The last thing she needed this morning was more coffee, but she felt compelled to duck into the Mama Gracha Café. Jessica scanned the coffee shop for the man she and Daniel had spotted a week ago. He had reappeared two days ago, and Jessica couldn't shake the feeling that she knew him. The man was definitely Balkan, possibly Serbian, but like Daniel had pointed out, this was becoming more and more common in Buenos Aires. Like most Europeans, Serbians enjoyed strong coffee, particularly Turkish coffee, and this shop served one of the best Turkish coffees in Buenos Aires. If strong coffee was your pleasure, you'd end up here eventually.
The driver of the flower truck looked like the same man she had seen in here, but she couldn't be sure. He wore sunglasses and a ball cap, but she had only caught a glimpse of him beyond the sun's reflection in the windshield. Her view of him through the passenger window lasted less than a second, and he didn't turn his head to acknowledge her purposeful insult. She was certain that the man was Caucasian, but beyond that, she had nothing but her instincts to support the theory that he was somehow familiar. She had learned to trust these instincts without question, and this policy had kept her alive for over six years as an undercover operative.
She decided it was time to head back to the compound. She was probably being paranoid, and a vicious hangover didn't help her think clearly, but she and Daniel had discussed the risks inherent with an ever increasing number of Serbian immigrants to Argentina. Between the two of them, they had spent over eight years in Belgrade and had come into contact with hundreds, if not thousands of people. If just one person recognized either of them, they could find themselves in immediate danger. She watched the flower delivery van turn right on Nicaragua and this gave her some relief. She would be headed in the opposite direction and would flag a taxi at the first opportunity. She'd pack up as soon as she reached the apartment and book the next available flight out of town.
Goran grew more infuriated by the second. He had circled back around, expecting to find her strolling along Nicaragua Street, but she was nowhere to be found. He had scoured the adjacent streets with no luck. At this point, he had driven down every street between here and that bitch's high-rise building on Avenida Raul Scalabrini Ortiz. He knew there was a backup plan, but he didn't like to fuck things up in front of Srecko's nephew. He wasn't sure why the kid was here. He probably wanted to impress his uncle, just like the rest of them. At least he had enough sense to stay out of their way. He respected that, and if placating Josif was the key to securing a future with Srecko, he'd cover the kid's back.
He pounded the steering wheel, glancing desperately around the streets. Losing Zorana on the streets didn't help his position with Josif. There were plenty of other eager players on the scene. Right now, they were probably singing sweet songs of Goran's incompetence to Josif. He turned the car onto Avenida Castillo, after completing a sweep of Avenida Armenia. A few seconds later, his cell phone rang. He recognized the number. Josif.
"I'm almost done with the sweep…she fucking vanished," he said.
"She's headed up to the apartment. Just arrived on the street. We're going with the backup plan."
"Understood. I'm less than three minutes away," he said and threw the phone on the passenger seat.
He floored the van, cruising through the stop sign on Malabia. The next street was Avenida Raul Scalabrini Ortiz.
Jessica walked through the door of her apartment and placed her purse on the brown granite-topped, cast iron foyer table. She glanced in the mirror and noted the puffiness under her eyes. She could see it through the makeup. She had taken full advantage of the ability to stay out later than Daniel usually preferred. He had never been a big fan of the club scene, but had played along with her everywhere they had lived. Two in the morning was the absolute latest she could keep him out on the streets and she never pushed it with back-to-back nights. With Daniel, she treated it like an infrequent indulgence. They had other thrilling and pleasurable ways to spend their time together.
She closed the door and decided to book her flight first. Something that left late in the afternoon and gave her enough time for an indulgent, midday nap. She crossed the shiny marble floor and stopped at the end of the foyer hallway, frowning. She detected a rancid smell that she thought hadn't been in the apartment when she left. She had eaten some leftover Thai food last night, but was pretty sure she had put it away…though she had been fairly intoxicated at the time. She turned the corner and glanced into the kitchen. The counters were spotless, but something else caught her eye and caused her to stiffen. Through the open bedroom door, she could partially see a small digital camcorder set on top of a tall tripod.
Jessica turned for the foyer hallway and sensed movement in the furthest reaches of her peripheral vision. She lashed out at the movement with her right elbow, catching a short, broad-shouldered man wearing a light blue shirt directly in the nose, splattering blood down his face. Halfway out of the foyer closet, he stumbled and tried to bring both hands to his shattered nose. She immediately followed with a solid front kick to his solar plexus. The kick drove him down the foyer and slammed him against the entry door, knocking him off his feet. He grasped for the cast iron table near the door, bringing it down with a hard thud onto the white marble floor.
She reached for the ultra-slim, serrated, four-inch blade concealed along her outer thigh. She managed to hike up her red knee-length skirt high enough to fully grasp the knife, but found herself suddenly paralyzed, struggling to move her hand another inch. She lost all sense of balance and fell to her knees, focused on the incredible surge of pain radiating from the right side of her lower back. She started to topple over against the foyer wall, unable to arrest her continued fall, and watched helplessly as the man with the bloody nose threw the heavy table aside. He walked up to her and spit a mixture of blood and mucus on her face, right before he kicked her in the stomach…harder than she had ever been kicked before. The image of his face grew hazy as he cocked his fist and delivered a crunching blow to her face.
Before her vision returned, Jessica's first instinct was to struggle. She could barely breathe and felt an unbearable pressure under her chin. She reached up with her hands to feel around her neck and was yanked up onto her knees by her head. Her fingers managed to find the source of the excruciating pain. She desperately tried to pull the thin wire surrounding her neck to ease the pressure that prevented her from taking more than a few, shallow gasps of air. She felt fresh blood trickle onto her hands and run down her chest. The pressure tightened, and she took her hands off the garrote, which resulted in a slight reduction in pressure.
Her vision settled on a bloodied figure in front of her. The man looked familiar through the blood pouring out of his nose and down over his mouth and chin. The bloodstains gave him a ghoulish look, like he had just dug into raw meat. She stared at him for a few more seconds, struggling to gain some leverage against the steel wire garrote that was yanked every time she moved. If she fought too much, additional pressure from the wire could cut into her carotid artery. She would bleed out within minutes if this happened…and kept this in mind as an option. She had no idea what they had in store for her, but she was pretty sure that a fast bleed out would be the best alternative.
"Did you really think you'd get away with it, you stupid cunt?" the bloodied man uttered.