Terror: Zeb Carter Series, Book 4 Page 6

  ‘Eight rooms on each floor,’ Meghan drew their attention to the hotel’s layout. ‘Valdez usually takes over the eleventh floor that has one large suite and three smaller ones. He occupies the big one, his hangers-on, the others.’

  Driveway, basement parking, swimming pool, dining room, mirrored glass exterior, the hotel had everything expected of its star-rating.

  ‘Head of security is ex-Federales, Jorge Rameses.’ A bald-headed man’s picture came up. ‘Competent. He has an eight-man team and he also supervises a three-person electronic security team. CCTV cameras, motion sensors, drone checks, yeah, they have those birds loop around the hotel periodically…all those are under Rameses.’

  ‘I’m guessing we can’t just walk in, tap Valdez on the shoulder and ask him our questions.’

  Meghan’s withering glance would have embarrassed most people. Roger grinned and winked at her.

  ‘Our Gulfstream will arrive at the airport in the morning. New tail numbers on it, new registration-’

  ‘You can do that?’ Chloe asked, surprised. ‘Isn’t that illegal.’

  ‘We can do anything.’ Just the faintest trace of smugness on Beth’s face. ‘Records will show that our craft belongs to an oil company which has interests in Mexico. That firm has several such airplanes and its presence will not raise any questions.’

  ‘Security with him?’

  ‘He has a twelve-man team accompanying him always. Armored car. Heavies who surround him the moment he steps out and are with him until he is safe indoors. They take over his floor. Two elevators that stop only at that level. One gunman inside each car, The doors are surrounded by more shooters once they open on the eleventh.’

  ‘How do you know all this?’ Zeb asked. ‘What kind of security does he have if this is public knowledge.’

  ‘It isn’t public knowledge, and as to how,’ Meghan gave him a pitying look, ‘you wouldn’t understand.’

  Zeb smothered a grin. She and Beth, they hacked into the hotel. Got all the details from there.

  ‘What’s the plan?’ he asked.

  * * *

  Two days later, Mexico City, The Royal Hotel, seven pm.

  In that intervening time, Ismail Abbas, a cab driver in Brussels, ran over seven passersby in the city. When arrested, he stared defiantly at the TV cameras and said it was revenge for Freisler’s and Walters’ killings.

  Brussels wasn’t on Valdez’s mind. He showered and sprayed himself with cologne. Put on the black suit his valet had laid out and adjusted his tie. Went to the next room, where a woman, his current girlfriend, a Mexican film star, was dressing up for the evening. He smacked her on the rump, kissed her on the cheek and went to the living room.

  His assistants sprang to attention.

  ‘Tell me,’ he snapped at them.

  They gave him a high-level snapshot of his business enterprise, the criminal one. How much had been defrauded by his hackers, which accounts the take had been distributed to, new schemes that had been hacked. It was a verbal report that he got daily from his staff. He cross-checked their narrative by logging onto his dashboard at night. Any variance, and there would be questions to answer. Unpleasant ones which usually resulted in an agonizing death.

  However, his aides had been with him for a while and they had learned to tell him the truth.

  He nodded in satisfaction and dismissed them with a wave when Eva, his companion, appeared.

  He gallantly offered her his elbow, smiled brilliantly and stepped out into the hallway.

  It was time for him to be honored.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  ‘Ready?’ Beth murmured.

  ‘Yeah,’ Meghan replied.

  The two of them were in a high-floor apartment opposite The Royal Hotel, on the other side of Calle de la Palma, lying in two bedrooms, both overlooking the Calle de la Palma. The flat was the only one on the street that had a view of the large window at the end of the eleventh-floor hallway in the hotel.

  The sisters couldn’t see inside the establishment, but they didn’t need to. Their hack into its security, supposedly one of the world’s best systems, had given them a minute-by-minute itinerary of the awards program.

  She cupped her cheek against the Barrett M82’s stock, its scope against her eye.

  ‘On the count of three.’

  One.

  She curled her finger against the trigger.

  Two.

  She focused on the large window at the end of the hallway.

  Three.

  She triggered.

  Two fifty cals sped out of two muzzles at two thousand eight hundred feet a second. They traversed the three hundred yards of air separating the apartment from the hallway window and burst through its upper corners, shattering it.

  Meghan placed the rifle to her side, moving smoothly, swiftly, with practiced ease and picked up the grenade launcher. Put it to her shoulder, sighted and fired.

  A stun grenade shot out, sailed over the street and landed in the soft carpet of the eleventh floor.

  Quick reload. Fire again, this time a tear-gas round, customized for the launcher.

  Ten rounds each, twenty in total between the two of them, burst into the Royal Hotel and rendered mayhem.

  * * *

  At Meghan’s count of three, Zeb was seated on a couch in the lobby, idly flipping through a magazine. The remaining operatives were scattered around the enormous hall.

  On three, he rose, drew a helmet and goggles from his side and wore it over head. The others followed suit. He reached into his pocket and thumbed a remote.

  Thunderclaps shattered the Royal Hotel’s lobby. Tear gas filled it.

  There was a moment’s stunned silence. Someone sucked in a sharp breath and started screaming and then the coughing and crying began as the gas worked its effect, filled the room and reduced visibility.

  ‘GET OUT!’ Zeb, roared to the dazed residents, ‘there could be bombs.’

  He got hold of an elderly woman and passed her to another employee ‘Take her out,’ he ordered.

  No one questioned him, and why would they? He and his crew were in business suits, name tags dangling off their necks, identifying them as security personnel.

  He took a second to look around the hotel. Chaos. People holding towels to their faces, their eyes streaming, rushing towards the entrance. Glass shattered. An expensive vase fell from its stand and broke. It was a stampede as the well-dressed patrons raced to the door, blind panic on their faces. It was what they wanted.

  Bwana and Bear had moved the instant the grenades had gone off. They ran to the private elevators holding their ID cards. ‘Go out,’ Bwana shouted to Valdez’s men who were blinking furiously, openly brandishing their weapons. ‘We’re evacuating this hotel.’

  ‘Stay back,’ one gunman attempted authority, his barrel swinging up.

  He didn’t complete his move. Bwana swung his left hand, grabbed the assault rifle and slammed it backwards. Its butt caught the Mexican in the belly. His breath whooshed out and then he sank to the floor when Bwana’s right fist connected with his chin.

  A second to check that Bear had incapacitated his heavy and then six operatives crowded into the two elevators. Bwana and Bear at the front, the rest of them behind.

  The cars shot to the eleventh floor.

  Their doors opened.

  This was the moment of maximum risk.

  If Valdez’s men were alert, they would question the presence of the large men. They could shoot without asking questions.

  Four shooters, swaying on their feet, dazed, their weapons unsteady, facing them.

  ‘WHERE’S THE BOSS?’ Bear yelled at them.

  The men instinctively looked to their left, then two of them whirled back at the arrivals. Or attempted that fast move, but their reaction time was severely slowed by the stun and tear gas grenades.

  ‘Who are-’

  Bwana and Bear lunged at them, swatting their weapons away, casually. Zeb darted from behind them, his
team followed. Spread out in the hallway.

  First impressions. Valdez bent on the carpet, three men around him. A woman sprawled nearby. Two heavies groaning and crawling on the carpet. Three shooters more alert than the rest, shouting, their AR15s rising at them.

  Zeb took the first one out, a shoulder shot. Chloe fired at the second, Roger took out the last one. Wounding shots, no need to kill. Looking back to see Bwana and Bear had dealt with the four at the elevators and were covering them.

  Zeb went to the cartel boss who looked up and attempted a punch.

  ‘You know who I am?’ the Mexican staggered to his feet. ‘You think you can get away with this?’

  Zeb looked beyond him at Chloe, who was helping the actress inside Valdez’s suite. The air was still thick and heavy with smoke, the smells of explosions.

  ‘We’re at the door,’ Meghan, in their earpieces.

  That was their cue.

  He grabbed Valdez, shoved his Glock against his side and urged him to the elevators.

  ‘I’ll kill you,’ the cartel boss raged. ‘I’ll kill your families. I’ll-’

  His head rocked back, his lips split, when Bwana backhanded him.

  Down to the lobby which was largely empty. Hotel manager, racing towards them, flunkies by his side, all of them holding wet towels to their faces.

  ‘STAY BACK!’ Beth, helmeted and goggled in a Federale uniform, flashing her ID.

  The staff faltered. ‘What’s happening?’ the manager asked helplessly. ‘You can’t take away senor.’

  ‘LOUIS!’ Valdez screamed. ‘DO SOMETHING. CALL THE POLICE. CALL THE PRESIDENT. THEY’RE KIDNAPPING ME. THEY CAN’T BE THE FEDERALES.’

  He struggled. He yelled. He punched, but to no avail. The operatives hustled him outside, bundled him inside a Federale van. Meghan at the wheel.

  Zeb looked out through the closing door and saw the manager wringing his hands helplessly. Tires spun, their vehicle sped off, just as the wail of cruisers reached them.

  He checked his watch.

  Esteban Valdez, one of the most dangerous criminals in the world, was in their custody, nine minutes from the first shot the twins had fired.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  ‘WHO ARE YOU? WHERE ARE YOU TAKING ME?’ Valdez screamed. They had bound his hands and legs inside the van, Bwana and Bear flanking him.

  He jerked his body, wriggled and squirmed and attempted to kick.

  Roger placed a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back to his seat. ‘Stay down, boy,’ he said deliberately insulting. They wanted to goad him, wished to make the Mexican lose his cool.

  ‘I WILL HUNT YOU DOWN. I KNOW YOU AREN’T FEDERALES. WHICH CARTEL ARE YOU FROM?’

  We used Spanish all along, Zeb looked at their captive in the rear-view mirror. He doesn’t suspect we’re Americans.

  ‘Shall I cut out his tongue?’ Chloe asked, bored. ‘He’s annoying me.’

  ‘Oh, let me do that,’ Bear pleaded.

  Valdez shrank in his seat. His face, gleaming with perspiration, jerking robotically as he tried to watch all of them.

  ‘I’ve got money,’ he moistened his lips. ‘How much do you want? I can make all of you rich.’

  ‘We’ve got to listen to this all the way?’ Beth sotto-voce in their earpieces.

  ‘A few miles more,’ Meghan replied. She drove into a darkened street in the south of the city, stopped behind a large truck.

  Roger, Broker and Bear jumped out. They peeled the Federale stickers off the sides of the van while Zeb and Bwana changed its plates. They resumed driving five minutes later, the vehicle now bearing the signage of a courier company.

  South, as the city fell behind them and the darkness of the Cumbres del Ajusco National Park loomed ahead.

  Off Federal Highway 95, down a dirt track, the vehicle shaking and groaning on its shocks.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Valdez asked fearfully as he tried to peer out of the darkened windows.

  Meghan stopped in a clearing and reversed to let her twin beams play out on the grass ahead of them.

  ‘DON’T KILL ME,’ the gang boss screamed when Bear dragged him out. ‘PLEASE. I’LL GIVE YOU EVERYTHING I HAVE.’

  Zeb approached him, Glock in hand as his friend made the criminal kneel. Valdez strained his eyes to look beyond the headlights and see inside Zeb’s goggles.

  ‘I HAVE MONEY,’ he tried again ‘HOW MUCH DO YOU NEED? WHAT DO YOU WANT?’

  Zeb sheathed his gun in a swift move. Drew out his Benchmade and buried it to the hilt in Valdez’s shoulder.

  A scream rent through the forest.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  ‘George Shahi, Paul Kantor, Erik Thoyes,’ Zeb recited the names of the programmers who had left Silicon Valley and disappeared in Mexico. ‘Where are they?’

  Valdez moaned. His head hung on his shoulder as he shuddered and trembled from the shock of the piercing.

  ‘I asked you a question,’ Zeb grabbed his hair and lifted his face. ‘Where are those men?’

  ‘I…don’t…know,’ the cartel boss started and then he shrieked when the knife twisted.

  ‘THEY’RE WITH ME. THEY’RE WITH ME.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘San Mateo Atenco,’ he gasped. ‘I have an office there. You want them? I can give their address. Take them. Let me go, please.’

  ‘They are working in your gang?’

  Valdez hesitated. A knowing look entered his eyes. It disappeared the moment Zeb touched the knife.

  ‘Si, si.’ He shrieked. ‘They work with many others.’

  ‘On what?’ Meghan joined Zeb.

  ‘Many things.’

  ‘Let me cut his testicles,’ she pleaded.

  ‘NO! They write programs.’

  ‘What kind?’ Meghan asked remorselessly.

  ‘Fraud.’

  ‘You want more of the knife? Explain in more detail.’

  ‘Algorithms that identify old people. Those who have savings. Their programs target such people. Send them emails. Direct them to false websites.

  ‘Is that all?’

  That wasn’t all. The broken man confessed everything about his criminal empire, each enterprise linking to the next. Defrauding the elderly was the beginning. Another set of programs tracked visitor behavior on social media and enticed them to porn sites. Those visitors were then blackmailed. Valdez went on, each revelation more disgusting than the previous. He gave them names, addresses, bank account numbers and when he finished forty minutes later, he lay spent and gasping on the grass.

  ‘You got that?’ Zeb asked the elder sister.

  ‘Beth has.’

  The younger twin gave a thumbs-up and held up her phone on which she had captured Valdez’s confession.

  ‘What about these killings?’ Zeb crouched next to the drained cartel boss.

  ‘Which killings?’

  ‘Germany, Britain, Mexico…don’t you watch TV?’

  Valdez struggled to sit upright. ‘What about them?’

  ‘Who is working on those?’

  He blinked, wiped his face on his shoulder, wincing as the wound bled anew. ‘Me? I…’

  Beth grabbed his hair and yelled, ‘Your people are writing those programs. Where are they?’

  ‘My people?’ he jerked and tried to get away from her. ‘I am not involved in any of that. Who told you?’

  Zeb looked at the twins and the rest of his friends. There was a ring of truth in Valdez’s voice.

  He could still be lying…I need to try once again.

  He removed the knife and jabbed it into the gangster’s thigh. Another shriek pierced the sky.

  ‘JURO POR DIOS,’ he groaned. ‘I swear to God. I don’t know anything of that. None of my programmers are involved in that.’

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Zeb studied the cartel boss as he lay sobbing and groaning in the clearing. He rarely used aggressive interrogation techniques but the recent events justified them.

  ‘I don’t think h
e’s lying,’ Roger drawled in their headset.

  He nodded unconsciously, made to move towards the gangster but Meghan beat him to it.

  ‘You must have talked about it with your people.’

  Valdez didn’t reply. His breathing was loud and harsh in the night.

  ‘Your techies, they must have some idea.’

  ‘Kantor,’ he gasped. ‘He’s the smartest of them all. I paid him the most to get him to come to us.’

  What kind of software engineer will join a Mexican cartel? Zeb pondered for a moment and then shelved the thought. There were more pressing matters.

  ‘I was in their office after the Indonesia killing. He said there were smart people behind these killings. Techies, just like him and the others in my group.’

  A flare of interest in all the operatives. They leaned forward as one.

  ‘What else did he say?’ Beth asked, her face narrow, intent. If looks could wring information, hers would have drained Valdez.

  ‘That there were not many people who could write such software. Not more than a hundred in the world.’

  ‘Could he write them?’

  ‘Si, si, all of them who came from California. But I wasn’t paying them for that.’

  ‘He mentioned names?’

  Those engineers, it’s a small community, Zeb recalled Beth’s briefing. They hang out in the darknet, in message boards, have nicknames, brag about their achievements.

  ‘No names. Places. Russia. China.’

  They questioned the cartel boss until he was drained and visibly weakening, but he didn’t have anything more for them. They cuffed him again and drove back to the city, the van silent, each one of them absorbed in their thoughts.

  Zeb noticed the twins exchanging glances at the front and knew how they felt. All this and we got nothing.