Authors: Scott Caladon
“Sure Cally, will do,” replied her father, smiling at the memory of
Rab C. Nesbitt
being shown on English television channels yet needing English subtitles.
“Am I looking for anything in particular?” asked Carolyn.
“I'm tempted to say you're looking for a man, Carolyn, but that wouldn't be that helpful, I guess. I'll include a description in my mail though his appearance may have altered. He'll probably look like a tourist or at least not somebody obviously local. I'll give you height and estimated weight if that's any good. If you can send me the footage to my laptop, I'll know what I'm looking for,” said JJ.
“OK, Dad, I'll get on it and keep you posted. Love you,” said Carolyn.
“Love you too Princess and thanks.”
“That could be something or nothing,” said Gil. “Do you really think we'll be able to recognise Robson from satellite imagery even assuming he's treading a similar path in the next few days?”
“The corrosive stench of evil doesn't evaporate just because you change your appearance. I'd smell that bastard from 200 yards and through my laptop screen,” he added, unrealistically but with feeling.
JJ got himself and Gil a drink from the minibar, a white wine for Gil and a miniature bottle of a whiskey whose name he didn't recognise for him. They needed a good night's sleep to be alert and fit the next day so they would wind down now and retire after their nightcap. They had asked the Balmoral's concierge to rent them a car for a few days, something like a Suzuki Grand Vitara which was popular in the area and had enough space for their gear. They would select a discreet surveillance spot on the route that Robson had been on the day before just in case he was a creature of habit or that JJ's nasal powers weren't as superhero as he thought. Gil was tasked with checking out some local premises. Then they could wait and watch, hope that Neil Robson unwittingly revealed himself, or that Victor uncovered even more precise intel, or that Carolyn's imagery analysis was revealing. JJ knew they were close but there was no cigar, the fat lady hadn't sung, and he knew it wasn't all over. A good night's sleep was going to be hard to come by.
Gil slept well but JJ slept fitfully. They were both up and awake by 7.30am, dressed by 8am. Were it not for the fact that JJ was a Scottish man and Gil an Oriental American woman they looked like sartorial twins. JJ had on dark, olive green cargo pants, brown Gore-Tex boots, a black polo shirt and his MTM extreme watch, black case, black dial, orange hands and a ballistic Velcro strap. Gil had green combat pants and a black top, brown hiking boots and a G-shock Baby-G orange Casio on her left wrist. It was meant to be a warm day but they were in the middle of the rainy season and rain was forecast for the capital. They sat down to breakfast together, delivered on time by room service. JJ had scrambled eggs, toast and bacon that was so well done it was nearly black. Gil opted for more healthy fayre, smoked salmon, cream cheese and fresh fruit. They each had an orange juice and the coffee pot was steaming hot and most welcome. There wasn't much conversation at this point. Gil asked JJ if he had received any more intel from Victor or Carolyn. No was the answer.
After breakfast JJ and Gil checked their gear. Favour number two from Ethel was to provide JJ and Gil with official documentation that allowed them to stow their array of weapons on a scheduled flight from London to San Jose. JJ had taken his crossbow, Glock 19 and antique commando knife, a few flashbangs and some sticky foam. He also had a small plastic case, the subject of favour number one from Ethel and delivered via the criminal Babikov. Gil had her sniper's rifle, her SIG Sauer P229 and a backup Smith & Wesson model 386 pistol. They both had high intensity binoculars, speedcuffs, duct tape, and first aid equipment. They were good to go.
JJ and Gil went to the lobby of the Balmoral and collected the keys to their Grand Vitara, dark blue and in the hotel's underground car park. It was left hand drive but this didn't bother JJ who had driven many a left hooker in his racing days. They exited the car park and took the direct main route from their hotel to the southern perimeter of the Sabana National Park. It was a short journey. They parked up, hunkered down and began their day of surveillance.
It was mid-morning now and the watchers had perceived nothing of interest. There were no messages or images from Victor or Carolyn. This is boring and unproductive thought Gil. At least if you had to watch paint dry, it might smell nice. JJ did smell OK right enough and Gil was sure she did too but the previous renters of their jeep must have enjoyed many garlic-ridden takeaways because the pungent odour had not been totally eradicated.
“JJ, I'll nip out and get us a coffee. Surprisingly, I spotted a Starbucks back there, a couple of minutes' walk. I'll be back in a flash.”
“Sounds good, Gil. Double espresso macchiato extra dry if they do that here. Keep alert,” he replied.
Gil exited the jeep, crossed the main road and headed down the side street where she thought that she had glimpsed the iconic green and white mermaid sign. She was right. Costa Rica had only four Starbucks outlets, with two more planned for the end of the year, and Gil had indeed eyeballed one of them. She ordered JJ's requested drink and a tall latte for herself. She had a discreet scan around the café. No sign of anyone that may look like a foreign fugitive. Gil thought that Neil Robson may not even know what she looked like, but she was taking no chances. One fleeting moment of lost concentration in a Boston suburb had cost her a good leg. That wasn't happening again, for sure. Gil returned to the jeep without incident.
“Anything?” she enquired of JJ.
“Not a thing, Gil. We need some real time intel. I mean, what was I thinking? You could be at Sloane Square in London and I'd be a few hundred yards away at Markham Square, we'd never know each other was there. We're not going to bump into the prick, this could turn out to be a fool's errand with me as the prize plonker,” said JJ, venting his frustration. “Thanks for the coffee, Gil, it's beezer,” he added.
“No probs. Don't get too down JJ. We've only been here a couple of hours. It's unlikely that Robson is going to walk the same route at the same time every day. We need to be patient,” said Gil though knowing her friend well enough that patience wasn't an ingrained characteristic.
A couple more hours passed of nothing very much. It was close to lunchtime and the rain had started to fall making the visibility of nothing even more obscure. JJ had at least one hot sweat and needed to pee, which he did around the back of some blue wheelie bins at the rear of a Mexican restaurant. As with the North Korean mission, JJ had failed to bring the plethora of vitamins and supplements that were helping his battle with prostate cancer. He knew he wasn't going to die of it right here, right now but the killer disease needed attention and JJ was a bit too preoccupied with pressing matters to give the cancer the respect and beating it warranted. Just as a deep, black cloud of health angst was about to settle in, JJ's cell phone rang.
“JJ, it's Victor. He's there now. Right this minute,” said the hugely excited voice at the other end of the phone.
“What, Neil Robson? Where is he exactly?”
“Robert Nilsson, Neil Robson. He's using his Visa card right now at the tennis club. I was doing a routine hack, just to see if there was any more intel, and up popped a transaction in progress. I tell you it's happening now!”
JJ passed the phone to Gil, slammed the jeep into gear and took off, narrowly missing a motorbike rider as he sped out of the side street and onto the main road. The Costa Rica Tennis Club was definitely no more than five minutes' drive away. JJ and Gil were already at the south side of the park and the tennis club was less than half a mile away, directly south. The tennis club was dated, a throw back to the 1970s, but it had a pool, it was clean and you could eat there. JJ surmised that that must be what Robson was doing there, eating. It was raining hard now so outdoor tennis and outdoor swimming were probably off the cards. If Robson was paying the bill for lunch then he'd probably be leaving the club at any minute. JJ drove rapidly to a spot opposite the main entrance of the club. It was on a busy street and, thankfully, there were several cars already parked on the opposite side as the boulevard was very wide. Gil got out her binoculars and looked one way up the street and JJ the other. They did not see anyone that struck them as a likely candidate and maybe they would not. JJ checked his watch. It had taken him only three minutes to drive from their initial stakeout spot to here and they had been here for no more than two minutes. Was five minutes enough to complete your bill paying and exit the club wondered JJ? It might be and if it was Neil Robson had eluded him yet again.
“Anything?” JJ asked Gil who was still scouring the neighbourhood with her binoculars.
“Nothing,” she replied but kept on looking. JJ pulled out a clean, blue handkerchief from this left side trousers pocket to wipe away the beads of hormone and humidity induced sweat that had formed on his brow. He could barely bring himself to continue surveying the tennis club's entrance because his gut told him that Robson had already left. Fortunately, Gil relied less on gut and more on focussed observation.
“JJ, three o'clock, man in cream suit, umbrella and with a multi-coloured flousy attached to his left arm,” said Gil.
JJ looked through his binoculars. He could not see the man's face, hidden by a combination of dense rain and defending umbrella. He was about the right height and weight to be Neil Robson but that could apply to tens of thousands of men in this city. The cream suit, pink shirt and tan leather loafers smacked of foreigner though so this guy was in the frame, if not the definite article. JJ could go all economist and start blethering on about âon the one hand, on the other hand' but this was definitely an occasion for a crisp decision.
“OK, Gil. Let's follow him a little way. He looks to be on foot so I'll go slow and stop every now and then. If it's Robson he'll spot an obvious tail even if he is pissed as a newt and randy as a rabbit.”
“Fine,” replied Gil, trying to expel immediately the gross vision that JJ had installed. The cream-suited man and his intended pleasure for the day left the club and were headed in the direction of Avenida 16 and Avenida Campos. After a few yards, the man pushed the woman into a closed shop doorway. He disengaged his automatic umbrella and left it against the shop window. As he pressed the woman against the door, he had his left hand on her right breast, squeezing and fondling it. His right hand had raised the hem of her already short, pink, yellow and green floral dress and he was manoeuvring inside her pants. The woman did not look like she was enjoying the manoeuvres and tried to remove the man's right hand from inside her. He slapped her hard in the face, ripped her pants off, and went back to his handiwork.
JJ and Gil had stopped on the opposite side of the street. Distance wise, they were no more than twenty yards away. The man's face was no longer shielded by the umbrella and when he slapped the woman JJ was able to get a glimpse of the man's profile through his binoculars which magnified the features. It was Neil Robson. Shorter hair and a goatee beard but profile, height, weight and, above all, toad-like behaviour added up to the murderous villain. JJ rested his binoculars on his lap and lowered the window of his jeep. He raised his Winchester Stallion crossbow, set its reticle and aimed. Robson was less than half the distance away compared to the two North Korean checkpoint guards who had fallen foul of JJ's arrows. It was still raining, but less heavily than a few minutes previously. There were cars passing on either side of the road, but there were some gaps and JJ asked Gil to indicate when his line of fire was likely to be clear. She did, he fired.
The first arrow hit Neil Robson in the back of his left knee rupturing the poplital fossa, exactly where JJ had aimed. Robson gasped in pain and released his grip on the captive woman. She screamed once but saw her opportunity and ran off down the street. Around seven seconds had elapsed since JJ loosed the first arrow. Robson was on one knee, swivelling around to try to spot his attacker. Just as he caught a glimpse of JJ, the Scot had reloaded and fired again. This time the arrow hit Robson's right thigh. It didn't hurt as much as the first one but the pair of arrow shots rendered the fugitive temporarily immobile. After sending the second arrow, JJ engaged first gear and swung the jeep around, stopping right beside the wounded Robson. Gil got out of the jeep first and while Robson was mouthing off at JJ, she pistol whipped him around his head. JJ joined Gil in the shop doorway. Robson was semi-conscious and unable to fight back. Gil put duct tape over his mouth and bound his bleeding legs with it as well. JJ wrenched Robson's hands behind his back and secured them with speedcuffs. Gil opened the rear door of the jeep and they both carried Robson to the back and lobbed him in. Gil remained in the rear of the Vitara, her pistol out and pointing at Robson's head.
JJ drove off. The action in the shop doorway did not seem to have attracted much attention. It was raining, pedestrians were intent on keeping dry and had much of their peripheral vision obscured by umbrellas, hoods, newspapers over their heads. Passing motorists were concentrating on potholes and on the road ahead. The crossbow's rapid arrows were near silent so apart from Robson's sounds of pain and the escaped woman's single scream there was little to kick-start the concerned attention of passers-by.
JJ drove along Avenida 16 and onto Avenida San Martin, took a left, joined the Pedro Molina road and parked round the back of an empty warehouse block. Gil had done some property research and Metro Cuadrado Real Estate had several empty warehouses on their books. This one was off a quiet cul-de-sac, had a large industrial size elevator and huge windows on the top floor of five. According to the realtor there had not been much interest in this property. Times were tough in general but the Cuban owners did not want to reduce the rental costs. Viewings had been sparse with only one in two months. This was the place, JJ and Gil had concluded previously.