The Last Operation (The Remnants of War Series, Book 1) (10 page)

"Oh shit," said Cruz, his bushy mustache decorated with tortilla crumbs from the recent meal.

"It's early.
El padrone
will still be going strong."

Sanchez nodded. He was a tall thin man with deceptively strong arms. He was suddenly worried. Miguel Aquilino's cocaine-fueled rages were legendary and much feared for their deadly unpredictability. A few months ago he had shot one of the guards in the temple when the man had winced and hesitated in removing a young
Campesino
girl's body that Miguel had battered to death with a ball peen hammer. Now Miguel wanted them upstairs, in his apartment.

Sanchez and Cruz entered the apartment slowly, cautiously. Miguel Aquilino sat with his head back on a leather easy chair in a dim corner of the room. His thin mustache gleamed with a few white flecks, the long scar white in the brown face. His voice was gravelly and slurred. A half empty bottle of Tequila lay on the table next to him. An empty bottle of Dom Perignon was on the floor and a small pile of white powder laid heaped on one corner of the glass-covered bar.

"You take this
puta
, this insolent bitch," he said, pointing to the rolled up area carpet in the middle of the room, "you will drop her at the garbage dump on the North Road at the edge of town. Now listen carefully you fucking
maricones
, I don't want her touched, I don't want her body unwrapped. I want the pigs who brought her to be the first to see her, to see what I have done to the insolent
puta.
"

Sanchez and Cruz nodded their heads, making small noises of affirmation. This was a dangerous time. They hastened to pick up the rolled up carpet, one on each end.

"You will leave her under the trees by the great rock at the entrance to the dump. If she is disturbed I will cut your cojones off myself, you will know the pain this blonde pig has suffered."

Sanchez and Cruz left the apartment carrying the carpet wrapped corpse. They went through the great room into the hallway when Diego Durand stepped in front of them. He was a slight man with horned rim glasses and the appearance of a greasy accountant.

"Where are you going with that? What is in there?"

"Uh, it is a body, Senor Durand. We, uh, are taking it outside, to where Senor Aquilino instructed us."

"That Godamned Miguel is at it again, He is out of control. Put that down and open it. I want to see what he has done now."

Chapter 13

Matt Kelly released the Remington and laid it by her side, loaded and ready. There was no safety. She believed a sniper was better off without the safety. You just kept your finger away from the trigger until you were ready to fire. That's all. On her other side, the three cylinders had also been released and arranged for easy reach. The cylinders were extended with bar sights raised. The trigger mechanisms were pulled out of their recesses and locked into firing position. Matt was ready.

* * *

Six miles away and at the edge of the North Road, five hundred yards from the dump, Master Sergeant Roland Fournier Washington waited in Richard Daniel's rented Land Rover.

At the edge of the dump, Carlos and Richard Daniels also waited. At this point, it was all up to Kurt Rhineman.

* * *

Sanchez and Cruz put down the rolled up carpet. Drops of nervous sweat dripped down their foreheads in spite of the blasts of cold air from the compound's central air conditioning.

"Senor Durand, Miguel told us not to open..."

"I don't care what that bastard says, open that carpet."

Cruz pulled out a straight edged razor. His hand shook as he squatted to cut the tape and cords binding the carpet. He was about to start when Hector Durand walked into the room.

"What are you doing my brother? Are you taking a sudden interest in Miguel's personal activities?" said Hector, his face amused as he looked at his brother.

"That psychotic bastard is getting worse. He's out of control. Sooner or later he will draw attention to us, to the point where the authorities will have no choice. Even we won't be able to buy them off."

Hector laughed. "I doubt that my brother. But you are right. I will talk to Miguel."

He turned to Sanchez and Cruz. "Do whatever Miguel told you to do with that. I don't think we want to see his handiwork."

The two men took the rolled up carpet and placed it in the back of a new white four-wheel drive, twin seat Dodge Durango. They got in the truck and drove out, past the first guard gate to the second one. One of the guards waived as they opened the ferro-cement gate and the truck went out toward the dump.

They turned off onto the North Road and drove the two kilometers to the dump. They parked at the deserted entrance under the trees by the large rocks where Miguel had told them to leave the body. The night was cloudy and the only illumination came from the headlights of the Durango. The halogen beams cast narrow swaths of brilliant light surrounded by ebony shadows as the two men pulled out the corpse wrapped in its carpet shroud and carried it just to the side of the headlamp beams.

They never saw the vaporous shadows that approached them. They died quickly under Daniels' garrote and Carlos' knife.

Daniels and Carlos put on the dead men's clothes. With Carlos' mustache and their hats pulled low they should be able to pass through the gates, thought Daniels. If not, well then the shooting party would begin. Right now though, timing was essential. There was twenty-two minutes left to return to the compound in the Durango. The timing had been worked out and rehearsed so Kurt Rhineman should be stepping outside with the two hostages just as they pulled up the front of the mansion. They were on schedule with no time to waste.

Carlos got in the driver's side of the Durango. With his bushy mustache he had a superficial resemblance to the dead man he replaced. His Spanish was also clear and regional unlike Daniels'. Carlos turned the key, the engine barely growled as the headlights dimmed. The battery was dead.

* * *

Kurt Rhineman left Miguel's apartment. He wore Miguel's favorite red bandanna, lower to his eyes then the dead man usually wore it. He carried Miguel's nickel-plated Glock nine millimeter automatic in a leather holster at his waist. Kurt made his way down the long hall toward the rear stairs. Days of practice with the mock up at Langley had made him familiar with the layout of the sprawling mansion. The rear stairs were smaller, less luxurious then the front and led to a circular hall from which fanned out several more doors. One of them led to the basement storage rooms. He passed two guards and a housekeeper. They moved furtively away, avoiding his eyes as he seemed to stumble and lurch like a man in the throes of a drug binge.

He went down the narrow stone steps to the basement and opened the door to the room preceding the chamber where the captives should be held. Half a dozen caged bulbs mounted on the walls illuminated in stark white the man sitting at the table. Heavy, with the look of muscular strength covered with flab, the man rose. His movements were smooth and graceful for a large man.

"Senor Aquilino,
buenos tardes.
"

"Open the door. I have new questions to ask the
gringos
pigs."

The guard didn't reply, didn't move. He stared steadily as Rhineman approached. Under the glaring white lights, every detail of Rhineman/Aquilino stood in stark relief. The guard reached under the table, grasped the MAC 10 automatic pistol and swung it toward Rhineman. He managed a wild four round burst before Rhineman could bring the Glock up and put two rounds into the guard. The man fell back against the table, his chest exploding in gouts of blood, the table and chair upturning, stone walls splattered in crimson.

Rhineman stumbled, fell, got up again. The volley from the guard's MAC-10 had missed entirely but one bullet had ricocheted, going through the fleshy part of Rhineman's tight. Mercifully, the underground location and thick masonry had absorbed the sound of gunplay.

Rhineman limped to the dead guard and pulled the key ring from his belt. He quickly tried each key. None would fit. The guards weren't given the keys. Rhineman thought, shit, I fucked up, its probably in Miguel's apartment, should have looked Godammit. He stared at the thick oak door with steel reinforced bars. Not a chance of busting that he thought. The lock itself was a steel affair built into the door. It would take explosives to break up. There was no choice. He would have to return to Miguel's apartment and find the key.

* * *

Richard Daniels ran in the darkness, aware of the narrow path by instinctive feel and even more aware of the passage of time. He reached the open spot shielded by bushes where they had left their vehicle, a battered Jeep Wagoneer. Daniels jumped in, started the vehicle and drove it by the dim glow of its parking lights to the Durango at the entrance of the dump. Carlos rapidly hooked up the jumper cables while Daniels held a pencil light. The Durango's engine started immediately. They jumped in and headed down the North Road toward the compound.

Chapter 14

Kurt Rhineman headed up the stairs to Miguel's apartment. The trick, he thought, is to move rapidly without attracting attention or close scrutiny. He wasn't overly concerned about the people remaining in the house. Perhaps two or three guards and they would be asleep, off duty at this time. No, the big worry was the smaller house some fifty yards off. That house was more like a barracks and held about thirty men. They were poorly trained but would overwhelm the small team by sheer numbers alone. For the moment at least all was quiet in the mansion. The gunshots in the basement had been muffled by the thick stonewalls.

He made it back to Miguel's apartment and searched frantically until he found a silver replica of a horned devil with a looped tail and a number of keys attached in the loop. He ran back downstairs and to the lower basement. One of the keys fit and opened the door. He stepped inside.

* * *

Richard Daniels slumped down in the seat and pulled the wide brim of the
campesino
hat over his eyes as they approached the guarded gate. Carlos gave a lazy wave and turned as if saying something to Daniel on the passenger's seat next to him. Daniels nodded his head without raising the hat. The ferro-cement gate swung open on its motorized track. Carlos headed the Durango down the mile-long road toward the second guard post.

* * *

Rhineman immediately recognized the man sitting on the floor. Pale and drawn, scraggly beard flecked with dried blood, James LeCount was chained to the cot that in turn was bolted into the concrete floor. The chain gave him just enough room to sit on the floor or lie down on the cot. He was on the floor because the cot held Oscar "Loony" Velez. The younger man's face was pale and his eyes open and listless. Oscar's left leg was a bloody swollen mess at the knee. LeCount had torn the pant leg and applied a tourniquet just above the joint.

Rhineman stopped three feet from the chained men and squatted so their heads were level. LeCount's eyes opened wide as he realized he was facing a parody of Miguel Aquilino and not the real thing.

"I'm an operative, part of a team getting you both out of here. How bad is he?" said Rhineman pointing toward Oscar's leg.

"Shit, you're just in time," said LeCount, "They get more pissed off every day. That sadistic fucker Aquilino shot him in the kneecap yesterday." He paused and looked at Rhineman.