

  Nina and Matthews were positioned at the square as it was the best starting point to intercept wherever Luque would be going. However, it appeared that the big man was heading directly for them.

  ‘From Alpha. You’re clear to go, Bravo,’ said Paxman, barely moving his lips.

  ***

  Connelly dropped some cash on the table and finally left his position inside the cafe after many hours, with three newspapers read from front to back, lots of coffees, a chicken salad and two sandwiches. Dressed in cargo trousers, a shirt and a designer red leather jacket, he picked up his backpack containing equipment the White Wolf arranged for Kemi, Matthews and Nina to pick up on the way over to Feldkirch. It was an identical set of equipment to what Paxman was carrying.

  Connelly went outside into the late morning sun. It was fifty-fifty whether Luque, whenever he eventually made an appearance, would leave out of the front door of the restaurant or by the back exit. As it was Paxman picked him up. It was down to Connelly to jimmy the door open next to the bins at the back of the restaurant and quickly slip inside, quietly closing it behind him.

  Connelly stood still in the narrow corridor on the inside of the door. He listened, trying to steady his own heartbeat.

  It’s always difficult to move through a building undiscovered, but this was an Italian restaurant, not Fort Knox, and it certainly wasn’t Connelly’s first day out of training. So he was able to navigate his way along the back corridor. He passed the kitchen before reaching the door to the restaurant. With the restaurant yet to open for the day, only one woman stood in Connelly’s way. He easily slipped past the girl by the counter, went through the internal door and took the stairs to the rooms above. The entire entry taking about thirty seconds.

  At the top of the stairs Connelly stopped and listened.

  No noise. No one in sight.

  17

  Paxman talked to himself as he jogged, to try and control his nerves.

  Don’t do anythin’ crazy, Luque, he willed.

  Don’t notice me followin’ you.

  He took a deep breath.

  Please don’t crush my skull with your big shovel hands.

  He’d handed Luque off to Matthews and Nina, who were acting the tourist couple in the city square while Nina updated Paxman on the target’s movements.

  It didn’t appear the giant Venezuelan was doing much more than stretching his legs, drinking a coffee and buying an international newspaper. But the team weren’t so easily fooled. This could also be a counter-surveillance exercise. Luque may well be moving around in the open simply to see if someone was following him. So they had to stay vigilant. Paxman had handed the target off to Matthews and Nina, and they returned the favour now as Luque appeared at the other end of the square and continued away from the street Paxman had just come down.

  He waited until Luque was a short distance away.

  ‘You’re clear, Charlie. I have eyes on Matterhorn.’

  Then he picked up the pace and followed.

  ***

  Although they couldn’t assume, everything so far suggested Luque was alone. The Floriani guest house had every room booked out fo
r the week. This place being a middle-of-the-range bed and breakfast meant there were thankfully no security cameras along the corridor. Connelly removed a small, thin object from his pocket that looked just like a thin fountain pen but was in fact a miniature monocular. He began to check each room door, running the scope along the small gap between where the closed door met the door frame. He scanned about ten inches above and below the side of each door handle where the lock was, and found what he was looking for just below the lock to room number four.

  Luque had inserted a personal security alarm device on the back of the door. The portable door alarm came in two parts with a wireless remote switch, Connelly knew. One part clipped onto the back of the door and one clipped onto the frame. A thin laser censor connected the two parts together. Only pressing the remote would activate or deactivate the laser.

  Connelly assumed Luque had told the housekeeping staff to leave the rooms well alone, which should mean no interruptions from the staff. Having observed the device, Connelly knew that although these alarms worked quite well, they were by no means state-of- the-art. More for catching people off-guard.

  If you spotted it, if you knew what you were doing, it shouldn’t cause too much trouble.

  Connelly removed a Leatherman multi-tool from his pocket. In about ninety seconds he’d manoeuvred the blade to pop the sensor just a little from its housing. The laser turned off. No alarm sounded. He was free to take his tools out of his other trouser pocket and pick the lock. Twenty seconds later he was in.

  ***

  After closing the bedroom door Connelly surveyed the space. He waited and listened, but there was no one else in the room. Reaching behind his back for the control box attached to his waist, he switched off the power to his microphone. Connelly didn’t want the rest of his conversation from here on to interfere with the surveillance on Luque. He removed his earpiece and put it in his trouser pocket because he didn’t want Paxman and Nina’s conversation interrupting his work. Then Connelly removed a walkie-talkie from his backpack, turned it on and pressed the transmit button on the side.