Victor studied it, and nodded. “No worries, mate. Good as done – but it’ll run yah dear. My guess is twenty grand American at least, plus the boat tour. How many rounds you need for the rifle and the pistol?” Victor asked.
“A hundred for the rifle and its magazines, and fifty for the pistol and its spares. Will the night vision equipment be a problem?”
“Mate, none of it’s a problem. Just a matter of money. Give me two days and I’ll have the whole lot sorted,” Victor assured him. “Now in the meantime, what about yerself? Need any company? Interested in the ladies?” Seeing the lack of interest, he tried again. “Or maybe the boys? A little Cage aux Follees, if yah catch my meaning? Whatever yer flavor, Victor’s the man…”
“Just the items on the list, some warehouse space with no neighbors and a boat with a captain. Nothing fancy. Something that will blend in. I’d like to use it tomorrow for around four hours. And make sure it’s got some fishing equipment onboard. I’ll call you in the morning. Will that work for you?” El Rey asked.
Victor assured him that it would, and they quickly parted ways, Victor to procure the necessary hardware and El Rey to have an early dinner and get some sleep.
The following day, Victor had made arrangements for a cabin cruiser to pick El Rey up at the pier that hosted the W Hotel and the adjacent condominiums and restaurants. He checked out of his current hotel and walked over to the W, taking a waterfront room for a week on the third floor. Once he’d unpacked, he grabbed a quick bite downstairs before heading out to meet the boat, a heavy set of binoculars in tow. It was a thirty eight foot Riviera sports fisherman with twin diesel engines, and soon they were cutting through the chop at a fair clip. El Rey gave the captain GPS coordinates for the portion of the harbor he wanted to anchor in and fish. The man looked at him as though he was crazy.
“Won’t catch much there but muck suckers, mate,” he advised.
“That’s okay. I just like being on the water, enjoying the scenery and looking at all the beautiful houses,” El Rey explained.
They motored to the designated spot and dropped anchor. The captain dutifully got out two light-tackle salt water fishing rods and a bag of frozen bait. El Rey played along and allowed the man to drop a line into the water for him, then went inside the salon, where the heavily tinted windows blocked anyone from seeing in. He raised his binoculars and scanned the house, noting the neighbors’ homes, searching for anything that could afford him an advantage. He paid special attention to the shore area and the distances between the homes, which wasn’t much. Fortunately, El Chilango had built tall walls on either side for security and privacy, so he wouldn’t have to deal with neighbor issues once inside. As they sat there, bobbing in the wake of the boats cruising past them, he noted that there were three security men nosing around, not just the one the report would have led him to believe. So either the house had received some sort of warning, or the surveillance had been sloppy. Instead of a day man and a night one, there were six total, three and three.
They spent two hours at anchor, with El Rey mainly watching the house. By lunchtime, he’d seen enough. The target had been visible several times in his living room and bedroom, and it would have been a cinch to take him out with a single shot. Unfortunately, that wasn’t what he was being paid to do. Reconciling himself to the grim reality that he’d have to do this the hard way, he told the captain it was time to leave. Just then one of the two rods screamed as line tore off the reel – the skipper ran to tighten the drag. He set the hook and then offered the pole to El Rey, who shook his head – he had no interest in trying to fight the fish. After a few moments the line went limp; when the captain reeled it in, the leader had been bitten through.
“Probably a shark,” he said.
“Are there a lot of them around here?” El Rey asked, curious.
“In the harbor, yah get some sand sharks and a few larger ones. Out in the ocean, there’s great whites, you know. Don’t want to mess with one of those, I’ll tell yah,” he warned.
“No. Probably not.”
That evening, El Rey had a phone discussion with Victor, and they arranged a meeting for the next day to look over the space he’d gotten and inventory the hardware.
In the morning, a blue Ford sedan pulled to the curb by the original hotel El Rey had stayed at. Victor grinned from behind the wheel, inviting him to get in. Soon they were motoring to the deserted area near the W, and after a few turns, they arrived at a bleak strip of old industrial warehouses. Victor got out and opened one of the heavy steel doors and they stepped into a dilapidated twenty by forty brick space that reeked of stale air and urine. El Rey tried the lights – two fluorescent bulbs flickered above as if struggling to stay lit and then suddenly illuminated.
“This will do.”
Glancing around the dank room, El Rey dictated an additional list of items he’d need, based on his surveillance of the target and his appraisal of his new workspace. Victor scribbled furiously in a small notebook as El Rey ticked off the requirements. Finished, they eyed the overhead steel beams that supported the roof, before El Rey made two more requests. Victor nodded, and told him that within forty-eight hours he would have the space outfitted. He went to the car and removed a long duffle with the requested hardware and brought it inside the space. El Rey inspected each item and nodded in approval. Perhaps Victor resembled a buffoon, but he’d gotten everything right on the first try. That was good. He hoped Victor did as well on the second round of stuff. None of it was that specialized, so he was confident the man would be able to get it all.
Three days later, they returned to the warehouse. It had been transformed. El Rey was impressed. He’d spent parts of the last few days in the target’s neighborhood, driving around with Victor, studying the layout, and had a watcher confirm the number of guards at night, as well. El Chilango rarely left the house, so whatever his wine business was, you could apparently run it from home. That would make things somewhat harder – it would be far easier to stage something while he was in transit, but you played the cards you were dealt, and El Rey was confident.
Tomorrow would be show time, and he would either justify the considerable money he’d been spending over the course of his antipodean vacation – or die trying.
Chapter 13
A stiff breeze blew through the tall oak trees near the water’s edge, occasionally eliciting a moaning lament at the air’s harmonic passage through the branches. It was a partially cloudy night with only a sliver a moon peeking through the overcast. The lights from the surrounding homes on the harbor twinkled and danced as the roiling surface of the water reflected them up, moving in time with the swell from the harbor mouth as it surged against the outcropping shore of Point Piper, as the upscale neighborhood was called – a nub of land thrusting into the water, creating Double Bay on one side and Rose Bay on the other.
Three tough-looking guards prowled the grounds of the target’s home, two stationed front and back, with one circulating around. It was a lot of security for a relatively modest home. The neighbors had to wonder who the occupant was. The men did their best to appear discreet but they were obviously trained killers with military bearings and the bulges of handguns under their jackets.
This was the easiest duty any of them had ever had. Endless hours of nothing guarding a nobody from imagined threats that never materialized. They’d gotten complacent over the nine months they’d been working the gig, which was understandable given the uneventful nature of the job. But if it made the man happy, it was his money to spend as he liked and they weren’t going to complain. For fifteen thousand American dollars a month apiece, they’d put on a trapeze performance or ride unicycles on a tightrope every evening if that’s what their patron wanted.