His specific task: enter the main building with Tommy “Shock and Awe” Varian, the explosive specialist. Several things would happen at precisely the same time. The power would be cut, the cartel’s trucks blown up, and all buildings, except the main house, torched. Tommy and Rafi would be in place inside. They had committed the floor plan of the large house to memory and knew the most likely bedroom to be occupied by Quintana and one or two of his whores.
Tommy would deploy flash-bang and smoke grenades, simultaneous with the outside blasts, to paralyze Quintana’s guards into a state of fear and confusion. Tommy also carried the remote trigger mechanism to set off the charges on the outbuildings at the perimeter.
If anything happened to tip off the bodyguards before Rafi and Tommy were in place, a gigantic snafu would ensue. To the last man they were prepared to die to prevent that. The complete operation should take ten minutes max. The goal was to get out clean and rendezvous with the chopper then the fishing boat with Quintana as prisoner, his center of operations destroyed.
* * *
On her fifth day in London, Simon, a manager of the retail shop, approached BD. A very handsome man, Simon was late twenties, tall, slender with a mop of blond hair and amber eyes. “Ms. James, I’d like to take you to dinner tonight. Afterward we could go dancing. You do dance, don’t you?”
Taken by surprise, BD struggled to form a quick reply. “Oh, Simon, I don’t know. I’ll only be here a few more days. I don’t see any point in starting anything. I’m just off a romance gone sour. But thank—”
He placed his hands on her shoulders. “BD, may I call you BD? Darling, I’m the last man in London interested in starting anything, as you say. I’m gay. I just happen to enjoy your company, I’m hungry, and my favorite stress reliever is dancing.”
Her face heated with an embarrassing blush. She held up a finger. “Stay right here.” She fast-walked to the back of the shop. Out of his sight she took a deep breath and got a cup of water from the cooler. Swallowing the ice-cold liquid she gasped and squeezed the bridge of her nose.
Millie, the cashier, approached her. “Is anything wrong, love? You’re flushed.”
She patted her chest. “No, no, I’m fine. I just made a huge faux pas. Simon asked me to dinner, and I assumed he was hitting on me. I’m so embarrassed. I had no idea he was…uh…”
Millie rolled her eyes. “Yes, it’s a perfectly enormous waste, isn’t it? That sublime body, those alluring golden eyes, that sexy, lopsided smile, that arse.” Her comment was punctuated by a mournful sigh.
BD laughed, at ease once again. “You have no idea how much better you made me feel. I’m going to dinner with him and afterward we’re going dancing.”
Grinning, Millie squeezed her arm. “Brilliant! He’s a marvelous dancer and one of my most trusted confidantes. Have him take you to the Thin Pig Pub. It’s loads of fun and the food is good.”
“Thanks for the tip. I’ll see you tomorrow.” BD returned to the front of the store. Simon stood gazing out the display window, hands in his pockets as he rocked on his heels.
Nice arse indeed.
He turned at her footsteps. “Don’t keep me in suspense. Is it a date?”
“Absolutely. How about the Thin Pig?”
He chuckled and opened the door, his hand on her back he led her out into the bitter cold summer evening. “Millie’s favorite place. You’ll like it. And better still it’s only a couple of blocks from the dance club.”
Cheeks stiff from the damp cold wind, they jogged the last half block to the pub, laughing at their discomfort. Once seated, Simon ordered a couple of hot toddies to take the chill off. He told BD the pub made them the same way as his Irish grandmother. “All one needs is boiling water, a thin slice of lemon, a tot of Jameson, and a spoonful of sugar.”
BD rubbed her hands together. “Sounds wonderful. I’m freezing and I’m starved. Tell me what’s good here. How’s the fish and chips?”
“The best.” He unwound the cashmere scarf from his neck. “Ah, the drinks, and none too soon.” He lifted his glass. “
Sláinte
!”
BD raised her glass. “Here’s lookin’ at you kid.” A small stab pierced her chest as she repeated Rafi’s favorite toast from the movie
Casablanca
.
Simon took a sip and studied her with a sad smile. “Ah, yes, the romance gone bad. You must tell me all about it.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
But before they finished dinner she’d poured out the whole story. Something about Simon encouraged her to open up. She swore later there’d been tears threatening his amber eyes, when he reached across the table and took her hand.
After dinner they went dancing. He held her close, and she rested her cheek on his shoulder. She appreciated what Millie meant when she claimed Simon as one of her best confidantes.
He held the taxi door for her at the entrance to the hotel, leaned forward, and kissed her cheek. “Life is beautiful. Have courage. Take risks.”
* * *
The Silverstone team parked the muddy farm trucks off the dirt road under the shelter of thick brush and trees. The men crept close to the target, hunkering down to wait for the drivers and helpers in the cartel trucks to clear the area.
Rafi and Tommy made a wide circle approach to the main house. No dogs were on the property, according to their local inside man, but Rafi was prepared to deal with them if necessary. He hoped the information was good. Rafi hated to take down dogs just because they were doing what they were trained for.
He and Tommy gained entry to the main house through a side door to the unlocked basement, as their informant had promised. So far, so good. Using night vision equipment, Tommy and Rafi crept through the inky darkness of the musty-smelling basement to the stairway leading to the kitchen above.
Rafi reached back and stopped Tommy with a hand on his chest. He faced Tommy and pointed at his own eyes with two fingers. Tommy acknowledged him with a curt nod. Rafi continued up the stairs alone. At the top he pushed the door with one tentative finger. The hinges screeched like a scalded cat. Rapid pulse throbbed in his throat. He dropped, froze. Nothing moved. No lights came on, but maybe the guys outside already cut the power.
He turned, raised a hand, and crept inside the room. The power was on. A glowing green number from the digital clock on the oven clicked to the next minute. The air reeked of cooking grease and spices. A quick visual sweep of the room confirmed it safe to proceed. He stared back into the dark basement and motioned.
Tommy crept up the stairs, avoiding steps that had creaked when Rafi went ahead of him. He reached Rafi’s side. Both men checked their watches. Rafi held up three fingers. They had three minutes to reach the second-floor hallway.
A large table surrounded by chairs next to the kitchen was the only furniture they encountered on the first floor. The rest of what they could see—dark and completely empty.
Running, silent as cats, they reached the bottom of the stairs. Tommy opened his shirt and freed a flash-bang grenade. The detonation was the signal to the men outside to blow the trucks and torch the compound buildings. He glanced at his watch and held up one finger.
Rafi drew the machine pistol from the holster under his left arm. Switching back to night vision, he peered down the hall. The third door on the left was under guard by two men who appeared to be dozing, but Rafi suspected they were seasoned guerrilla fighters, men Quintana trusted above all others. If they were asleep they’d be awake and alert the instant they detected sound or movement.
Tommy moved up to kneel beside Rafi. He signaled for Rafi to protect his ears. They both inserted ear protectors they could remove with one quick yank of a cord beneath their chins. The loud explosion would deafen and stun the guards at the door, but not kill them. Rafi nodded. It was time.
The outside explosions happened so quickly after Tommy threw the grenade that anyone not on the Silverstone squad would have thought them simultaneous. Outside, the sky lit with flames that illuminated the interior hallway. The two guards went down, momentarily unconscious. Rafi kicked their weapons out of reach. A woman screamed. Tommy busted open the locked door of the bedroom.
Quintana’s face registered shock. He scrambled for a gun on the nightstand. Tommy tossed another grenade past the side of the bed. The naked woman screamed again. Her hands to her ears, she rolled off the bed and scurried on the floor like a rat seeking a place to hide.
Disoriented, Quintana raised the gun. Wild shots spurted from the barrel of the weapon. Rafi threw himself across the bed. He shoved the barrel of his gun into Quintana’s ear. “Grab him! Get out now!”
No response. Rafi glanced over his shoulder. Tommy was down on his back. He moved, but couldn’t get up. Rafi had a split second to decide: capture Quintana alive or grab Tommy and get the hell out of the building while they were in one piece.
“Aw, shit!” Rafi pulled the trigger.
Dragging Tommy from the room, he fired a shot into the hand of a guard reaching for his gun. The man howled with pain and rolled into a protective ball. Fortunately the other bad guy was still out. Rafi lifted Tommy to his knees and over his shoulder. By the time they were out the front door the compound was in a state of pandemonium. A desperate fire fight could be heard from the back of the main house.
Carlos spotted Rafi carrying Tommy down the front steps in a crouch. “
Dónde Quintana?
”
“
Muerto!
”
One loud whistle blast stopped all firing. Carlos waited at the side of the clearing with Rafi and Tommy. He counted his men as they ran past him. Once all were out of danger he threw two smoke grenades to cover their retreat.
Carlos ran to Rafi. “I’ll take Varian. Are you sure Quintana is dead?”
Rafi transferred Tommy from his shoulder to Carlos’s. “Yes, I’m sure. Let’s get the hell out of here. It’s a mile to the frickin’ trucks.”
Utter shock and confusion at the compound had achieved the desired effect. Nobody followed them. They reached the farm trucks unscathed. Rafi carried Tommy the last quarter mile. He came to and groaned as Rafi tossed him in the dirty bed of one of the trucks. He jumped in beside him, the truck already in motion.
Crouching, Rafi slapped Tommy’s cheeks. “Varian! Where are you hit?” He shook him and smacked him again. “Tommy! Where are you hit?”
Tommy groaned. “Take it easy, will ya, Cruz? It’s my right leg and left foot.” He made a weak attempt to lift his leg.
Rafi tore the leg of the ragged pants and found the wound. Using a strip of fabric from the pants, he applied a pressure dressing. “It’s a flesh wound. No bone involved. I’ll check your foot.”
A police car came barreling down the dirt track toward them. It slowed to have a look at the two battered trucks. Rafi grinned and tipped his straw hat at the officer, the others waved.
The policeman leaned out of his window. “Where is that fire? Did you see anything?”
Rafi pushed out his bottom lip, a look of profound confusion on his face. He shrugged and answered in Spanish. “Fire? We don’t see no fire.” He looked around at his companions. They shrugged. “We’re going to work.”
The driver of the car stared at Rafi for a heart-stopping moment. The man twisted his face into a look of disgust and accelerated past them, throwing up a huge cloud of dirt and dust.
Carlos chuckled. “You make stupid look easy, Cruz.”
“Yeah, I’m lucky that way, asshole.”
He went back to work on Tommy, removed the shabby running shoe from his left foot, peeled off the bloody sock. “Quintana shot off your little toe. You won’t miss it, you lucky bastard. We rendezvous with the chopper in about five minutes. They’ll fix you right up.”
“Shit,” Tommy groaned, “I loved that toe.”
Chapter Eighteen
After completing paperwork on Joe’s medical flight to Afghanistan for the sponsoring charity, Joe and Rafi traded war stories in the hangar office.
Joe chuckled. “So Varian got his favorite toe shot off. At least he’s still around to complain. I’m amazed that’s the worst that happened.”
Rafi lounged in his chair with his fingers linked behind his head. “He’ll be out of commission for a while. Both legs got banged up. The mission went real slick. Easier than I expected. Carlos runs a clean operation. He asked me if I was willing to go with him again, should the occasion arise. I said, ‘Hell, yes.’ I put forty grand in the bank this time.”
Joe had a puzzled look on his face. “What about BD? She OK with it?”
The subject of BD was bound to come up with Joe. Rafi might as well tell him what happened and be done with it. “We had words. She walked out on me.” That should suffice.
No, Joe wanted more than that. “She walked out?” Joe shrugged, tilted his head, stared, and waited for Rafi to answer. “Speak to me, bud. What are you planning to do about it?”
“Nothing. She’s in London for a while. Then she’ll be staying in New York a few weeks.” He swung his legs off the desk. “I don’t intend to do anything. I’m done with her.”
Joe rolled his eyes and looked at the ceiling. “What the hell did you do, Cruz?”
Rafi waved his hand. “I made some remark about her job. Said it wasn’t a big deal. Something like that. She got insulted and made a big freakin’ federal case out of it.”
“You insulted her, but it’s her fault? Do you know how stupid that sounds? I can’t believe you’d let BD get away. What were you thinking?”
Rafi stood, shoved his hands in his pockets, and jingled keys. “Christ! I was trying to be sympathetic with her stressing out over that dingbat she works for. I thought I was helping.”
Joe stood and put a hand on Rafi’s shoulder. “OK, I gotta tell you something I learned the hard way. When women tell you their troubles, they want sympathy and understanding. The last thing they want is for us to offer opinions or solutions.”
Joe was right. Rafi knew it. “That’s only part of it. She told me she ended two pregnancies when she was with the asshole.”