Poor Minister Batista. I guess you weren’t as popular as you thought.
With twenty minutes to spare, Franco received his return call. Antonia’s search of Tobias’s office inside the church had yielded an interesting piece of information. Someone sharing the pastor’s last name — Estefan Delgado — had written a large check to the church, but it hadn’t been cashed. Instead, Tobias had left it sticking out of a Bible like a bookmark. The check was over a year old. If Tobias never intended to cash it, then why keep it? Sentimental value? It had obviously come from a family member. Adding to the mystery, the address on the uncashed check lay only four kilometers from Franco’s own house.
It was time to do some fieldwork. He grabbed his prepacked tactical bag, locked the house, and drove to Estefan Delgado’s address. His first cruise past the residence confirmed the presence of a security system — a keypad was visible near the front door. Franco also noticed a large dog in a fenced backyard.
The outer suburbs of Managua were a mix of everything from tin shanties to brick-and-mortar mansions, and this place ranked somewhere in the middle — a modest three- or four-bedroom home.
With nothing more to learn from inside his vehicle, Franco drove to the opposite side of the canyon and parked in a vacant lot overlooking Delgado’s house. Most of the trees atop the ridgeline were gone, leaving a clear view of the city below. From the type of trash present, it was obvious this place was frequented by party animals and amorous couples. For now, his Range Rover was the only vehicle present. He took a moment to study Delgado’s house with field glasses but saw no movement and no lights on.
Franco rolled his windows down and listened for any sounds coming from the immediate neighborhood. All quiet. He also inhaled deeply through his nose. Detecting no cigarette odor, he donned a plain black ski mask, grabbed his tactical backpack, and started down the canyon’s slope. The descent was steep, if not particularly difficult, but he found the bottom of the gulley loaded with hazards. A long time ago, the canyon had been used as an illegal dumping site. Before the houses were built on the ridgeline, people had dumped all kinds of trash. Everything from construction debris to abandoned cars had accumulated down here. The thick foliage, coupled with the steep slope, made seeing the smaller pieces of debris difficult. There were hundreds of objects to trip over down here. Once he ascended the other side, he’d emerge at the rear fence of Delgado’s property. He had no misgivings about the danger of tonight’s operation. Going against an unknown opponent held inherent risks, but he had the element of surprise on his side. He didn’t feel overly concerned.
A little winded, Franco stopped at the tall chain-link fence and scanned the rear yard with his NV goggles. The collective glow of the city provided plenty of light, so he adjusted the gain down to a lower setting. He didn’t think anyone would be in the yard but didn’t assume that. Moving in slow motion to avoid making any noise, he pulled his suppressed Sig from his waist pack and powered its laser. The red beam wouldn’t activate until he squeezed the button on the weapon’s butt. On the far side of the manicured lawn dotted with banana trees, all of the home’s windows remained dark. Ditto the security light above the sliding glass doors. The view from neighboring houses was screened by vines growing on the chain-link fence. In the middle of the grass, a small water fountain created a trickling sound. Several chairs encircled a fire pit, but he didn’t see any light from it. Had there been any hot coals present, the NV would’ve detected them.
He issued a barely audible whistle and waited.
After thirty seconds nothing happened, so he repeated the whistle.
He heard it then — the clack, clack of a dog door.
Silhouetted against the house, the dog he’d seen on his drive-by bounded toward him. A few meters away it stopped, lowered its head, and issued a growl. As planned, thanks to the wind at his back, the dog had caught his scent. He backed up a few steps to give it a false sense of domination. Without warning, the animal charged the fence. Franco toggled the laser and sent a subsonic bullet through its nose. The dog collapsed to the grass and convulsed for several seconds before going still. Franco didn’t feel good about killing it, but he didn’t feel terrible either. In fact, he didn’t feel anything at all. It was simply a phase in tonight’s operation. Knowing the trajectory of spent shell casings from this pistol, he quickly found the warm brass shell and secured it in his thigh pocket.
Five seconds later, Franco was over the fence.
He wasn’t worried about motion sensors or infrared beams because of the presence of the family pet. Dogs and motion detectors didn’t go well together. He took a knee next to the dog and removed its collar.
Moving from tree to tree, he kept his head up, looking for any sign his suppressed shot had been detected. He also watched for dog shit because he didn’t want to waste time cleaning his boots before entering the house. He wasn’t worried about making a mess, but the odor might be a problem. It’s hard to be stealthy when you smell like dog droppings. At the garage wall, he found the dog door. He held the electronic collar low and was rewarded with a disengagement click. After removing his backpack, he’d have no problem crawling through its opening. And, as with the nonexistent motion detectors, if the dog door had been tied into the security system, it would’ve set off the alarm when the dog passed through.
Inside the garage he caught the faint odor of gasoline and found only one car, a white SUV. Could the other vehicle be out front on the street or in the driveway? Using the NV, he crossed the slab, being careful to avoid the oil stain, and looked through one of three small windows in the garage door. Nothing. Maybe it was in a shop for service. Nicaraguan roads took a heavy toll on vehicles. The presence of oil on the concrete indicated there was normally a second car in here. He reached down and touched the slick, definitely fresh. He was tempted to leave, but he’d committed himself by killing the dog. Coming back later wouldn’t work unless he hauled the carcass over the fence and dragged it into the canyon. Even so, the dog’s absence would be noticed and create suspicion.
He was here; he’d stick to the plan.
The security keypad on the wall showed a red LED, indicating the system was armed. Franco used the collar to unlock a second dog door leading to the interior of the house. Moving slowly, he eased through the opening and stayed on his stomach, quashing the adrenaline rush from invading an unknown home. He held that position for a moment longer before gaining his feet. From somewhere ahead, the Westminster chime indicating 9:45 PM broke the silence. He smiled. Their clock was running fast.
Holding his Sig tightly against his chest, Franco moved deeper into the dwelling, which had an aged tobacco odor, probably from cigars. He liked the smell. Maybe he’d help himself to a few on the way out. The living room, dining room, and kitchen were all one continuous space. The furniture seemed modest, and the walls appeared mostly bare. Whoever lived here didn’t appear to have excessive wealth.
He knew the hallway at the far end of the living room led to the bedrooms. Although he thought it unlikely, there could be a second dog. Franco entered the corridor and saw four doors, all of them open. The first exposed an unoccupied bedroom, the second led to a bathroom, and the third door revealed an office. The last door would be the master bedroom. A stroboscopic blue glow highlighted the rectangular opening. Franco had a sudden visual of a coffin, eerily lit from the inside.
He peered around the doorjamb.