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“No somos de por aquí,” pleaded Sofia, waving one hand out the window and fumbling for the handle with the other. Grabbing the keys, she finally managed to open the door and climb awkwardly out, one leg at a time. The man watched her short dress slide up her thighs while the other man circled to the side, keeping Talanov in his sights.
“No queremos problemas,” said Talanov, opening his door and climbing out.
“You are not Spanish,” the man covering Talanov said in broken English. “Inglés?”
“Russian,” answered Talanov.
The two gunmen glanced at one another. “ Comunista?” the first one asked.
“Sí.” Talanov replied.
“My name is Paco,” the man said just as three other men with guns appeared, “and I am the leader of the Euskadi Ta Askatasuna . . . the ETA. We, too, are communist.”
“It is good to meet a brother,” responded Talanov.
“Perhaps,” Paco replied, pacing the length of the Ferrari and looking it over carefully. “Where did you get this car?”
“It is part of our assignment,” answered Talanov.
“What kind of assignment?”
“I cannot say.”
“You will say!” Paco yelled, jabbing Talanov with his gun.
“I would if I could, but I can’t.”
Paco returned to stand in front of Talanov for a long moment. “Juan!” he suddenly yelled.
The man nearest Sofia walked over and placed the barrel of his pistol against Sofia’s head.
“You will say,” Paco repeated, tilting his head and looking Talanov in the eye.
“Or what, you’ll kill us?” asked Talanov. “What kind of communist are you?”
“The kind with a gun,” Paco replied, waving his pistol in front of Talanov’s face. “So, you will tell me what this assignment is, and why you are here.”
“We’re meeting someone.”
“Who?”
“He is waiting at the casino.”
“Who?”
“I’ve told you all that I can. We’re on the same side. We believe the same things. We’re working for the same goals.”
“I work for myself,” Paco said. “You have one minute to run before I kill you.”
“Kill us? You can’t be serious!”
“Kill you. The woman stays.”
“What is wrong with you?”
Paco cocked his pistol.
“This is what is wrong with the system,” Talanov said, turning away and gesturing angrily with his hands. “Nobody wants equality, not really. Somebody always wants to get ahead by taking what the next guy has.” He returned to look Paco in the eyes. “ Like you, right now. You’re supposed to be my brother! A comrade in arms. And yet here you are, treating us like we’re the enemy. How can you justify this?”
Paco and his men all laughed.
“You think this is funny?” asked Talanov.
“Yes, I do!” answered an amused Paco, whose smile then faded. “But not for long.”
“I don’t think you’re a bad guy,” Talanov said. “And I’m willing to let this slide. No harm has been done. But we’re not the enemy. So tell Juan over there to lower his gun so that Sofia and I can get back in our car and be on our way. Do that and no one gets hurt.”
“Sofia. I like that name,” Paco remarked, nodding pleasantly to the others before placing the barrel of his pistol directly against Talanov’s forehead. “She stays. You run. One minute.”
Talanov glared angrily at Paco, who began counting.
“Fifty-nine, fifty-eight . . .”
Walking away several steps, Talanov stopped and raked a hand through his hair.
Paco continued, “Thirty four, thirty three, thirty two . . .”
Talanov said, “We’re supposed to be on the same side.”
“Do something!” cried Sofia.
“Do what? Run? From someone who’s supposed to be a brother? This is pathetic. If I thought it would do any good, I’d offer him the money.”
“What money?” asked Paco, suddenly interested.
“Don’t ask me, ask her,” Talanov replied, nodding toward Sofia.
When Paco glanced at Sofia, Talanov’s left hand shot up and grabbed him by the wrist, sweeping it left, away from his head. Talanov followed the direction of the sweep by pivoting into Paco while clamping his other hand around Paco’s fingers and pulling the trigger three times as their arms swept left in a wide circle. The rounds dropped the gunman at his four o-clock position. Continuing the circular sweep, Talanov pulled off three more shots – flat, shallow reports that seemed to dissipate into the night – and dropped the gunman at his two o’clock position. Talanov then twisted the pistol out of Paco’s hand while the man who had been holding Sofia – Juan – staggered backward holding his throat while Sofia looked on, his gun in her hand.
“Who’s next?” asked Talanov, taking aim at the remaining gunman. The gunman very carefully dropped his weapon and raised his hands.
“Please, señor, we meant you no harm,” pleaded Paco, falling to his knees and clasping his hands, as if in prayer.
“I think you did,” Talanov replied. “The question is, what do I do now? You see, I don’t really have much time for people who gang up on others. Who steal what they have. My partner and I came here on a peaceful mission, and you just had to try and ruin it, didn’t you? And we were having such a good time.”
Talanov walked over and placed the pistol against the back of Paco’s head.
“Please, señor, have mercy,” sobbed Paco.
“You mean, the kind of mercy you were going to give us?”
“I beg you, señor.”
Sofia said, “Get rid of them.”
“The blood spatter would ruin my tuxedo,” Talanov replied, noticing the glow of approaching headlights. “And that would ruin my evening.” To Paco: “So I’ll give you and your friend the same courtesy you were going to give me. One minute before I start shooting.”
Paco looked over at his cousin, Juan, lying on the ground, gasping for air. “What about him?”
“Leave Juan to me,” said Talanov, raising his wrist and looking at his watch. “Sixty seconds. Your time starts . . . now.”
Climbing to his feet, Paco looked over at Juan, who reached out a hand.
“No me dejes,” begged Juan, his voice raspy and weak.
Seeing Talanov in the Ferrari’s headlights counting seconds on his watch, Paco and the remaining gunman fled away into the darkness. They ran in erratic zigzag patterns, heading for some shrubs in the distance.
Juan tried crawling away and Talanov grabbed him by the collar. When Juan took a wild swing, Talanov clubbed him on the side of the head, knocking him unconscious. Talanov then dragged Juan behind a bush and dropped him.
“What did you do to this guy?” asked Talanov, wiping the gun free of fingerprints and throwing it into the darkness. “One minute he’s got us covered, the next he’s on the ground.”
“Men frequently underestimate women,” Sofia replied, dragging the two dead bodies out of sight. “Res ipsa loquitur.”
Talanov laughed as a car sped by without slowing. “Touché,” he said. He held out his hand.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“The keys. I should probably drive. Once we get to the casino we may encounter real trouble, like you having to parallel park.”
With a laugh, Sofia strode to the driver’s side and again climbed behind the wheel. Seconds later, they were peeling away.
They came to an intersection and followed a sign to the left. Ten minutes later, a high rock wall appeared. Punctuated by occasional stands of floodlit palm trees, the wall paralleled the shoulder of the road as it curved to the northwest.
The road dipped and then crested a small hill. On the other side of the hill a lighted arch came into view. At the apex of the arch were the words, “Gran Casino del Sol,” written in glowing pink neon.
Sofia slowed for a large group of protesters gathered beneath the arch. They were arguing with police officers. Filming the confrontation was a television crew. Waving anti-NATO placards, the protesters began banging on the top of the car when Sofia stopped. The officers pushed back the mob and allowed the Ferrari to pass.
“Protesters way out here?” asked Sofia, accelerating down the lane.
“Anything that threatens tourism brings out the police, which in turn brings out the cameras.”
The lane curved along the bottom of a tree-lined arroyo and up the other side, which is where the majestic five-star Gran Casino del Sol came into view. The classic six-story resort looked like it belonged in another time and place, as if it had been transported from Renaissance Italy. And where the vaqueros of yesteryear used to wrangled cattle on horseback, golf carts now glided around small lakes and across verdant fairways landscaped with rows of Italian “pencil pine” cypress. Powerful floodlights accented the squared turrets on each corner of the resort, onto which adjacent wings had been added to house the expanded casino as well as additional rooms and banquet facilities. Sitting like an opulent island in the surrounding blanket of darkness, the hotel glowed with warmth. The grand entrance was jeweled with lights. The circular drive was lined with exotic cars.
Sofia slowed their speed to a crawl as they neared the brightly lit entrance. “I wonder who owns this place,” she remarked, guiding the Ferrari into a space by the door.
“Countess Gabriella Herrera de la Peña.”
Sofia turned off the ignition and stared at Talanov. “It was a rhetorical question. I didn’t expect you to actually know.”
“Women frequently underestimate men,” he replied.
With a reluctant chuckle, Sofia touched a button and unlocked the door. A tuxedoed valet pulled open the door and offered his hand. Sofia looked up at him but did not accept. With a bow, the valet stepped back, allowing Sofia to swivel both legs out and gracefully stand. The doorman’s eyes widened when the six-foot-tall Sofia rose above him several inches. Her tight party dress hugged a lean, athletic frame. Her stiletto heels added definition to her muscular calves.
Standing on opposite sides of the door, Sofia and the valet stared silently at one another for a long moment. When Sofia arched an eyebrow, the valet bowed and hurried away.
With Talanov still seated in the car, Sofia scanned the faces of people strolling in and out of the casino. Most of the men – at least those with hair – sported mullets with lots of gel, while a few of the younger ones were attempting various incarnations of the British rock star look, with sections that had been crimped, teased, colored and permed. The women were much the same: thin and sulky, with big hair made bigger by any means possible.
Satisfied everything appeared safe, Sofia tapped the top of the car twice, whereupon the passenger door swung open and Talanov stood, his short, aviator hairstyle appearing in sharp contrast to the sprayed hairstyles of the men strolling past.
Glancing toward the casino, Talanov signaled the valet.
“ Sí, señor?” the valet responded, hurrying toward them.
“Our suitcases, if you please,” Talanov said. “My driver will fetch them for you.”
Suppressing a smile from the dirty look Sofia threw him, Talanov turned toward the entrance, unaware of the powerfully built man in black getting out of a Peugeot van four cars away.
