Targets of Opportunity (31 page)

After finishing with a delicious lemon tart and espresso, Sandor paid the check and they prepared to leave. Sandor was not surprised to see that the two men called for their bill as soon as he asked for his. As they waited for the check, Sandor said, “I need you to do something for me.” He explained, and Vauchon looked concerned.

“It’ll be fine,” Sandor told him.

Vauchon stood, then led the way to the front, where they bid each other good night.

“I’ll check in with you in the morning,” he said.

“Are you sure you don’t need my help finding your way home?”

Sandor smiled. “I’ll be fine. St. Barths is really just one long road, right? Anyway, if I get lost it’s a beautiful night for a drive.” Then without waiting for a reply he headed for his car, moving more quickly now as he got behind the wheel and started the small Suzuki 4x4.

The road to Maya’s is a long, narrow lane. As Sandor drove up the hill above the port, the two men from the restaurant climbed into their car and started off. Vauchon had pulled out of his parking space and made a show of stalling his car for a moment as he kept them from moving around him.

Sandor had reached the crest of the road, a vantage point from which he watched approvingly as Vauchon delayed their pursuit. Then Sandor pulled off to the side, turned off the engine and lights, and waited.

If the two men intended to follow him they had already done a lousy job, thanks primarily to Vauchon’s interference. When the lieutenant finally moved out of their way, they raced ahead in the direction Sandor had traveled. It’s tough to lose someone on an island this small, but they rode up and back on the street along the harbor, not spotting Sandor as he sat in an area beside a stone wall along a short residential driveway. They finally stopped for a moment, apparently considering their next move, then turned in the direction leading from Gustavia toward St. Jean. As Sandor had noted, there is really only one main artery passing through the heart of the island. That meant it was difficult to determine what they had planned but easy to follow them. They might already know he was staying at Guanahani and be heading there, or they might be giving up their search for the night and returning to their own place. All he could do was keep his distance and watch.

Sandor stayed well behind them as they passed the airport and made their way to the other side of the island. They slowed at one point, and Sandor stopped and pulled into the parking lot adjacent to one of the nightclubs in Lorient. His main advantage was that most of the rental cars on the island looked alike. It would be tough for them to spot him as he resumed his pursuit, especially in the dark.

After a minute or so he pulled out. At the right fork that would have led to Guanahani, they turned left instead. Sandor slowed again and watched as they climbed the hill toward Pointe Milou. He knew the island well enough to take a side road that would lead him around to the same area. As he came from the right and over the rise that brought him back on course, he saw their car descending a steep driveway to a villa that was situated on a cliff overlooking the sea.

Sandor did not know that it was the villa Adina’s men, Cardona and Hicham, had rented more than a week before. So far the French authorities had not identified Hicham from the plane crash, nor the place he stayed on the island.

Sandor pulled onto a narrow sandy shoulder, killed the lights and the engine, then stepped into the warm, breezy night. They had not gone to his hotel, meaning that they were satisfied to give him up for tonight, perhaps intending to make a move on him tomorrow.

But for them, tomorrow would be too late.

Sandor had his Walther, a spare magazine, and a silencer he had been given by the advance team sent by Byrnes. He climbed atop the rocks that sat above the complex of small buildings perched below him. He could not see much once the two men left their car and entered the compound. He had no way of knowing if there were more of them inside.

But it didn’t matter.

He had come here for answers and he was determined to get them.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

BAYTOWN, TEXAS

P
ETER
A
MENDOLA WAS
having a hard time sleeping. He rolled over for what seemed the hundredth time that night and squinted at the digital display on the bedroom clock.

Just after 3
A.M
.

He quietly slid from beneath the sheets, pulled on his robe, and stepped into his slippers, then stole silently downstairs to the basement.

As he sat at the small metal desk in the corner of the room he wondered what the hell he had been thinking. He had never really bought the story about corporate espionage. After all, the refineries of the world were one huge conglomerate now, or at least the American companies were. Competition among oil companies? That ended forty years ago when two gas stations at the same intersection would cut their gas prices, give away coffee mugs, then wipe your windshield and check the oil. Now, he knew, prices were fixed in backroom deals. The giants of the industry remained giants and their pampered executives lived happy, pampered lives.

What the hell had he been thinking?

Amendola unlocked the desk drawer on the left, pulled it all the way out, and set it on the floor. Then he reached into the back of the opening and removed a large metal box, setting it on the desk. He lifted the lid and stared at the contents. There were neat piles of hundred-dollar bills that already totaled well over $120,000. Sitting atop the money was a stack of papers he had collected over the past two days, papers that disclosed various aspects of the Baytown refinery defense system.

He knew, of course, that there were far more elaborate plans he would never have access to. He assumed his handlers would realize that as well. He only hoped that those other systems were sophisticated enough to do what they were intended to do, which was to protect the complex even after the information he was about to pass along came into the hands of the wrong people.

The wrong people. He almost laughed out loud as he silently repeated the phrase to himself.

He realized that he had somehow become one of the wrong people.

An attack on Baytown? It seemed unthinkable, but that had to be what these men were planning. Up to now he had been paid large amounts of cash for relatively innocuous data. But here he was, staring down at schematics for perimeter defenses and counteroffensive technology, much of which he didn’t even understand. Who else would want this sort of information? Who would pay all this money for it unless they meant to use it? Who would threaten the life of his family to force him to get it?

“What are you doing down here, Peter?”

The shock of her voice, cutting through the silence of night, stood him bolt upright from his chair, his left hand slamming the lid of the strongbox shut as he turned to face her.

“Uh, sorry, sweetheart, I tried not to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” she said. “I turned over and you weren’t there.” Her eyes moved from him to the drawer that was sitting on the carpeted floor, then to the box on the desk. “What are you doing?” she asked him again.

He could not look her in the eyes, so he fidgeted with the sash on his terrycloth robe.

“I’ll tell you what I’m doing, I’m working too damn hard, that’s what I’m doing. Just came down here to think, is all. And what I think is that we need a vacation. That’s what this family needs, a vacation together.”

She stared at him for a moment, then slowly began nodding. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe we do.”

“Yeah, I worry about things at the refinery day and night, can’t even sleep anymore. Been a while since we’ve gotten away. I have four weeks of vacation time coming. Be good for Thomas too, right?”

His wife pursed her lips as if giving it some thought. “Sure,” she agreed. “That’d be nice.”

“Good, good,” he said.

“Well come on, let’s go back to bed, we’ll talk about it in the morning.”

“You go ahead,” he told her. “I’ll be right up.”

She hesitated. “You’re sure you’re all right?”

“Go on. I’ll just be a minute.”

After his wife left him alone again he sat down and gazed at the metal box without opening it. What choice did he have, other than to turn over these plans? If he went to the authorities he would have to admit what he had done. He would be ruined. He would probably go to jail. Not to mention that they would never be able to protect him and his family from the recriminations that might come. He couldn’t just hide, he knew that these were the sort of people who would find him. Or his wife. Or children.

He had no choice, he knew that. These were serious people. The money, the attitude, the threat, it was all clear to him now. He had no choice. Tomorrow he would give them what they wanted. Then, as soon as he could arrange things at work without raising any suspicion, he would take two weeks of vacation and get away. Whatever was going to happen, he hoped that it would happen while he was gone.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

ST. BARTHÉLEMY, F.W.I.

S
ANDOR FELT HE
had waited long enough. It was after 2
A.M
. and, as best as he could see from his aerie, all of the main lights in the compound had been out for more than an hour and there was no movement in the villa. It appeared that a young woman resided in the small structure nearest the driveway entrance. She was likely a housekeeper, and though he could not tell whether she lived alone, her lights had also been out for some time. He had neither seen nor heard a dog, which was a good thing under the circumstances, since the last thing he needed was a frisky animal waking everyone to announce his arrival. He thought he saw a cat—he hated cats, but at least cats are quiet.

The star-filled sky had enough clouds to provide him the cover of inky darkness as he made his approach.

With the cylindrical silencer already attached to the barrel of his PPK he began his climb down. There was no way he could determine if the driveway had motion or light sensors in place, so the outside route along the edge of the cliff made the most sense. In the event anyone was still awake it would also give him the best opportunity to arrive unseen.

The sheer drop to the Caribbean was off to his left. The assortment of unfriendly rocks below was more than eighty feet down, the seascape illuminated with halogen lighting just above the waterline. Fortunately that lighting helped him navigate his descent as he continued along the craggy route he had chosen. He stayed well away from the edge, eventually finding his way to a flat area just above an artificial waterfall that splashed noisily into an infinity-style swimming pool that extended all the way to the precipice and seemed to disappear into the horizon. He said a silent thanks for the sound of the running water as it helped conceal his descent.

He was now only eight or so feet above the deck level, and he squatted behind a cluster of prickly shrubs to check the layout. A large patio ran from the edge of the pool and led to a spacious dining and living area open on two sides. The only light came from low-voltage fixtures around the base of the concrete decking. The kitchen, which was also an open-air design, was set off to the right and beyond that were separate structures he assumed to be the bedrooms.

Each of them was dark.

No one was in sight.

Sandor lowered himself onto the patio, then moved toward the first bedroom, off to the right of the pool. Keep it simple, he figured, pick door number one and go for it.

Unfortunately, the entrance to the room was a large, glass sliding door, making silent intrusion impractical. Behind the glass panels were floor-to-ceiling drapes that blocked any view of the interior. So he crouched down and crept past the kitchen entrance and into an outdoor corridor paved with tiles and lined with flowers he was certain offered a blinding assortment of color in the daylight, but for now just created an uneven wall of shadows as the walkway lighting cast its dim glow upward. Here, on the other side of the building, he found a normal, prehung hinged door leading into what appeared to be the rear of this first suite. If the sea air had rusted the metal, there would be a creaky announcement of his next move—but that was a chance he had to take. He took firm hold of the ceramic lever handle with his left hand and turned it down. Silence. He waited an instant, then slowly pushed, his PPK close to his side at chest height, just in case he met any surprises. The door cooperated, not making a sound as he swung it open just far enough to slide through. He took several quick looks ahead and over his shoulders, now aware of the rhythmic breathing coming from whoever was sleeping inside. He stepped into the room and eased the door shut behind him, using as much care as he had in opening it.

Sandor was in almost total darkness now and gave his eyes a moment to adjust. Then he acted swiftly, his rubber-soled shoes quiet on the terra-cotta floor as he traversed a short foyer and entered the bedroom. There he found the man lying on his side, sound asleep. Sandor leaned over and, in one quick move, pinched the man’s nose with his left hand, causing him to open his mouth wide as he gasped for air, giving Sandor the opportunity to shove the barrel of the silencer down his throat.

The man reflexively grabbed for Sandor’s wrist, but Sandor responded by pulling back the hammer on the PPK. The sound caused the man to stop moving.

“Now,” Sandor whispered as he used his weight and the strength in his right arm to pin the man down, “if you struggle, if you try to move before I tell you to move, if you do anything other than make me happy, this peashooter goes off whether I want it to or not, your brains are guacamole, and I’m on my way to room number two. You speak English, yes? Ah, ah, ah, don’t try to talk yet, just hold up your left hand, one finger for yes, two for no.”

The finger he held up was intended to convey more than “Yes.”

“Now, now, no reason to be bitter.” Sandor continued to speak in a soft voice, keeping their encounter as quiet as possible and forcing the man to concentrate on what he was saying. “All I need are a few simple answers, then you can go back to sleep. Please tell me you’re going to cooperate or I won’t waste another minute here,
comprende
?”