One Rough Man (18 page)

House
wasn’t the right word. This was a gigantic fortress-like compound protected by an eight-foot brick wall. All it needed was a moat with a drawbridge
.
The centerpiece was a three-story mansion fronted by a circular drive. Next to the main building was a one-story bungalow that looked like a residence or guesthouse. Adjacent to the guesthouse was some sort of warehouse or garage, with multiple vertical doors and several chimneys. All told, the compound inside the walled area was probably three hundred by five hundred meters, with several other outbuildings. Machete clearly had money.

I glanced at my watch, thinking I’d better start heading back before Jennifer got antsy. When I looked back up, I saw a man round the corner of the wall dressed like a modern-day ninja. I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. He looked like he had gone to Commandos Are Us and bought out the store. He was outfitted from head to toe in every conceivable type of black Velcro tactical gear, complete with a black balaclava hiding everything but his eyes. All of his equipment was state of the art, including the Heckler and Koch 416 rifle he had slung over his shoulder. The 416 had been developed jointly with H&K and U.S. Special Operations as a replacement to the M4 carbine, the shortened version of the M16 A2. Both fired 5.56mm, looked the same, and in fact, the H&K was designed the same to cut down on any learning curve for soldiers who were used to the ergonomics of the M4. It also allowed any components used on the M4 to directly transfer to the 416. The primary difference was that the 416 operated with a push rod piston instead of a gas tube like the M4, making it much more reliable. The weapon was fairly new and very expensive.

The 416 was outfitted much like the man, with every conceivable gadget attached to the rail systems, including an EOTech holosight and an AN/PEQ-15 laser attached to the rail system behind the front sight post. The PEQ-15 housed both an infrared and visible laser aiming module, and was a controlled export item from the United States.

This information alone told me a great deal about my adversary. On the downside, the fact that this guard in Guatemala had such exorbitant kit meant that his boss had serious money, serious contacts inside the arms world, and the intelligence to buy the best.
So much for the phone threats being a bluff
. On the plus side, the fact that the target looked like the Michelin man with all of that kit on told me that he wasn’t a professional.

Anyone who used such kit for a living found quickly that less was more. Attempting to climb buildings or enter narrow rooms with ten tons of accessories flopping around usually ended in catastrophic failure. I had learned early to pare down my kit to the absolute essentials, leaving the rest of the Velcro for the wannabes who did more showing off than fighting.
Like this loser.

I watched him as he continued walking down the wall and turned the corner out of sight. About ten seconds later, another guard rounded the corner to the south of the compound, opposite where the first guard had disappeared. Obviously, they maintained a roving foot patrol outside the residence and probably had a mounted patrol along the fence line.

I felt a split-second burst of fear as I realized I had been too hasty on my sensor analysis at the fence. Whoever was here had enough money to wire the entire jungle and could buy the expertise to monitor it. I then realized that if it had been wired, I would’ve already been caught. I decided not to test my theory and began moving as swiftly as I dared back down to the Jeep and Jennifer.

 

 

JAKE PULLED INTO THE PARKING LOT of the Casa Bonita Clara with a head of steam, hammering the brakes hard enough to cause a slight skid in the gravel. He had just finished talking to one of his team leaders and had discovered that the Casa Bonita hotel had been missed during the shift to the airport.
Because of incompetent idiots who couldn’t follow simple instructions.
The team had reported their location at the hotel, and the team leader had assumed they had gone inside and established contact. They hadn’t, and now he had a gap in the plan that might prove fatal. He felt like he was leading a bunch of children, forcing him to check and recheck everything to get the smallest task accomplished.

Walking to the front desk, he tapped his hand on the counter, waiting on the woman behind it to finish with a balding German complaining about his bill. Once he was gone, Jake addressed the woman.

“Hi. I’m looking for some friends of mine. They were supposed to arrive today, but I haven’t heard from them. I was wondering if you could look and see if they’ve checked in?”

The woman smiled warmly. “I’m sorry, I’m not allowed to reveal any information on our guests. If you’d like, you can leave me a message for them with your contact information, along with their name. I’ll ensure that they get it.”

Jake smiled back, attempting to be as friendly as the woman, but failing because his smile did nothing but bare his teeth, giving him all the warmth of a great white shark.

“Perhaps I wasn’t clear. The bloke who wants to find them is El Machete. I would hate to be the person who refused his request.”

The woman’s smile faded, replaced with a look of fear. She glanced around to see if her manager was in sight, then said, “What are their names?”

“Jennifer Cahill and a man.”

The woman tapped on the keyboard and said, “They’re here. Second floor, second room on the right. Room eight.” Visibly shaking, she said, “Please leave now.”

Jake grinned, thanked her, then went back to his SUV. He dialed Miguel’s number.

Miguel answered after the fourth ring. “What’ve you found? Please tell me you have some good news.”

“I have their location. I’m pulling in the teams and heading back to the compound. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

Miguel wasn’t satisfied with that answer. “Well, don’t make me beg. Where are they?”

“They’re staying in a hotel inside Zona Ten called the Casa Bonito Clara. It poses some additional challenges due to its small size, but nothing insurmountable.”

Miguel smiled for the first time in over twenty-four hours. “Good. Very, very good. I’m looking forward to meeting this Mr. Pike. Come on back. We’ll figure out how we’re going to skin this cat. Shouldn’t take long. Once we have the package, I want you on the road tomorrow looking for the temple.”

“Okay . . . Got it. We’re coming home now. See you in a few minutes.”

 

 

SITTING INSIDE THE LOANED CHEVY SUBURBAN, Bakr and Sayyidd heard the entire exchange. Bakr started the giant SUV and drove down the winding road toward the highway while Sayyidd booted up the M4 satellite phone to search for the hotel.

Sayyidd said, “You’re going to have to stop and give me five minutes before I can get the connection. This thing doesn’t work very well on the move.”

Entering the close-packed concrete landscape of Guatemala City proper, Bakr began to look for a place to pull over. Finding one, he waited while Sayyidd achieved a satellite signal. Seconds later, Sayyidd found the hotel’s Web site.

“I have it. We’re only minutes away. What do you want to do?”

J
ennifer and I crossed the lobby of the hotel and headed to the stairs. I had made it back to her and the Jeep without incident, although she was spitting mad. I had found her hiding in the bushes, apparently unsure if the racket I made while approaching wasn’t a bad guy or a jaguar. I had pulled a bush aside and found her staring up at me in fear, which had immediately turned into anger.

“You think you could give me some warning that it was you coming? What the fuck are we doing out here? Jesus Christ! I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”

“Hey, calm down. It was worth it. Nothing bad happened.”

She had continued on, and I had let her. I took the tongue-lashing, because she was right. That
was
a pretty shitty thing to do. I should have simply left her in the hotel room, like I was going to do now.

“I’ve got about forty-five minutes before I need to head out. You can do whatever you like, but I’d ask that you don’t leave the hotel until I get back. We’re getting close to wrapping this up, and I don’t want to have any hiccups.”

“Where’re you going tonight? Do you have an idea?”

“Not really, but there are always tourist markets around the big hotels. I’ll wander around a little bit until I find one that meets our needs. I want one that’s open enough to require a large amount of manpower to cover it and give us multiple options for escape, yet small enough for us to see the exchange people before they spot us.”

“I’d like to come with you.”

I paused, acting like I was considering it, then said, “It’d be better if you just waited here. I’m not going to be gone that long.”

“Are you trying to hide something? I’m getting a little sick of being stuck in the corner like a five-year-old. I might even be able to help you. Wouldn’t it be better for both of us to know what the site looks like in advance?”

“Look, I appreciate the offer, but I’m going alone. Just stay here.”

I walked to the door, now just wanting to get out of the room before she convinced me to let her come. I had my hand on the doorknob when she came back at me.

“Wait, I thought you said you had forty-five minutes before you had to leave. It’s only been about two, or was that a bunch of crap just to keep me thinking you had some sort of incredible plan?”

Man alive, she tries hard to piss me off.
“Look, I’m trying to save your uncle’s life. I’m not going to fight you on this. Just sit down. Please. I’ll be back soon.”

“Well, you won’t need the MP3 player for this, will you? Leave it here with me.”

“What, now you think I’m trying to fuck you over or something? Jesus,
you
asked
me
to come here. To help you. If I wanted to cut my own deal, I’d do it without sneaking around. How about a little trust?”

She threw her handbag onto the bed, “Okay, fine. I do trust you. So you won’t mind leaving the MP3, will you? Unless you plan on doing something with it while I’m sitting here twiddling my thumbs.”

She was right, there was no reason to keep the MP3, but there was no way I was going to admit that now. I left without another word. For whatever reason, my rage had yet to show itself, and I wanted to get out before that changed and I lost control.

Exiting the hotel, I wondered what brain disease had caused me to fly down here in the first place. All I had to look forward to was a murder rap when I got back home, no matter how this turned out.
What the hell am I doing? Who gives a shit about someone’s uncle?
I considered simply getting on a plane and going back to the U.S. I’d have to get Jennifer to buy the ticket, but I figured she’d do it. She clearly didn’t like me being in charge.

I flagged down one of the unregulated taxis that regularly cruised the city. I asked where I could take my girlfriend to see some sights downtown. The driver said he knew just the place, called the Plaza Mayor, and set out toward the historic district.

He let me out at an open air market and pointed toward a towering, ornate cathedral a few blocks away. After walking west, I came upon a large open parade field with a fountain in the center. It did look like a great tourist stop, but it sucked for an exchange. There weren’t any crowds to hide within, and it had a clear field of view from all directions. I stopped a woman and asked about the parade ground. The woman didn’t speak English, and shrugged apologetically.

Another person standing nearby taking pictures must have overheard me because he said, “You from the United States?”

I told him I was.

“Me too. This is the central plaza or Plaza Mayor in Guat talk. It really gets hopping on the weekends. I was here last Sunday and there must have been a thousand people around here, all out to have a good time. It’s the best time to be here. If today wasn’t Sunday, you’d see nothing at all.” The man was younger than me, with a four-day growth of beard, a stuffed backpack at his feet.

I moved on with a wave, acknowledging his help, silently giving thanks for Birkenstock-wearing, dope-smoking granola-eaters.
Quite possibly America’s number one export
. Crossing to the other side of the parade ground, past the large fountain in the center, I came upon a small Plexiglas monument containing a single flame burning from a hidden gas source. The inscription read,
“A los héroes anónimos de la paz”
—the anonymous heroes of peace—a monument to the peace accords of 1996 that ended the civil war here. If the place got as crowded as the backpacking college student said, I had found my exchange location.

I began to walk away from the monument, back toward the taxi stands. Moving through the packed streets full of vendors, I got sick of being accosted by every single one and turned into an alley as a shortcut.

I walked for thirty seconds before realizing it was a dead end. Turning back, I faced two local nationals moving in my direction. I pushed through them with a halfhearted excuse-me, getting a quick feeling that something wasn’t right by the way they stared at me. As soon as my back was to them, I was thumped hard on the head and hit in the kidney. Rolling with the blow I turned to face the pair, only to be tackled. They were uncoordinated, simply hitting and kicking me all over like in a schoolyard fight. I lashed out with a backfist and connected with one of them. He rolled off and shouted at his friend. I turned my attention to the other man on top of me, preparing to wrap my legs around the man’s waist in a guard mount that would prevent him from pinning me down and allow me to finish the fight. Before I could do it, his friend jerked him off of me, and both ran back down the alley.

I stayed still for a few seconds to catch my breath, then laughed at how easy it had been for a couple of local pickpockets to take me down. As I sat up, it dawned on me that the first man had shouted to his friend in Arabic. I couldn’t speak the language but had listened to it almost more than English in the past few years, and had no doubt that’s what I heard.
What the hell? Why would a couple of rag-head toughs be running around Guatemala?