Return of the Assassin (Assassin Series 3) (3 page)

Once inside, she waved at one of the largest booths, already occupied by a group that had been there for hours. Glasses were scattered across the table top along with half empty bottles of Grey Goose and Johnny Walker Blue. Two thermal ice buckets did duty on either corner. One of the girls lounging on the upholstered cushions returned her greeting, jumping up to exchange hugs with the new arrival as though she was a long lost sister.

The young woman hung up her phone and returned the embrace, then kissed all the others at the table before sliding her phone in the waist of her hip-hugger pants and gesturing at the vodka with a raised eyebrow. A young man dropped three ice cubes in a glass with a clinking flourish and poured three inches of vodka in before topping it off with some freshly squeezed orange juice. He stood and executed a small bow before handing it to her with a mock salute.

Draining half the glass in two swallows, she smiled, then downed the rest. One of the girls whispered in her ear, causing them both to explode in giggles. She proffered the now empty glass expectantly – an invitation to concoct another cocktail, more of an order than a suggestion.

She took her time with the second drink, talking animatedly with her friend as they moved in time to the music. By the time the glass was drained, her hips were swaying, and when Enrique Iglesias began crooning she grabbed her companion and pulled her, laughing, out of her seat. The suited men stood unobtrusively near the walls on either side of the booth as two more followed the girls to the dance floor and took their positions at the edge of the throng – eyes roving, never pausing.

Bodyguards were not unknown in higher-end Mexican clubs – a function of the ever-present danger of kidnapping or robbery.
Bacchanal
had its own security patrolling the interior, as well as discreet camera surveillance of most areas. It was as safe as clubs came, with only a single front entrance that was closely monitored. The men watching over the girl had been there numerous times and were more than passingly familiar with the precautions, yet were still on guard.

The leader of the team despised these nocturnal trips that she insisted on – part of her rebellious nature that ignored reality and created incessant headaches for him. But his job wasn’t to keep her locked up twenty-four hours a day – it was to keep her out of harm’s way, and he was very good at his job. Claudio had been a special forces lieutenant for a decade before moving to an elite team of security personnel considered the best of the best. Now, at thirty-eight, he was at the top of his game and ran operations for all secondary security.

He watched the dancers grinding lasciviously to the thundering bass and realized that he was old compared to them. Most of the girls were barely out of their teens. To them, he must have looked ancient – a different generation.

Claudio hated it when Maria had the whim to hit the town at the very last minute. But she was a wild one and loved the nightlife as much as she seemed to enjoy putting him through hell trying to keep her safe. She was stubborn as a burro, and there was no talking sense to her. He, her father, her mother…everyone had tried, and she routinely ignored their pleas of prudence. Nobody was going to tell her what to do, and she went out of her way to push the envelope to drive home the point. Tonight was just the latest in a string of ill-advised escapades that would keep Claudio up most of the night. Once she got her party on, she would go till dawn, or later, he knew from harsh experience.

Maria spun and threw her head back to laugh, her face animated by joy, her moves fueled by the surge of alcohol in her blood. The beat seemed to intensify as the song changed yet again, and Claudio lamented internally that the new breed of young females knew how to shake it in a manner that would have been illegal in his day. Part of him was jealous of the periphery of young men who were likely to sample their sweet wares before the evening’s end, and another part was angry at the decline of morality in the culture in general.

But mostly, he was bitter that he was having to stand in the club, in a suit, playing babysitter for a spoiled brat who put herself in danger for fun.

After a half hour of carousing on the dance floor, Maria abruptly stopped dancing and waved her friend back over to the table with her. They strutted tipsily, arm in arm, to the booth, where another vodka concoction awaited her. She took a few thirsty gulps, then set the glass down. Glancing around, she spotted Claudio and approached him, hips swaying provocatively as if aware of his ambivalent ruminations.

She looked up at him. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

Claudio grunted assent.

“Give me three minutes. I’ll come get you,” he responded. Scanning the crowd, he raised his cuff to his mouth and muttered into it.

Maria glared at him, impatient with this ludicrous formality, and debated going to the restroom without waiting for him, but then dismissed the idea as creating unnecessary problems. As much as she resented it, Claudio was just doing his job, and even though it amused her to torment him, she didn’t want to cause a scene.

She returned to the booth, took another swig of her screwdriver and waited, shouting a conversation over the music to the collected group.

Two men joined Claudio, and they made their way to the rear of the club, where they conducted a hasty discussion with one of the waitresses. Money changed hands, then she set down her tray on a nearby bar counter and led them to the bathrooms.

Several minutes later, a group of annoyed-looking women stalked from the back where they’d obviously been disrupted by Claudio, who then emerged and nodded to Maria, waiting at the booth. She set her cocktail down on the table and slid past her friend to join him. He darted his eyes in the direction of the restrooms. Maria walked the length of the long hallway, between walls painted black and lit with crimson-shaded lamps. Annoyed at all the precautions, she studiously ignored the two men stationed on either side of the door with an elaborately painted female devil on it and entered the now-deserted facilities to go about her business.

Nobody noticed the woman across the floor texting on her cell phone. Half the people in the club were texting someone, so there was nothing noteworthy about it.

Her message sent, she made her way to the exit, her involvement in the night finished.

~

Maria hated that if she wanted to go out somewhere it became a national crisis. While a relatively new experience for her, she’d already quickly decided the whole production was one she would have rather skipped. She missed the freedom that came from anonymity – from just being a normal person. And everyone made her feel so damned guilty if she just wanted to have a good time with her friends every now and then. What did they expect her to do? Sit in a plastic bubble reading a bible while life raced past her? She was only twenty-two, and there was a lot of living to do. Being a recluse wasn’t in the cards for her.

She considered her reflection in the mirror with approval. Her mother’s eyes stared back at her, deep and dark and brown, striking, as she’d been told many times since childhood. Maria had definitely gotten the good DNA in the family – her older brother, Emanuel, who she loved fiercely, shared her keen intellect, but took more after Papa than she did, and while he certainly wasn’t homely, he wouldn’t be gracing the pages of any fashion magazines.

Maria adjusted her satin top, admiring the swell of her breasts and the way the waist of the blouse cinched to highlight her flat stomach – and felt suddenly dizzy. She grabbed the polished black granite counter to steady herself but her legs lost their ability to support her.

The last thing she registered as she slumped to the floor was her puzzled reflection staring blankly back from the ornately-edged mirror.

~

Claudio saw the two sentries collapsed by the bathroom door a few moments after they’d hit the floor. He barked a command into his sleeve and then ran full speed towards the area, pistol drawn. Hesitating before he entered the hall, he took three deep breaths and held the third, and then moved to the door, hardly glancing at his downed men. His shoulder rammed the metal with a thud, but it was jammed shut. Seeing no lock, he slammed against it again, but it refused to budge.

His head pounded as he fought to hold his breath and then gave up, exhaling noisily as he jogged back to the restroom corridor entrance. Once back at the main room, he gasped for air while three of his men approached on the run.

“She’s in the bathroom, but the door isn’t opening. Don’t!” Claudio screamed as one of the men set off down the hall. “It’s got to be gas. Don’t go any farther unless you’re holding your breath.”

The man quickly backed away, unsure of how to proceed.

“On the count of three, take a deep breath, and then we’ll go in. One, two, THREE!” Claudio repeated his three breath maneuver, as he’d been taught in the military. They jogged to the door and threw themselves against it. The door moved a few inches. The air less polluted by now, they redoubled their efforts, and within a few seconds they were in, guns drawn, scanning the stalls.

The room was empty.

Maria was gone.

~

Miguel hoisted the inert woman and carried her on his shoulder out the back door of the club, taking care to lock the two deadbolts on the rear service exit. It would buy them a few minutes, maybe more, which was all they would need.

He’d already made the call, and the vehicle was waiting. He hastily loaded her unconscious form into the back seat of a Ford Expedition, handing her to the man inside, who pulled her roughly towards him as Miguel pushed her legs, folding them so the door would close. Satisfied she was secure, he swung open the passenger door, pulled his gas mask off and barked an order as he climbed in.

“Get the hell out of here. They’ll figure this out before we know it. Go!” Miguel yelled to the driver, who crunched the heavy truck in gear and roared off down the alley.

“How did it go?” the man in the rear seat asked as they bounced towards the connecting street.

“Perfect. The gas knocked the girl out almost instantly, and it must have taken care of the guards as well because I only heard the door being tried after a good forty seconds. I wedged it shut, but that won’t hold for long. I’ll feel better when–”

They swung onto the street and the driver stomped on the gas, but not before a black SUV came screeching around the corner from the front of the club, heading straight for them.

“Gun it!” Miguel screamed, before gesturing to the man in the rear, who handed him an assault rifle. He checked it quickly, rolled the passenger window down and leaned out with the weapon. The Suburban was gaining on them.

The Expedition’s huge motor strained as the driver expertly negotiated a hard left onto another street, momentarily taking the Suburban out of Miguel’s line of fire. Headlights blinded them as he honked the horn, the oncoming traffic swerving to avoid them as they plowed down the one way street in the wrong direction. The Suburban followed them onto the thoroughfare, grazing a taxi and sending a shower of sparks into the night air.

Miguel hastily sighted and squeezed the trigger – a staccato burst spat from the muzzle. He was gratified when he saw the front windshield shatter. He fired again, hoping to hit either the driver or the motor.

The SUV kept coming, and a figure hanging out of the passenger window returned fire, missing the Expedition by inches as the driver swerved evasively. Miguel fired again, and the black vehicle seemed to slow for a moment before it lost control and headed full speed at the curb. The front wheels struck the unforgiving concrete and the Suburban launched into the air, its driver side front wheel destroyed. It seemed to hover in slow motion as it spiraled off its axis and then slammed onto its side, sliding along the sidewalk for thirty yards before smashing into a store front.

Miguel nodded as he watched the collision and then pulled the rifle back in the truck and raised his window.

The driver let out a whoop and pounded the steering wheel in triumph. “Whoooo! How you like that,
marecon
?” the driver exclaimed as he made another hard turn onto a smaller street.

Miguel’s normally somber face cracked, just for a split second. The trace of a grin played around the corners of his mouth momentarily, then he regained his normally dour composure. “Two more blocks and we switch to the van. Hurry up. This whole district is going to be locked down within minutes,” he warned.

They pulled into another alley, where a figure in black was standing near a warehouse door. Upon seeing the Expedition, he spoke into his cell phone and the door swung open with a clatter. The SUV slowed and pulled into the building, next to the primered van from the prior night’s errand with the club custodian, whose keys had proved invaluable.

That had been the only wild card in the kidnap plan – that the club owner would miss the old man if he didn’t show up the next day for work. Miguel had bet that no alarms would be sounded, not after only one day. Workers routinely had accidents or emergencies, so it wouldn’t raise any eyebrows – at least, not until it wouldn’t matter anymore.

The men jumped out of the Ford and hurriedly transferred the inert girl to the van, piling in even as the engine growled to life. The Expedition was stolen, so they would leave it in the building, to be found whenever the landlord got around to wondering why the padlock had been cut off his vacant warehouse door.

They pulled onto the street and paused in front of the building while the remaining man closed the gate, glancing around before running to the vehicle. He hopped in and slammed the cargo door behind him.

The van pulled away, tires rumbling along the cobblestones as the distant sound of sirens pierced the relative tranquility of the Mexico City night.

A ceiling fan creaked slowly overhead, serving only to agitate the muggy heat in the small room. Maria moved her throbbing head and tentatively cracked an eye open. Sun streamed through the window, and she could make out ornate iron bars crisscrossing the aperture.