Chapter 13
Three shots rang out in rapid succession as David Foster alighted from the taxi at the curb in front of the park across from Sergio Mora's office. David saw people on the street run for cover. It all happened in an instant, but David Foster had trained himself to react quickly. He heard the glass shatter on the car door and the thunder of a revolver was ringing in his ears as he propelled himself into the front seat.
"Get the hell out of here!" David snapped at the driver. When the driver failed to respond and didn't move, David realized that he was dead. Blood was seeping slowly out of a hole in the man's neck. David was trying to calculate his chances when the burst from an automatic rifle shattered the rear window of the 1956 Mercedes Benz, which was the most popular car used for taxis in Buenos Aires. Christ, David cursed to himself, they're putting heavy artillery on me! He pulled the driver's lifeless form across the seat and managed to keep himself below the window line as he slid into the driver's seat.
David's experience told him that if he brought his head up, he was dead. He pushed the clutch in with his hand and used his other hand to jerk the car in gear. Letting the clutch off, he shoved the accelerator to the floor. The car leapt away from the curb and shot down the street. He counted on the shooting to have cleared traffic and he kept down until he felt that he was several hundred yards away from the curb. Then he pulled himself upright and began driving for his life.
A glance in the rear-view mirror told him that he wasn't alone. A green Fiat 1600 was following him down the middle of the street with a man leaning out of the passenger side with an automatic rifle sending bursts at the fleeing Mercedes. David put the Mercedes in third gear and floored it, winding through increasing traffic. He made two sharp turns, upsetting a woman with a bag of groceries on the last one, and managed to gain a little ground on the Fiat. He shot through two red lights and skidded into a narrow alley to race two blocks and make a screeching turn into the heavy traffic on Avenida de Mayo.
They've got every advantage, David mused to himself as he crowded two cars out and made a racing turn on the wide 9 de Julio Boulevard. I'm in a tired old cab and they've got a fast car. They know the city and I haven't got the faintest idea where I am! He pushed the accelerator to the floor when he saw the green Fiat turn onto the boulevard two blocks behind him. David drove seventy miles an hour along the crowded street, missing cars and pedestrians by inches. He shot through a large intersection just as the cross traffic began, smiling to himself when he saw the Fiat stopped by a wall of busses crossing the boulevard.
David pulled off the wide boulevard and raced along a series of streets to the docks along the Platte River. He hadn't seen the Fiat for some time and he knew that his only chance was to ditch the Mercedes and disappear. He saw two large trucks parked parallel to the street waiting for loads from the dock and he pulled between them and stopped the car. It will be some time before they find the Mercedes, he said to himself as he stepped out and hailed a passing taxi.
"Aeroparque," David told the driver, indicating he wanted to go to the metropolitan airport. He glanced out the window and was relieved to find no sight of the green Fiat. David knew that this was only a temporary respite. He had no doubt about who had tried to waste him. The only people who knew where he would be that morning were those from the Tuyo organization. The fact that they were so open in their attempt meant that they wanted him badly. But why in front of their own headquarters? Then David remembered that the American Ambassador's home was almost next door. He whistled softly, wondering just how far they had been able to penetrate his cover. They would be after him with everything they had. How long would it take them to cover the airport? He had one advantage in that they didn't know that he had already been to Bariloche, so David decided to take a chance. He knew that within an hour or two Sergio Mora would have every exit from Buenos Aires covered. Maybe he could get out under the wire.
The one thing that David Foster was positive of was that it was going to be heavy traffic from here on, a hit-and-run battle of wits and a race against time.
As usual, Aeroparque was jammed with people. David thanked providence for that as he melted into the crowd and made his way to the nearest ticket counter. The girl in the green-and-white uniform at Austral Airlines informed him that they had one cancellation on the next flight to Bariloche leaving in thirty minutes. David purchased his ticket and made his way through the crowded lobby to a public phone.
"What?" Carl Raitman said as David at the other end of the line quickly explained what had happened.
"No questions, Carl," David continued. "They've evidently blown my cover sky high. I'm headed for the mountains in twenty minutes. Have Patricio put the team into action this afternoon. A raid on Mora's office may convince them that I'm still in town. Then have the team meet me down south. Name a place."
"How about the airport?" Raitman asked, thinking quickly.
"No good," David replied. "They'll have that covered. In town."
"There's a restaurant called 'La Fiambre' about two blocks from the plaza. Say at noon?"
"Right," David said, memorizing the name of the contact spot. "Keep Peter Martin away from the mountains. The air may be heavy up there for the next couple of days. And can you arrange for a fast car for me at the airport? This is no time to be cruising around in a four-cylinder kiddie car."
"Can do," Raitman replied with a laugh. "There will be a white Mercedes parked at the curb in front of the airport when you arrive. The keys will be above the visor. Need any artillery?"
"Everything you can jam in it," David's voice responded. "And be sure the insurance is up to date. You may not get it back in one piece. Gotta run, Carl."
Carl Raitman barely had time to wish David good luck before the receiver went dead in his ear. He buzzed his secretary and had her get their man in Bariloche on the phone immediately, then he asked her to send Peter Martin into his office. When he hung up on his call to Bariloche, Raitman looked up to see his secretary enter his office.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Raitman," the secretary said, "but I can't find Mr. Martin. He was here just a few minutes ago. A man arrived with a large manila envelope for him and he came out to meet the man in the reception area. He returned to his office, but his secretary said he only stayed there for a few minutes and left again."
"Well, where in the hell did he go?" Raitman asked.
"I don't know, sir," the girl replied nervously.
"Didn't his secretary have any idea?"
"No, sir. All she said was that he seemed highly agitated when he left the office. He was carrying the manila envelope with him."
"Did you call the guard at the entrance?" Raitman asked, his irritation obvious in the tone of his voice.
"Yes, sir, and he hasn't left the building yet. I told the guard to advise Mr. Martin that you wanted to see him immediately."
"Good, Mary," Raitman replied, relaxing. "Things may be breaking fast in the next couple of days. Put the entire staff on alert."
"Should I advise the Ambassador, sir?"
"Not yet," Raitman sighed. "If we're lucky, he may never have to know anything about all of this. Find Patricio and get him up here immediately."
Two hours later, Carl Raitman's concern deepened considerably. He was on his way to lunch when his secretary stopped him.
"I thought you'd want to know, sir," she said, pulling him to a comer behind her desk in the reception area. "The guard just called and reported that Mr. Martin left the embassy five minutes ago. The guard gave him your message, but Mr. Martin ignored him. The guard said Mr. Martin seemed to be very preoccupied."
"Try the hotel," Raitman sighed. "I'll be at the confiteria around the comer."
At the same moment that Carl Raitman entered the confiteria for lunch, David Foster opened the door of the white Mercedes parked in front of the small Bariloche airport. He slid behind the wheel and gratefully closed the door behind him. The skies above the mountain resort were a dark-steel gray and a light snow was falling. David was half frozen from just the walk from the jet to the terminal and from the terminal to the car. Making a mental note to pick up some warm clothes in town, he reached above the visor and found the keys. He also found a set of house keys and a map marked with a red pen. Thanks Carl, he said to himself, you think of everything. He opened the glove compartment and found two fully loaded automatics. Choosing the smaller of the two, he closed the glove compartment and studied the map for a moment before starting the powerful car and pulling away from the curb. A glance in the rear-view mirror told him that he wasn't being followed, and David wondered how long his luck would last.
Thirty minutes later, David Foster let himself into a small, solidly built house sitting alone on a street at the edge of the Swiss mountain village of Bariloche. The house was on the last street climbing the mountain away from the lake and had an excellent view of the surrounding area. David didn't take time to admire the view. He went to the closet in the bedroom and found several complete winter wardrobes arranged neatly on hangers. The clothes were a size too small, but he managed to squeeze into a pair of stretch ski pants, a heavy turtleneck sweater and a quilted wind jacket.
David immediately returned to the car. He knew, that he had to make the most of his advantage that Tuyo didn't know that he was there. The Hawk will waste the Martin girl the minute he finds out that Peter Martin isn't the Wolf and that I'm loose, he thought to himself as he guided the Mercedes down the snow-covered streets. He may already have guessed that Martin isn't the Wolf, David thought, and he may already have wasted the girl, but if she's still alive I have to split her from the bastard.
When David recognized the small Fiat entering Bariloche from the Yao Yao road, he couldn't believe his luck. I should be in Las Vegas today, he said to himself, pulling the Mercedes quickly into a side street to let the Fiat pass. The Hawk is coming to town for something, and that means that the Martin girl may be alone at the chalet. As soon as the Fiat passed on the street below, David wheeled the Mercedes around and headed for the chalet.
The house was dark when David parked behind the hedge on the road above. Pulling the collar of his jacket up, he ran down the footpath and crossed quickly to the house. David went directly to the front door. He had no idea how long Sandoval would be in town and he knew that he had to hurry. The door was locked, but David managed to click the tumblers with the locksmith tools that were as much a part of his equipment as his gun. He entered the chalet with his automatic in his hand, moving as quietly as he could. He had no idea if the Hawk was alone, or if there were a group of strongmen waiting inside.
The house was deadly quiet. David glanced in the living room, then flattened himself against the wall and made his way silently up the short stairs. The door to the bedroom was locked, but the key was still in the door. He turned it quietly and opened the door. David's heart caught in his throat as his eyes were greeted with the sight of the naked body of a beautiful young blonde stretched out on the bed. Her eyes were closed and she didn't move. David was certain that the Hawk had liquidated Jenifer Martin until he saw her chest rise and fall with a deep breath. And what a chest, he said to himself admiring her full, pointed tits!
David walked quickly to the bed and took the naked girl's pulse. It was slow but steady. He saw a hypodermic syringe on the nightstand and realized that the girl had been drugged. That meant that the Hawk was ready to make a move.
Working rapidly and efficiently, David placed a piece of paper and a coat hanger on the bedroom side of the door. He knew that the Hawk wouldn't buy that the girl had escaped, but it would leave some doubt in his mind. The drug might not have taken effect, or she might have come out of it and pushed the key out of the lock to pull it under the door. The front door would take care of itself. She could have opened it without a key from the inside. He wrapped the nude girl's body in the bedspread and placed her over his shoulder. Taking a quick last look around the room, David adjusted the girl's weight on his shoulder and made his way down the stairs and out into the falling snow.
Carrying Jenifer up the steep path to the road made David's breath rasp in his throat and his muscles ache. He opened the back door of the Mercedes and placed the girl on the back seat. A car passed as David was sliding behind the wheel and he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that it wasn't the Fiat.
The snow was becoming heavier and David had to drive slowly. His nerves tensed with each approaching car, but there was no sign of the Hawk or the Fiat. He drove slowly through the city. Some of the merchants had turned on their lights. David's eyes darted up and down each cross street, but he saw no sign of the Fiat. He pulled to the curb on a deserted street and watched to make sure that he wasn't being followed. A glance at the rear seat indicated to him that the girl was still unconscious. The blanket had come loose and David saw her gold-crested pubic mound. The pink lips of her young vulva were plainly visible beneath to the silken pubic hair. She's certainly a good looking piece, he thought to himself as he pulled away from the curb and headed for the house.
The phone rang just as David placed Jenifer's unconscious body on the bed in the small house. David picked it up without saying a word.
"Raitman here," the voice said. "Team hit. Three minor leaguers picked up. Big ones had already left for Mar de Plata on the coast. Here's something for you. Checked phone company and one call was made to your area this morning at nine a.m. Nothing since. Team will be there at noon. Anything for us?"
"Girl safe," David replied, hanging up right afterward. If Raitman wasn't taking chances on line being tapped, neither would he.