by Anthony Fox
Matthews immediately left his concealed spot behind a tour group and circled away from the hotel.
It wouldn’t take long.
He knew Caracas’s decoy would be in place. Doctor Silva was scheduled to make his report, so today had to be the day. Even the tiniest doubt that Assia being carried away by the guards could disrupt their carefully laid plan would mean they had to act now.
They would attack right away.
Matthews positioned himself far enough away from the building that he hoped to be unaffected by any potential blast. Getting a device inside the hotel itself would be highly unlikely, so it would have been positioned as close as possible to cause the maximum amount of panic. After Jenkins was killed, Caracas wouldn’t have time to prepare a whole new replacement decoy. The person who’d built the bomb for the Feldkirch attack was the only person left unaccounted for. And the bomber did good work in Feldkirch. Yet, to a man like Caracas, everyone was expendable. It was only logical they use the same bomber again.
Matthews didn’t have to wait too long for the security guards to scramble in alarm.
Then the explosion happened.
It was outside the hotel restaurant, by the bar. An almighty bang. The ground shuddered. People in the immediate area were thrown to the ground by the blast. Bodies scattered. After the flash of fire a cloud rose up and grew like an expanding balloon. Then panic. Screaming. Chaos. A stampede. People fell. Bodies were trampled.
Matthews watched.
The blast was reasonably big but it felt rushed, desperate. Perhaps Caracas had lied to his bomber about the level of security. One way or another, Matthews knew for their plan to work, the bomber would be hung out to dry.
Much later, more than one witness would tell reporters they heard someone shout ‘Allahu Akbar’ immediately before the explosion.
It was mostly civilians caught up in the blast, perhaps a few of the security guards. Had Jenkins been here his attack, although doomed to fail, would no doubt have taken out many of Doctor Silva’s security forces in the process. The problem with using the bomber was that the more cavalier approach didn’t directly weaken Silva’s personal guard. Caracas would have to take them all out himself.
Matthews knew they would now need to move the doctor, and felt he’d already identified where the security team would relocate him to. During his two-hour reconnaissance this morning whilst Assia waited in the coffee shop, he’d studied the numbers and movements of the many guards outside the Prestige Hotel and its private beach, but he spent most of the time walking the perimeter around the area, and also spotted a few stray men hovering in and around the Hotel Regina. This hotel was a few streets back from the beachfront, La Croisette and the Prestige. Being close to three hundred metres inland, the Hotel Regina might have better prices and less fashionable staff, but it was also smaller and more discreet.
Matthews positioned himself so he’d be able to move before the street was cordoned off. He left the chaos that was the post-blast area of the Prestige entrance and took a left down La Croisette, away from the Palais de Festivals. Heading in the direction of Port Canto he moved past a Ralph Lauren, a Hugo Boss and a Michael Kors, then turned left onto the Rue Pasteur.
Now with the beach at his back, Matthews moved more easily through the crowds. A light breeze came to him then, as wonderful and refreshing as if it was sent by God himself. Turning the corner, Matthews reached the Hotel Regina in barely a minute. He arrived to see this hotel was preparing to be evacuated. The first group of guests were being ushered out by the staff and an outer cordon was being organised by a few guards to prevent anyone coming into the hotel.
Of course, Matthews wasn’t surprised by any of this. He knew this evacuation had little to do with keeping the guests of the Hotel Regina safe. In the event that the Prestige Hotel was compromised in any way during the doctor’s stay, it seemed this hotel had certain safety procedures in place so the doctor could come here and lie low until the problem was resolved.
Matthews also knew Caracas would be in position somewhere within the hotel. He most definitely would not evacuate himself before the doctor’s arrival.
***
Outside they moved quickly and smoothly as a large group, as if the doctor’s security team could somehow manipulate the world around them.
There were crowds of people and police vehicles. Already a news truck. The beginnings of road blocks. Frightened staff. Doctor Silva and his men were able to efficiently cut through it all. Once out in the open and on the move, the security team quickly formed a tight net around their asset, and suddenly they were off the main drag and away from the crowds and the commotion. They headed down a long side street between rows of tall buildings made up of everything from hotels to commercial outlets and residential apartment blocks. The team moved as one. Each constantly scanned only the small area that was theirs to cover, and seemed completely unruffled by the chaos.
Assia couldn’t see what the men and women in the team were doing. After warning of a threat moments before, she’d effectively been arrested by the guards, roughly forced into position within the group, and now had a strong hand holding her head down whilst also being pushed forward. Doing this at a surprisingly quick speed, and also keeping in time with the others around her, was tiring and required all Assia’s energy and concentration. She heard the French word for second – deuxième – along with a few other words being transmitted over the radios, which made her think a second device may have been located.
The guards around Assia started pointing in the direction they were heading, apparently confident they were moving the doctor towards a secure area.
It isn’t secure! Assia wanted to scream to them.
That’s what Caracas wants you to think, and Matthews too for that matter. You’re running into a trap! she yelled inside her own head.
But all of Assia’s strength was being used to keep pace and not trip over the person in front or to the side of her.
***
They reached the Hotel Regina. There was a team already in place outside, and as the relocation party arrived Djibril ordered two more teams to break off and secure the area. The rest of the group continued their forward momentum into the hotel, straight past reception and into the main foyer. A bomb detection team reported an initial sweep of the main areas had come up clean. Djibril told them to keep looking.
At the base of the stairwell he ran ahead to liaise with the team in position before Doctor Silva was escorted to the fourth-floor conference room, with only one door for entry and exit and one large window with the blind drawn all the way down. Eight men were stationed inside the room with him, with four more directly outside guarding the door. Either side of the conference room was a ‘junior suite’ which held a super-king-size bed, a sofa and an en-suite bathroom. Djibril stationed one six-man team in each of the two suites.
Nothing short of an army was going to get near the doctor, Djibril told himself, and he was certain there wasn’t a hostile army in the immediate area.
***
Matthews had quickly managed to position himself on the second floor of the Hotel Regina. He’d known his only hope was to get inside before the hotel was secured and Silva arrived with his army of guards. Now Matthews found himself wedged into the second-floor maintenance cupboard in the dark, with no idea what was going on outside. He heard the main party arriving; the distant but unmistakable thudding footsteps of many men as they climbed to a floor somewhere above his own. Matthews hoped being on the second floor would give him an advantage over the security personnel outside the main entrances when it happened.
It would’ve been useful to get to a room with a window so he could look for any signs of disturbance on the streets below. Although he managed to slip through the security net to reach the second floor, Matthews knew the guards, despite being confident they’d escaped any potential danger by leaving the Prestige, would continuously sweep every room of every floor. If any guards checked his maintenance cupbo
ard before Caracas attacked then he would have to take them out, if he could.
Had Matthews been the one required to assassinate Silva, he would’ve had no hope whatsoever. There was no way Matthews could move freely about the hotel in search of Caracas, and unlike the man he sought, Matthews had no secret knowledge of the doctor’s protection strategy once inside the hotel. All he could do was try to remain quiet and still and wait for the fighting to start. If he was somehow wrong and Caracas was not here, ready to attempt a borderline-impossible assassination, then soon enough Matthews would be discovered by the doctor’s security.
But Caracas had to be here.
He had to be.
80
Ten minutes had gone by when news came that the suspected bomber had been gunned down whilst trying to fight his way out of a corner. More information was to follow, but this development meant even Djibril began to move just a little more easily. No more devices were found. Whilst the Prestige was swallowed by hysteria, the Hotel Regina was quiet and secure. The sudden charge of adrenalin had worn off and now their bodies were relaxing into light lethargy. Djibril got on the radio and told his men to stand easy. The doctor was sat at the table looking at nothing in particular, and Djibril ordered two men to go and swap with a couple from the suite to the left of them. When two new men came back he ordered the same for the suite on the right.
‘You know, you can calm down now, Djibril,’ said the doctor. ‘I told you I was safe. They’re not after me. It’s another cowardly terrorist making a point. I need to work so we can use this latest malevolence to unite us.’
‘You aren’t safe here,’ said Assia.
She didn’t want to say it. She didn’t enjoy the way they all turned and looked at her now, but she could hardly just stand there silently whilst listening to them all thinking they were doing a good job, after everything she’d seen and heard over the last few weeks, could she?
‘What do you mean?’ Doctor Silva asked sceptically.
‘Don’t listen to her, sir,’ interjected Djibril in English. ‘We don’t know what game she’s playing yet. My safety protocols have kept you alive all these years. I won’t change them now just because this girl thinks she knows better.’
‘I’m not saying we have to listen to her, Djibril. But we may as well let her talk, at least while we’re stuck here.’
Djibril sighed and rubbed his head in frustration. Sometimes when protecting a person, the most difficult thing really was trying to save them from themselves. That was certainly true of the doctor, thought Djibril as Assia began talking.
***
In the junior suite to the right of the conference room that was sheltering Doctor Silva, two of the six men stationed there had just been swapped from the team that secured the conference room itself. For one of the two men this was a big relief. The conference room didn’t have a bathroom, and this security man desperately needed to go. He informed the five others in the team and then stepped into the adjoining en-suite and closed the door behind him. He didn’t lock it, for security reasons. Once everything was undone he went over to the toilet, raised the lid, lowered his trousers, and took a seat.
Whilst sat on the toilet the man looked straight ahead. He paid no attention to the door in front of him, or the mirror on the wall above the sink, or the jacuzzi-bathtub in the corner with a shower secured to the wall above it. He paid no attention to the ceiling, especially the space directly above him.
The ceiling was made up of grey panels. Although they looked like expensive heavy marble pieces befitting a luxury hotel, the ceiling panels were in fact made of the usual lightweight PVC, with a marble effect, and so were not nearly as heavy as they appeared.
The guard on the toilet did not notice as one of the panels directly above the toilet was removed and a square black hole appeared there. Through this black hole then came a head. The man lying on the panels above the ceiling peeked into the bathroom and looked around. The intruder fixated his gaze on the guard as he gradually lowered a curl of razor wire down through the square hole in the ceiling.
The guard continued to look ahead at nothing in particular as the razor wire came down to just a couple of inches above his head and paused briefly, then the wire dropped quickly in front of the guard’s eyes and in a blur snapped back up again and embedded itself deep under the man’s chin.
To the guard’s credit, even though he saw a mere blur of wire, his natural reactions got his fingers up in time, and the tips grabbed onto the wire. The razors sliced straight through the fingertips like a hot knife through butter. Just as he was about to yell, the wire tightened around his neck and hoisted him up off his throne.
The razor wire was secured so it held tight. As quick as a flash the figure hiding in the ceiling dropped down onto the toilet cistern with the speed and grace of a ballet dancer, using his pump-clad tiptoes to cushion any noise. He flushed the toilet with one foot to cover any noise coming from the suffering guard.
As the intruder stepped down from the cistern and came around in front of the guard, he walked up to the closed door and the guard got a good look at him. The black pumps on his feet meant that as he moved he omitted as much noise as a shadow. He also wore a skin-tight, long-sleeved black suit with a hood pulled up over the head. Whilst listening at the bathroom door the intruder turned briefly to look at the guard, suspended on his tiptoes and struggling against the razor wire, which had turned his neck to shredded meat.
The guard saw the intruder had brown skin against the black outfit and two vastly mismatched eyes. One was brown and ominous, the other was green and bright, like a serpent’s. Had the guard been able he would have made the sign of the cross at being confronted by this demonic figure.
***
Caracas waited a second longer at the bathroom door. When nothing happened, he turned and removed his knife from the base of his back and without any great effort pushed it into the ear of the guard hanging by the razor wire. The guard died instantly. Caracas removed his bloody uniform and put it on over the black skin suit.
After that short task Caracas stood back on the cistern and reached up for his safety gloves. The gloves allowed him to grab the razor wire without injuring himself and he lifted the dead guard in a fireman’s lift over one shoulder, untangling the wire. Then Caracas carried the guard over to the bathtub and laid the body in.
He turned on the taps in the sink to hide any noise, then pulled down a heavy duffle bag from the hole above the toilet, and carefully dropped it in the corner of the bathtub.
With a small cleaning kit from the duffle bag he wiped up any obvious signs of blood, removed a nine-millimetre and tucked it into his back.
Perhaps he sensed some disturbance on the other side of the door, so Caracas turned on the shower and drew the shower curtain. He went up onto the toilet cistern and was through his space in the ceiling within a second. With the razor wire retracted and the marble-effect panel above the toilet back in place, the ceiling once again became flat and grey.
A shout, and then the door to the bathroom was carefully opened. One security guard poked his head into the sizeable room and then stepped forward to allow a second to look in. They scanned the whole area from floor to ceiling and the only thing that appeared obviously out of place was that the shower curtain was drawn. They could hear the shower running. Steam was quickly beginning to fill the large space and the two guards stepped forward into the bathroom.
One approached the shower curtain and drew it back to reveal water raining into a bathtub that contained a big, black duffle bag.
This guard leaned forward to see the body of his near-naked comrade slump in the corner of the triangular bathtub. Caracas dropped through a panel in the ceiling near the door and drove his knife through the back of the other guard, separating his top three vertebrae from the rest of his spine. At the same time a soft bang sounded as Caracas closed the bathroom door. The guard leaning into the shower spun as Caracas advanced on him and in one fluid move opene
d the guard’s throat with his knife.
Caracas quickly drew the shower curtain and lay down next to the other guards in his own bloody security uniform.
The door was opened by a fourth guard. It was difficult for her to see as there was now so much steam in the room. The guard stepped in with her gun in one hand, radio in the other, and made out the image of three dead people.
Her hesitation was all Caracas needed as he threw his knife without moving the rest of his body, and landed a killing blow. Then Caracas was on his feet and out of the bathroom in a flash, catching the dying guard whilst drawing the nine-millimetre from his back and carrying her so that the body covered Caracas’s head. He knew from his intel that these people were working in six-men teams, and after advancing into the suite he finished off the other two guards as they hesitated at the sight of one guard carrying another out of the bathroom.
Caracas grabbed his duffle bag from the bathtub and dropped it on the floor by the door before repeating the process of playing the dead guard by slumping against the wall in the corner of the room near the bed, closing his distinctive green eye and staring straight ahead with the other. The suite door opened and one man stepped into the room. He was about to ask the people in there what was going on when he suddenly realised he was looking at a huge junior suite with four dead bodies in it. He turned to shout and Caracas leaped forward and stabbed him in the back, then grabbed the duffle bag from the floor, slung it over his shoulder and propelled himself forward and out of the room into the hallway.
Three guards remained in the corridor, keeping watch. Caracas removed his gun as he stabbed the first in the sternum, but only managed to shoot the second one in the arm before the guy burst through the door into the conference room. Caracas shot the last guard through the neck, his suppressor partially muffling the shots, and ran past the conference room to the far door that led to another junior suite with a team of six guards inside.