During the summer in San Juan, you can set your watch by the rain showers. Between four and four thirty a downpour of short duration sweeps the city streets clean but leaves the air saturated. Shortly after dark, the cooling temperature squeezes the afternoon’s lingering moisture out of the air like wringing a wet rag. This shower passes quickly also, making alfresco dining on Old Town’s myriad patios almost comfortable.
By late night, the evening’s rain was only a steamy memory. The sound of the patrons of the bar in the courtyard was diminishing. Guests were retiring to their rooms and other customers were slowly leaving for a livelier scene, for a nighttime flirtation with chance at the casinos, or to simply go home. Either way, the comparative quiet allowed Balduino, the night clerk, to slip into that semi-somnambulistic state of near sleep that would last until he was relieved at the hotel’s front desk in the morning.
The sound of high heels on tile followed by the tinkle of the bell on the desk snatched him from a half slumber and sent him scurrying from the comfort of the lounge chair in the hotel’s office to the front desk. For an instant, he thought he might still be dreaming. A blond woman fidgeted impatiently in front of the registration desk. Although she was dressed in simple jeans and a shirt, it was obvious she would more than adequately fill a bikini.
He suddenly wished he had taken the time to brush his hair and rinse his mouth before dashing out. “Yes, ma’am?”
Long fingers drummed on the desktop. “My name is Ferris. I believe I have a reservation.”
Normal procedure, if there were anything normal about a check-in at this hour, would have required an explanation that the guest would be charged for tonight even though it was tomorrow. But Balduino was having too hard a time just trying to keep his eyes away from her blouse’s top button at the beginning valley between her breasts. The button looked as though it might give way with the next breath. The anticipation was distracting to say the least.
“You do have my room?”
With no small effort, he tore his gaze away and sat down in front of the computer. For reasons he could not have explained, he had the impression that if an error had been made, if her reservation wasn’t in the computer, he was going to be extremely sorry.
His breath whistled through his teeth as he let out a long sigh. “Yes, Ms. Ferris, right here. I see it’s prepaid. I’m sorry that we have no staff at this hour to carry your bag and I’m not allowed …”
She extended a hand. “The key?”
“The key?”
If she was amused by the confusion she seemed to induce, she didn’t show it. “I assume entry to the room is by key.”
“Of course! The room key.”
Hand inexplicably shaking, he reached to the rack over the computer, where a number of oversized keys hung, each attached to a decorative weight heavy enough to encourage guests to leave their room keys at the front desk when they went out rather than carrying—and possibly losing—them. It was a concept common in Europe.
“Third floor,” he said, almost apologetically. “The elevator is around the corner there on your left.”
Without another word, she swooped up her single bag and was gone, leaving Balduino leaning over the desk for a last look.
He remembered now: the guest, Peters, had made her reservation by phone the same time he had made his own. He had been very specific: two end-of-hall rooms, each letting out onto the terrace. Why a man would provide a separate room for someone like the Ferris woman was beyond Balduino’s imagination. Ah well, the proclivities of the hotel’s guests were not his to question.
With a little luck, when he returned to his dreams, Ms. Ferris would be in them.
Exiting the single slow elevator on the third floor, Judith turned left down an open, arcaded gallery of a cloister. The lights of the pool in the patio below made shimmering blue designs on the ceiling above her head as she stopped in front of the room at the end of the hall. Inserting the key, she pushed the door open, letting the light from outside probe the dark room before she entered and flipped on the wall switch.
Satisfied she was alone, she dropped her single bag on the bed and stepped over to the drawn curtains. She pulled them aside, revealing French doors opening onto a terrace. She gave the door to the bathroom a longing gaze. A hot shower would strip away the coat of sweaty grime with which she imagined the cloying humidity had covered her body.
No time.
Making certain the door to the hallway was securely locked and latched from the inside, she stepped out onto the terrace. For an instant she was blinded by the contrast between the brightly lit room and the indirect light outside. The coquí in the surrounding potted palms went silent.
A hoarse whisper came from her right. “Here!”
As her eyes adjusted, she moved toward the sound. “Jason?”
A figure materialized out of nowhere. “You were expecting someone else?”
They embraced briefly before she gently pushed back. “So far, nothing?”
He took her hand, leading into deeper shadow. “So far, nothing. But the night is young, to employ a rather trite phrase. Best get to your post.”
“Think I have time to clean up?”
Jason shrugged. “The schedule isn’t ours.”
In seconds, Judith was gone, back to her room. She turned out the lights before crouching behind the curtains she had closed over the open French doors.
Jason was good at waiting. Long ago Delta Force training had inculcated patience by employing an indifference to time and applying the mind elsewhere while remaining alert to surroundings. He could only hope Judith was naturally patient. How long they waited at their separate positions, neither could have said. An hour, two, or only fifteen minutes.
Judith heard him before she saw him. Or, rather, the tree frogs in the terrace’s foliage did. Their song went silent as suddenly as if some amphibian maestro had waved his conductor’s wand. Alerted by the sudden silence, she risked a peek between widened curtains.
A wraith of a shadow, a specter without substance, glided across the terrace toward the French doors to Jason’s room. It was only at the last moment the apparition gained substance, the shape of a man, a large man, climbing inside from the terrace.
Jason had also been brought to full alert by the termination of the tree frogs’ serenade, and the vibration of his BlackBerry, his and Judith’s prearranged signal. The closest thing he had been able to find to serve as a weapon was a lamp, two feet high, made of what he supposed was meant to look like forged Toledo steel. Hardly a defense of choice against a pistol or knife; but when combined with surprise, it should serve. Concealed behind curtains that barely moved in the fitful night breeze, he waited, the lamp raised in both hands above his head.
Leaving the French doors open had been a calculated risk. Any job made too easy aroused suspicions but a slip in prying the doors open, any undue noise was likely to frighten away the would-be intruder. The last thing Jason wanted was for his enemies to change plans, to strike at a less predictable time.
The curtains jiggled with a motion not induced by wind. With the advantage of having his target outlined by the slight illumination from the terrace, Jason could see a form, as yet indistinct except for an extended arm holding something long. Jason guessed an automatic with sound suppressor.
He waited until the shape seemed to float past him, intent on the mound of pillows Jason had carefully arranged in the bed. The arm extended.
There were two quick spitting, puffing sounds before the form moved closer to the bed. It was reaching for a light when Jason moved.
With a single step, he used his full weight to bring the lamp down on the back of the head. The neck would have been a better target, but the chances were too good that a blow there would fatally snap the spinal cord. Dead, the guy would be useless.
With a grunt, the figure stumbled forward, falling against the far wall. Jason took a second swing with the lamp, this time sideways, splintering the knuckles of the man’s gun hand. The weapon thumped once on the bed and bounced to the tile floor with a metallic clank that was almost drowned out by a scream of pain.
The assailant was still groggy and gave no resistance as Jason grabbed him by the collar and threw him across the bed. He switched on the overhead light and was not surprised to see one of the men from the airport, the one without the bandage.
“You guys don’t give up easily.”
The man didn’t answer. His eyes flitted around the room, no doubt searching for his weapon.
“I kicked it under the bed,” Jason said calmly. “Afraid somebody might get hurt, playing with guns.” He watched the man’s reaction to the fact he was now unarmed. “And if you’re thinking about going for one of those Spetsnaz pig stickers …”
He waved the iron lamp threateningly.
“Now, we are going to have that little conversation that seems to keep getting delayed.” Jason had intentionally placed himself within range of the prone man’s legs. “You’re going to tell me …”
Jason’s BlackBerry rang.
In the split instant of startled indecision, the man on the bed lashed out with a scissorslike kick that took Jason’s legs out from beneath him and crumpled him on the floor. The intruder made a quick judgment: instead of attacking, he bolted for the open French doors, his injured hand held in the other.
Jason watched him go, gratified that, so far, his plan had worked. Then he realized the cell phone in his pocket was still ringing.
Who … ?
“Hello?”
“Jason?” It was Judith, of course. “You OK? I was worried.”
Oh, swell!
Jason had to clench his jaws not to say what was on his mind. “How thoughtful of you. Perhaps it might have served us better had you waited until I could have called you. I was, emphasis on the was, sort of busy.”
“Guess I fucked up.”
No, I fucked up by bringing an untrained, unqualified person along on a mission where professionalism is required, he thought.
But he said, “If that’s your only mistake, everything will be fine.”
“You didn’t tell me not to call,” Judith said, miffed. “I was worried about you.”
“I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure. Now do your part.”
Jason pressed the Disconnect key. With him momentarily off his guard, if that guy had attacked instead of fled …
He shoved the BlackBerry back into his pocket. At least the first part of the plan had worked.