He guessed that the destination was directly beneath the country-club, so knew that this was the crucial intelligence that Sean needed to make a move. Now all he had to do was survive to pass on the information.
Guessing the lights were around a hundred yards apart, he roughly counted them as the truck sped on. After what seemed an age, and he was well over a thousand, the truck began to slow down. The incline began to go up slightly, and Ryan hoped that they were nearing the journey’s end. The muscles in his arms and legs were screaming at him, and he was developing a cramp in his lower back.
The truck slowed to a walking pace and then they were in a brilliantly lit area. They passed through a similar roller door as had been at the far end, and the truck immediately swung left so rapidly that Ryan was almost shaken from his precarious perch.
He saw the legs of men walking around, and then the truck lurched to a stop. It started reversing, and as it drew along side two other trucks, Ryan guessed that it was going back to an unloading area.
Spanish was the only language he heard being spoken, so he wisely decided to wait where he was until there were fewer people about.
He heard the large double doors being opened at the rear of the truck, as several men started the laborious task of unloading whatever was inside. He imagined it was probably drugs, but then, it could equally be weapons and currency for laundering. What better way of legitimising dirty money than by pushing it through a respectable, high-class country-club?
The men were obviously in a hurry, for they concluded the task remarkable quickly. Fearing the truck might hasten away, Ryan did not relish the return journey. For a start, being empty, the truck could be driven much faster, and without the weight of the cargo, it would bounce a good deal on the way.
Although he did not really want to stay here and be caught, he needed more evidence if a judge would grant a warrant. At the moment, they could be unloading tennis balls for all he knew.
He dropped down beneath the rear wheels, easing his cramped and aching muscles. He was covered in dirt, and knew he’d stand out like a sore thumb on any CCTV monitor.
The voices seemed to be moving away, so he chanced a look. The trucks, and there were eight, were all reversed against a loading dock with the dock at trailer height. Behind each truck was a roller door, and apart from the one his truck was against, all were closed.
He was too low to see in through the door, so made his way to the dock, and looked around for any human movement. Not seeing anyone, he rolled onto the dock and dashed into the open door. Seconds after he gained access, the door started to close.
He was inside a huge warehouse, with row upon row of shelving stacks. Plain cardboard boxes were stacked neatly on each stack, against which letters signified the different units.
It looked like any supply and logistics warehouse, only this one appeared to store and supply illegal commodities.
Using his cell phone, he took as many photos as he could, as he ran along an aisle towards the opposite end of the huge area.
He passed crates of weapons; automatic weapons, still in their crates and marked as Property of the Department of Defense. He took a photo of the crate serial and batch numbers.
Now all he needed to do was get out of here. He thought he was probably beneath the club, but how to get out undiscovered would be a challenge.
On hearing the sounds of footsteps and voices approaching, he hid amongst the shelves, behind some crates that he thought contained heavy machineguns. He now had to wait.
Meanwhile, not that far away, probably only a few hundred feet, and almost immediately above, Michelle was having an evening swim in the pool.
Aware that cell phones were probably being monitored, she desperately wanted to talk to Ryan; and Sean if it came to it. She had not seen Ryan for a day or so, so started to worry about him.
Dinner had been interesting. One evening a week, the club ran different themed events. This week was Mexican, with authentic-style Mexican food and Mexican music and dancers. She sat with a local retired couple who were regulars at all the themed events.
He’d been a reasonably successful businessman, while she had been a teacher. Golf was his passion, so he played a couple of times a week with some other retired friends, and then enjoyed the evening events as a couple.
“I hate golf,” his wife confided to Michelle. “I tried it a few times, but I just never found the attraction. I don’t think I’m built for it.”
She was around five foot one, in every direction, so Michelle wondered whether she’d be able to reach the handle of a club with both hands at once.
“I haven’t played it very often. I prefer riding horses,” Michelle said, in her most English of accents. “I played hockey and lacrosse at school, but nowadays I just love water sports and snow skiing as well as my horses. Daddy has a chalet in Switzerland.”
The couple exchanged glances, and politely excused themselves to take coffee on the terrace.
Manolo watched the tall, English girl leave the dining room and walk across the garden towards the chalets. He switched from camera to camera, so as to get the best shots of her as she walked. She walked like a supermodel, but her body had more upholstery than the bony bitches who strutted their stuff on the car-walks. She stopped for a moment, sitting on the edge of the ornate fountain and letting her hand play in the water.
“Focus, Manolo. While you watch the women, the DEA could be digging under the wire,” Ricardo said, halting Manolo’s voyeurism abruptly. He switched over to the cameras in the warehouse. He therefore failed to see Michelle retrieve the message tube.
“I hear you, boss, but she is worth watching.”
Ricardo did not immediately reply as he was tense and diverted by things on his mind. He had just called his wife to let her know that business was keeping him at the club. She had already guessed, as her lover, the tennis coach, was preparing to stay the night with her in any case. Ricardo had been preoccupied of late, and seemed to spend too much time working.
He now sat in the security control room, watching the TV monitors.
“I agree, but not at the moment. We have the biggest shipment in our stores, so we don’t want anything to go wrong. By this time tomorrow, it will all be on its way. Only then will I breathe easy, and you can watch her all you want after that.”
Manolo grinned.
At that moment, the briefest movement on one of the warehouse monitors drew his attention.
With practiced fingers, he zoomed the camera in and for literally a second Ryan’s face stared at the camera before vanishing round a corner.
“Get him!” Ricardo shouted, grabbing the radio handset
Flicking through the channels, Manolo eventually watched Ryan’s legs disappear round a doorway into a stairwell.
“No cameras in Stairwell C, boss, but I can lock down the doors from here.”
“Do it. Leave the door open at the top for our guys and then lock it down tight.
Ricardo directed his men to the stairwell.
“Isn’t he one of our guys?” Manolo asked.
“He’s an ex-cop on the club security detail. I suspect that he’s a plant by the DEA.”
“You want him dead?”
“Not immediately; why?”
“I can gas the stairwell. That’ll knock him out.”
“Do it. I’ll let our guys know.”
Ryan heard a hissing sound. It was the last thing he recalled.
Chapter Seventeen
The group of armed security men met by the door at the top of the stairwell. Under normal conditions, it wouldn’t have looked odd. As she walked across the grass, Michelle saw them and felt immediately uneasy. Three things caused warning bells to ring inside her head. One, they were all Hispanic, while the security staff seemed predominantly Caucasian. Two, it was by the door she’d seen earlier, and so this added to her unease. Three, some had already drawn their weapons, as if they knew there was someone inside the stairwell that posed a threat to them. The fact that Ryan had left a message for her meant that he might very well have stumbled onto something and inadvertently set off a chain of events that could prove his undoing.