Devil's Dance (Trackdown Book 1)

by Michael A. Black

  Zerbe was already pushing through the doors. Wolf glanced at McNamara, who was right behind him. He wondered if Mac felt as uncertain about this as he did. But he also knew that once they’d gotten on the plane and landed down here that they’d reached the point of no return. They had to see this thing through, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t abort, if necessary. Wolf had no intention of ending up in a Mexican jail waiting for some law firm in the U.S. to get them out. But hopefully it wouldn’t come to that.

  He thought about Kasey’s last words to him: You’d better not let anything happen to my father.

  Wolf had no intention of letting that happen to either of them, if he could help it. But the added responsibility of watching both of their backs and being without any weapons and a known support system felt like an unwelcome load of free weights in his backpack. At least the hotel looked first class.

  He entered the first open, triangular space of the revolving door and pushed the shiny brass handrail. As the door rotated forward it was like going from the oven into the refrigerator. The air-conditioning embraced him like an ice shower and he immediately felt the cooling sensation on his skin. It was a far cry from some tent or Quonset hut on the far side of the globe. The floor was red marble tiles which led up to a long, shiny desk that shone like black onyx. Huge pots on either side of it sported pointed, cactus-like plants, and the wall behind the desk was a pale green with bright blue oval housing scripted yellow letters spelling out the hotel’s name.

  Behind the desk a pretty woman in a black business suit greeted them in perfect English. Zerbe went to the elevators stood off to the side smoking.

  So much for a smoke-free environment, Wolf thought.

  After showing their ID’s and presenting the credit card that Reynolds had given them, the woman tapped some keys on her computer and then gave them each a key card wrapped in a small cardboard folder. José and Paco came through the doors towing the suitcase and the backpack. They made a show of placing the items on a hotel cart and José pushed it toward them, stopping a respectful distance away. Paco stood by the door.

  “You can obtain some pesos from the ATM machine over there,” the woman said.

  McNamara’s brow creased.

  “For the tip,” she said.

  “Oh, okay,” McNamara said. “But, ah, maybe you can show me how to use it? I’m kind of technically challenged.”

  The woman smiled and said, “But of course.”

  She moved from behind the desk and Wolf saw Mac immediately checking out her legs in the tight skirt. He glanced at Wolf and winked.

  Technically challenged, my ass, Wolf thought. He just wants to check out hers.

  Wolf strolled over to Zerbe who was extinguishing his cigarette in a sand-filled metallic ashtray. There were maybe half a dozen butts sticking out of the mound of white granules. Zerbe reached in his pocket and took out his cigarette pack again.

  “Would you mind not smoking?” Wolf said. “It’s giving me a headache.”

  The heavyset detective was still wearing his sunglasses, so Wolf couldn’t see his eyes, but the twitch of his face and tightening around the mouth told the tale as he slipped the pack of smokes back into his shirt pocket with a quick movement. He turned and jabbed the elevator button.

  “What room you guys in?” he asked.

  Wolf looked at the cardboard folder. “Seven-nineteen.”

  “Okay, I’m in six-oh-eight. Call me when you get settled in. I’ll get my stuff out of the safe in my room and be there shortly.”

  Wolf nodded and the elevator doors opened. McNamara’s laughter carried across the lobby and Wolf saw that he was still at the ATM with the pretty desk clerk. The two Mexicans stood there with the luggage cart. Zerbe got into the elevator and the doors slid closed.

  Wolf wasn’t sorry to see the creepy PI depart. There was a lot not to like about the guy: his cigarette smoking, his shifty appearance, his body odor …

  And anybody who wears sunglasses inside, Wolf thought, either thinks they’re a movie star or is hiding something.

  Presently, McNamara sauntered over after giving the two Mexicans a handful of pesos each.

  “How much did you give them?” Wolf asked.

  “Aw, hell, I don’t know. It looked like enough, judging from the smiles they both had.” McNamara shrugged. “What does it matter anyway? I put it on that special credit card. We’re not paying that bill.”

  Wolf wasn’t so sure that a bill wouldn’t be forthcoming down the line, one way or another. He pressed the button. The two Mexicans had been in conversation by the lobby doors, and then when the elevator doors opened José pushed the cart toward them. Paco turned and left.

  “Esperan, por favor. I take it up to your room, señores,” José said, a glint of white teeth showing amongst his unkempt, beardy face.

  Wolf acknowledged him in Spanish.

  The Mexican’s smile broadened. “Ah, you espeak Spanish, eh?”

  “Pequito,” Wolf said, not wanting to reveal the extent of his fluency. It was always better to let them think you knew less, rather than more, at least until you knew all the players and what their positions were. And Wolf wasn’t sure exactly where this guy fit in.

  Seven-nineteen was almost adjacent to the elevators. The cart rolled easily over the plush, gray carpeting, and their room turned out to be equally elegant, except for a lingering odor of cigarette smoke mixed with disinfectant. It had a spacious anteroom with a chair, a sofa, fairly large table and a flat screen TV. A wicker basket full of fruit and bottled water sat in the middle of the table. A refrigerator was next to a bureau, upon which sat a coffee maker and a glass cabinet with small bottled alcohol, soft drinks, and candy bars. There was a small hallway off of which was the black marble walled bathroom, complete with a walk-in moon shower with translucent walls, a fancy toilet, and a sink and cabinet that extended up from the floor. Wolf glanced at his reflection in the mirror as he carried his backpack and Mac’s suitcase into the bedroom section. It had two full-sized king beds, two dressers, a desk, a TV, and another set of chairs. McNamara trailed behind him and emitted a low whistle.

  “Almost as good as Ms. Dolly’s room at the Shamrock,” he said.

  José came prancing into the room and Wolf shot him a wary stare.

  The reedy Mexican raised his hands and smiled.

  “I take de cart back down, den I wait until et es time to come back.”

  “Come back for what?” McNamara said.

  “Zerbe say you want to talk about de plan,” José said.

  Wolf wondered how many other people were in on this plan as the little man scurried out the door. He turned and started to voice his concern when McNamara’s loud voice cut him off.

  “Man, would you take a look at this bathroom? Look at that shower. I almost want to go find me a girl and put her in there so I can watch her through that glass. Can’t wait to try it out.”

  He stepped inside the bathroom and at the same time he motioned for Wolf to follow him. McNamara opened the shower door, turned on the water full force and stood next to the steady flow. He gestured again for Wolf to come closer.

  “I’m gonna check out both rooms for bugs,” McNamara whispered, holding up his smart phone.

  Wolf nodded. He hadn’t even thought about the possibility, but it made sense. He’d had an uneasy feeling since first hearing about this op and was glad that Mac seemed to be sharing in that wariness.

  Leaving the shower running, McNamara stepped out, activating the app on his smart phone. Wolf watched as his friend went around each room with assiduous care, monitoring the screen on his phone and ducking down to glance under tables and lamps. Wolf did his part by joining in and picking up various pieces of furniture. He also scanned the picture frames, vases, and other accoutrements for any possible micro cameras. After a thorough search taking the better part of fifteen minutes, they’d found nothing out of the ordinary. McNamara went back in the bathroom and shut off the water.

  �
�Well,” he said. “At least we know now that Big Brother ain’t listening in.”

  “Where’d you get that bug tracer?”

  “Kasey. She’s up on all the latest computer gadgets and is always ordering them and setting them up for me.” He held up his smart phone. “Took me a while to get used to using this thing, but it kinda makes me feel like James Bond.”

  “Pretty good for a guy who’s so technically challenged he needs help using an ATM machine.”

  McNamara smiled and shook his head. “Yeah, that little gal’s muy lindo, ain’t she? I wouldn’t mind sticking around here a couple of days after we’ve finished and taking her out to dinner.”

  “Well, remember, it’s linda, for her,” Wolf said. “And if you do, don’t drink the water.”

  He went to the phone and dialed the front desk. When the girl answered, he requested to be put through to Mr. Zerbe’s room. The PI answered after three rings.

  “You ready for that meeting?” Wolf asked.

  “Yeah. Give me a couple minutes and I’ll be up there.”

  His words had a slight slur and Wolf wondered if the PI had been sampling from his room’s little courtesy bar. So far, despite the first-class accommodations and front money, this operation had a lot of less-than-impressive players. It was like finding a brocade of corrosion under the hood of your new car. The sooner they got this one done and out of here, the better. He wondered if Mac felt the same way.

  “Sounds like he’s had a couple from his mini-bar,” Wolf said after hanging up the phone.

  “Shit,” McNamara said. “I hope we didn’t sign on with a bunch of drinkers and dopers.”

  “Dopers?”

  McNamara’s face twisted into a half-smile. “My first tour, back before I was Special Forces, I was with an infantry company. They dropped a bunch of us in Indian Country to set up a base camp. I was green and scared. Turned out that about half of the company was dopers, going out to smoke that shit out on patrol instead of beating the bush looking for Charlie.”

  Wolf shook his head in disgust. He’d experienced some similar disappointing things during his time in the military, but not to the extent that Mac had several decades before.

  “One night the VC hit us,” McNamara said. “I was on watch. Looked through my starlight and saw them coming like a human tsunami. From all sides. Half of them idiot dopers had been smoking their dope instead of watching their posts. They were incapable of fighting, at least not effectively.”

  “Shit,” said Wolf. “What happened?”

  “We got overrun. Lost a shit-ton of men, but we managed to hold them off. The LT called in a couple artillery strikes on our own position. By the time the Cobra gunships came in, the pilots barking like dogs, and using them M-Sixties, it was pretty much over with. I made up my mind never to trust another doper, be it pot, drugs, or booze.”

  “Good words to live by.”

  McNamara’s smile was wistful. “I was a sixteen-year-old enlistee. Lied about my age. Got me a couple of medals, and re-upped on the condition that I could go to jump school. Then went on to ranger school, then Special Forces. Got my Green Beret and went back.” He sighed. “Stayed in way longer than I probably should have. Ended up costing me both my marriages, and a lot more.”

  Wolf felt the pain of Mac’s loneliness. “You and Kasey seem close.”

  McNamara sighed and seemed ready to say something else when a knock at the door interrupted. McNamara strode over to open it, but Wolf couldn’t help but notice his friend’s quick brushing at his eyes as he moved past him.

  “It’s me,” a familiar voice said through the door.

  McNamara checked and then opened the door.

  Zerbe stood there minus the hat and white sport coat, but still wearing the sunglasses. He was holding a large manila envelope. A cigarette dangled from his lips.

  “Anybody ever told you that you smoke too much?” McNamara said.

  The overweight PI stepped inside and took a long drag on his smoke. Exhaling, he took the cigarette out of his mouth and held it up.

  “Got an ashtray?”

  Wolf saw a ceramic dish on the bureau and handed it to Zerbe. He crushed out his cigarette and set the ashtray down. Taking out his burner phone, he punched in a number. After a few seconds the other party apparently answered and Zerbe muttered, “Come on up. Seven-nineteen.”

  He hung up and went to the table, opening the flap of the envelope as he plopped down in one of the chairs. “José’s on his way.”

  “We need him on this part?” Wolf asked.

  Zerbe turned toward him, saying nothing.

  Wolf tried to read the man’s expression, but the sunglasses were offsetting. Upon closer inspection they now appeared to be prescription lenses.

  “How much you know about Accondras?” Zerbe asked.

  “Not much,” Wolf said. “We were told you would meet us down here and bring us up to speed.”

  “Well, then,” Zerbe said. “Let me do that.”

  He removed a sheaf of papers from the envelope and spread them out on the tabletop.

  A quick knock echoed from the door. Wolf stepped over to it and looked through the peep hole. The diminutive Mexican was on the other side, and he too was smoking.

  After opening the door, Wolf nodded to José. As the smaller man smiled, Wolf plucked the smoke from José’s lips and carried it to the ashtray.

  “No fume, eh?” José said.

  Wolf crushed out the butt and McNamara pulled out the chair opposite Zerbe. José plopped down on the sofa and crossed his legs. Wolf remained standing but moved closer to the table.

  “Let’s get to it,” McNamara said.

  Zerbe placed a large, 8x11 photograph of a man’s face on the center of the table.

  “This,” Zerbe said, “is Thomas Accondras.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Cancun, Mexico

  Wolf felt the sweat running down his sides underneath his loose fitting BDU blouse as he sat wedged next to the window in the rear seat of the microbus. McNamara was next to him and José was kneeling on the floor between the front and rear seats. Paco was driving, and Zerbe was in the front passenger seat. The combination of the heavyset PI’s oppressive body odor mixed with that of both Paco and José, made for a very odiferous ride. Wolf couldn’t wait for it to be over but reflected that in his time he’d smelled worse. It was nothing compared to a stack of dead bodies in the desert heat or a several people torn open by an IED. But the close proximity of the diminutive José was unsettling. He would constantly place his hand on Wolf’s knee as he leaned toward the window and pointed out various landmarks and people.

  “Mira,” he said. “Dat is one of de armed guards. Dey carry machine guns and let no one into de Palacios del Oros.”

  Palacios del Oros thought Wolf. Golden Palaces.

  As Zerbe had described it, the place was a well-guarded subdivision housing rich foreigners who’d purchased ocean side property in Mexico. A solid brick checkpoint shack sat in the center of a cobblestone private road. Wrought-iron gates were suspended from a twelve-foot brick wall that seemed to extend along the roadway and into the distance, a coil of concertina wire along the top. Wolf caught a glimpse of the houses beyond the gates and saw that they did resemble small palaces.

  “On de beach side,” José continued, “dey carry machine guns, también.”

  Wolf pushed the little man’s hand away as he repositioned himself. The air was barely breathable, and the air-conditioning was practically nonexistent.

  “No me toca,” he said. Don’t touch me.

  José snorted a laugh. “Lo siento, pero no me piensa que soy un cundango.”

  Wolf wasn’t familiar with that word. “Qué?”

  “Cundango,” José said with a sly look. “You know … queer.”

  “What the hell are you two talking about?” McNamara said.

  Wolf realized he’d lapsed and revealed to José and the other two that he was more fluent in Spanish than he had f
irst let on.

  Bad tactical move, he thought. Never show your cards until the hand’s over.

  “Hey, Zerbe,” he said. “Either crack a damn window or toss the butt. It’s getting kinda nauseous back here.”

  If the PI heard him, he made no indication.

  McNamara reached forward and clapped him on the shoulder.

  “That goes double for me, pard,” McNamara said. “I got a low tolerance level for smokers of all kinds.”

  Once again Zerbe gave no reply, but this time stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, which was overflowing. Paco glanced at him with a questioning look. He had a cigarette dangling from his lips as well.

  “Yeah,” McNamara said. “You too, amigo.”

  Zerbe grunted something and Paco rolled down his window and tossed out his cigarette.

  “So as you can see,” Zerbe said, with a tone of pedantry lacing through his voice. “Trying to get inside that place to grab the son of a bitch is pretty much out of the question.”

  “So we gotta wait till he leaves the compound,” McNamara said. “Any idea when that might be?”

  “As a matter of fact,” Zerbe said, turning in his seat and grinning. “I do. Tonight.”

  “Tonight?” The space between McNamara’s eyebrows squeezed into twin horizontal lines. “We got to move on this tonight?”

  “That’s correct,” Zerbe said.

  McNamara was silent for a few seconds as he glanced at Wolf.

  “That Reynolds fella told us we’d have a few days to scope things out,” McNamara said.

  “Plans change.” Zerbe lifted his hands in a fleeting gesture. “We’re on a tight timetable and the window of opportunity is very limited. If we don’t move tonight, the opportunity could be lost.”

  “And if we move too soon,” McNamara said, “without a good, solid ops plan, a lot more could be lost. Namely, us.”

  “Listen,” Zerbe said. “I’ve been down here sitting on this guy for the better part of two weeks. Believe me, we’re not going to get another chance like this. I’ve got it all worked out. Nothing can go wrong.”