At the hotel elevator, Remo held his arm across the opened door and waited for his boss. A buzzer was beeping; the elevator was full. The heat was steadily climbing in the packed car because the hotel’s air conditioning was being repaired. A young couple who’d already called out their floor to the lift-boy waited and wondered in silence about the delay.
Still Suarez lingered in the atrium, reminiscing, smelling the orchids, listening to the peaceful waterfall. The buzzing for the lift from the upper floors grew frantic. Unaware that the men surrounding them were a gang, the young couple began to mumble about the delay. They were obviously newly-weds. Crushed into a corner of the crowded lift, the girl began to complain that her puffy white gown would be ruined.
Finally the elevator boy felt he had to say something. “Señor, I…”
He instantly shut his mouth when Remo’s red eyebrow arched menacingly.
“It’ll be just a few more seconds.” Then Remo’s expression changed. He surveyed the faces of his col eagues and grinned personably at the newly-weds.
“We’re waiting for our friend. He’ll be here in a moment. Please be patient.”
The other members of the gang glared at the couple, silencing any further complaints they might be considering.
When it suited him, Remo could assume the warmth of a professional Santa Claus. But it was his size, not his personality, that had made Suarez notice him and ultimately hire him as his trusted personal assistant. Remo Poteshkin had been a professional wrestler until an opponent ripped off part of his ear at a match in a Marseilles nightclub. He had easily won the fight, but had lost the lawsuit his opponent had filed when he got out of traction a month later; the man’s back and pelvis had been so badly broken he would never walk again. Remo, who’d thought his response was only fair, could still remember the howls of rage from the 350-pound man sitting helplessly in his wheelchair in the courtroom. Remo had had to leave the wrestling game and declare bankruptcy. Fortunately Suarez had bet on him to win the fight; after Remo had gone through all his savings paying his opponent’s medical bills, Suarez took over. The gory photos of the bout had been splashed on the pages of wrestling magazines all over the world. Fortunately, the fans mainly didn’t remember Remo, just the blood, his mangled ear, and his blind fury as he’d thrown his opponent five rows deep into the seats. Remo had never reentered the ring; and El Monstroso Rojo, as he’d been known professionally, had been reported (with some respectable hype and fanfare) dead. Still, every once in a while a wrestling fan would recognize Remo by his red moustache, and, though Remo always denied his identity, Suarez insisted he keep a low profile.
At last, holding an orchid, Suarez stepped into the elevator. As the elevator started to rise, he turned to the group and apologized for the delay. When he and his men got off at the fifth floor, the lift-boy was holding a crisp new twenty-dollar bill.
After the door had closed behind the gang the newly- weds grumbled bitterly, but the boy smiled.
He had become another of Rudolfo’s disciples.
On the bridge of the Enterprise, General Hayes stood next to Captain Halsey surveying the flight deck. All of every day and every night the miniature air force practised the business of war; business as usual on all aircraft carriers, so that, if real action were needed, it would fit seamlessly into the schedule.
With its captain back on board, the Enterprise had moved far enough out to sea to resume full flight operations. It still remained in sight of the coast of Chile. Waiting to talk to Halsey when he had a moment of spare time, Hayes watched plane after plane catapulted off the deck while the flight crew worked feverishly just inches away from flaming exhausts and whining intakes. The catapult operators ducked as wingtips flashed by only a foot or two above their heads.
“Is it always like this?” he said.
Halsey smiled. “Except when we’re in port, yes. We have to keep our edge.”
“You’d never guess they were just kids fresh from high school.” On the flight deck a crewman signalled to a pilot with a complex series of gestures. “They act like seasoned pros.”
“Yeah,” said Halsey. “I wish the bastards in Congress could see what goes on here when they start talking about scuttling Navy ships. They get so full of their subs and their Air Force and their missiles, they forget that the carriers are prime delivery for US power around the world.”
Hayes grinned. “You sound like a recruitment officer.”
“Shit, General, it’s the truth.”
“That’s a roger, Captain. At least we have a President who understands that, too. I knew him in Nam.”
“I hope you’re right.” Halsey peered at the horizon through his binoculars, then shouted into the com. “Tell Bravo six to flag it for a second pass,” he instructed his crew chief. “Hell, even I can see he’s too low.”
Hayes shook his head. “I was just wondering how your visit went with Frei.”
“They’re behind us a hundred per cent. I let Grimes take him up in one of the Gadfly choppers, just to impress on him we were being straight with him.”
“Oh yeah? And what did he think of that?” Halsey laughed. “Puked his guts out, Grimes said. But then told me he’d loved it.”
Hayes nodded as Halsey detailed the flight over the Andes. When Halsey told him they were in the Gadfly for the better part of an hour, Hayes whistled. “All those thermals — that must have been some ride in the dark.”
“Those choppers are little things, and they’re light — made of composites. I guess it wasn’t what Frei was expecting. I mean, before he went up, he said he flew in choppers all the time. Piece of cake, he said.”
The two men stood there sharing the imagined spectacle. Then Hayes admitted that he didn’t think he’d have the stomach himself for a long ride in a Gadfly.
“You have to hand it to Frei,” agreed Halsey. “He did his best to convince me it was, like Grimes told me, a day at Disneyland. Hard to ignore the stains on his flight suit, though.”
The phone rang and the first officer picked it up.
“Tango squadron is lining up,” he said, holding the receiver out to Halsey.
The captain took it and looked at Hayes apologetically. “Things are getting busy up here.
Anything more I can help you with?”
“Just one thing. Are we keeping an eye on Gibbs?”
“I have five intelligence officers on watch in twenty- four-hour shifts at the hotel — the Foresta, it’s call ed.”
“Great,” said Hayes. “That’s what President Kerry wants to hear. If we lose Gibbs, we’ve lost any chance of catching the terrorists. I hope your men are keeping a low profile. The President is afraid Suarez, or whoever planted the bombs, will find out Gibbs is the man they shot. He’d be sure to try to finish the job.”
“They’ve all been briefed,” answered Halsey.
Hayes saluted and turned to leave, but the captain touched his arm and leaned towards his ear. “Uh, the word is that Gibbs and French are, well…”
Hayes chuckled. “Grimes sniffed it out a long time ago. So what? It happens. If it’s a problem, it’s for the Bureau to sort out. Anyway, should keep the two of them off the streets and out of trouble.”
Halsey grinned as well, then turned to give instructions to his first officer.
Hayes lingered a moment longer to watch a F-117 Stealth fighter make a perfect three-point landing and snag a cable, which brought it quickly to a stop. The flight crew shuttled it rapidly to the side to make room for the next arrival.
“Flying Stealth aircraft during the day?” he asked an officer.
“Instrumentation, General. Using them to scan the peaks. Not much of a secret any more. Right? Not since Desert Storm.”