Rain unto Death Read online

  The bathroom behind the Petrolimex station was just nasty, but it was probably the safest place to hang out for the time being. God, the beater pickup would have come in handy right now. It would have come in handy for spying on El Rey’s house.

  The unmistakable growling sound of the Mercedes pulled in to the gas station. Rex left the restroom and climbed in the passenger’s seat, to the curiosity of the station attendants. “Go,” Rex said. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  “You hungry?” Kirsten asked.

  Neither one of them had eaten anything all day; it was nearly dinner time. “Now that you mention it, yeah.” Rex replied.

  “What do you like?”

  “Hamburgers.”

  “Good. The hotel has a great seafood restaurant. I can’t wait to try it out.”

  “The hotel?”

  “Yeah I booked us a room.”

  “You booked us... a room?”

  “Well, we can’t have two separate ones, or we won’t be able to maintain our cover. Besides, the couch is very large. I’m sure you’ll find it to be very comfortable.”

  Just to let you know, should you end up in the sack with her. Rex thought about the remark that Carly made when Kirsten was in the conference room talking with Simon. She read him like a book. Or perhaps was it her, that she read like a book.

  A ragged, disheveled couple driving up in a beater pickup would be out of place here. No, they wouldn’t be allowed here. Good ole tax dollars at work. They get to drive around in an expensive car, stay at an expensive hotel, and eat expensive food. Although, Kirsten was used to DC, Ensenada was like staying in the slums, price wise comparatively.

  “Vodka?” Rex asked, as the server placed a neat shot on the table in front of her.

  She said with a twinkle in her eye. “I have a little bit of Russian in me. You should try one.”

  “Are we off duty for tonight?”

  “Off duty. You military guys are all the same.”

  “Ex-military.”

  “Same thing. Hey, excuse me, server, can we get four more shots and we’re also ready to order?”

  “Yes ma’am,” a brown skinned man with slicked back hair said as he clicked his fingers towards the bartender and grabbed his order pad.

  “I’d like the seafood platter.”

  “May I perhaps suggest the baked flounder? It is the fresh catch of the day. It is very good.”

  “I’ll stick with the seafood platter please.”

  “Okay.” The waiter scribbled a note down. “And for you sir?”

  “How is the hamburger?” Rex asked.

  “It’s okay. Not the very best, but it’s decent. This is, after all, a seafood restaurant.”

  “Then I’ll take the flounder.”

  “Excellent choice.”

  “Also could we get an order of the oysters on the half shell? A dozen?”

  “Absolutely. Another excellent choice. You want barbecue, or raw?”

  “Raw, of course.”

  “You are a man of excellent taste.”

  “Are you crazy?” Kirsten asked.

  “Huh? What?” Rex replied.

  “Raw oysters? Seriously?”

  “I thought you liked seafood.”

  “I do, but oysters, especially raw, do you think that’s a good idea?”

  “I’m sure they are fresh and clean.”

  “No, I mean, we are staying in the same room. That’s like of like, giving us two loaded guns.”

  “I can eat them all if you don’t want any.”

  “No. That would be dangerous. I’ll eat half of them.”

  “You know, I’m not a vodka person, but this isn’t half bad,” Rex remarked.

  “Glad you like it. Another round?”

  Kirsten stared at the breaded conglomeration of something that might be scallops and clams and fish but you couldn’t really tell because it tasted like oil. Her face said it all. I should have ordered the flounder.

  “How is the flounder?” She asked, eyeing it enviously.

  “It’s great,” Rex said.

  Those eyes. Imagine a puppy dog staring through a glass window at a bowl full of food. Not the dry stuff, but the moist, tender, succulent wet stuff. “That’s good.”

  “Go ahead. Try some,” Rex invited.

  “You don’t mind?”

  “Not at all.”

  The flickering colors from the television created the illusion of a light show on the white walls of the room. You could hear the crashing waves in the distance. It was cool enough outside that the gentle breeze through the open window was comfortable.

  Kirsten traded her filmy white slacks and light sweater for a silk nightgown, which covered, almost nothing as she lay face down on the bed watching a James Bond movie from the collection of VHS titles available in the lobby.

  Rex lay down beside her in a pair of athletic shorts and a black tank top. As commanding a presence that he had, Sean Connery could not divert his attention from the long, slender, creamy, trim legs culminating in to a perfect, marble statue rendering of the most perfect buttocks that he had ever seen, particularly in real life. “Is that what you want to be?” Rex asked. “A secret agent running all over the world chasing bad guys?”

  “Believe it or not,” Kirsten said. “I actually wish I could have a normal life. Settle down with someone. Have a family. But that’s so not me. I would go crazy.”

  “That’s why you don’t let anybody close to you, mentally.”

  “I never thought of it in those terms.”

  “It seems like every time I get close to a girl, close enough for things to happen, if you know what I mean, something terrible occurs and the opportunity for things to happen disappear.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “I mean, I’m lying on the bed, watching a movie with you, you’re more than half naked, and I can smell your pheromones all the way over here.”

  “Don’t even let that thought enter your mind. I’ll kick you senseless.”

  “Sorry.”

  “My back is a little bit sore. Can you be a dear and rub it for me?”

  The little silk nightgown lay neatly folded next to the pillow as Rex worked his strong hands from her shoulders, down her back, to the top of her buttocks, the only thing separating consummation being a filmy pair of white, scalloped, French cut panties. She gave a slight moan, as Rex started to strip them downwards.

  Then the pounding on the door came. “Policia! Open up!”

  “Fuck! What the hell is that?” Rex jumped off her, quickly donned his shorts and tank top, as Kirsten grabbed a bathrobe from the closet. “You answer it!” He whispered franticly.

  Kirsten cracked the door open. “Open the door! Now!” There were three uniformed Mexican police officers outside. She undid the security latch, and the three offices burst in. “You!” The lead officer shouted, pointing to Rex, “Put your hands up!”

  Rex complied. The surrounded him, and placed him in handcuffs. “Bring the girl in!”

  A moment later, a woman bearing a police uniform escorted a dark brown girl in to the room. He recognized her. That was the girl from the disco. “Is that him?” The officer said to the girl.

  She studied him carefully, and looked over at Kirsten, who was visibly shaking in her bathrobe. “No” she said as she turned around. “That is not him.”

  The lead officer removed the handcuffs. “Very sorry to disturb you. Have a nice night.”

  “How are you feeling?” Kirsten asked, hair still wet from the shower, dressed in a fresh change of designer jeans and light white wool sweater.

  “My back hurts like hell; that couch is terrible. And by the way, I think we need to get the hell out of here.” Rex replied. Then a noise sounded from Rex’ travel bag. It was his pager.

  He read the number, and hastily dialed it.

  The call connected. “I found out where the winery is.”

  “Where?”

  “Someplace in the El H
umo Mountains. In Sonora.”

  “Sonora, huh.”

  “I don’t know why a winery would be there. There is nothing out there. It’s all desert. I have to go now.”

  The line went dead. “Thanks.” Rex replied, although it was too late.

  “Okay. You think you could get your people to look at some satellite imagery?”

  “Of course. What are we looking for?”

  “El Humo Mountains, in Sonora, Mexico. El Rey has a winery there. But it’s desert. The girl said there is nothing there.”

  “Okay.” Kirsten took a briefcase sized device out of a large travel suitcase. It was the same type of Navajo 1 secure telephone communications device that Simon had in his office. She hooked it up to the outgoing telephone line, and made a call. “What are we looking for?” She asked.

  “Some kind of building maybe or grape vines, something that doesn’t look like it belongs.” Rex replied as he looked out the window at the morning sun.

  “They said they would call back in a while.”

  Rex stretched out on the bed. “You know, we kind of had some unfinished business last...”

  “Don’t even think about it. Take a shower and get dressed. We have work to do.”

  Every single damn time. It’s like someone upstairs is fucking with me, Rex thought. A run along the Playa for exercise might have been nice. Some prime time one-on-one for exercise would have been really nice. One thought that could not escape him, was why didn’t girl rat him out? She almost got him killed the first time. Why not the second?

  “Circumcised, huh.” Kirsten said as Rex tied his shoes.

  “You looked, didn’t you?” Rex teased.

  “No, I could feel it last night.”

  You had to go there, didn’t you?

  “You know how to do this map stuff, right?” Kirsten asked, as she wrote down a series of longitude and latitude coordinates.

  “Yeah, I know how to do map stuff.”

  “I don’t have any way of getting a fax of a map.”

  “No problem. We’ll pick one up someplace. Listen, with the way the roads lay out, we’re just as well off going back to San Diego to rent a Jeep.”

  The Mercedes 380 SL pulled on to the highway, and passed a girl standing by the roadside. “Stop!” Rex said.

  Kirsten pulled the car over. The girl ran to the car. “Take me to Tijuana.” It was the same girl that was in the room last night. The same girl that was in the disco several days ago.

  “Does this thing have a back seat?” Rex asked, looking back.

  “It’s not very big, but yes.”

  “Get in” Rex said, pulling his seat forward. Kirsten looked for traffic, and sped off towards Tijuana. “Okay, so why did you try to get me killed in the club?”

  “They made me do it. I didn’t want to” the girl answered.

  “Who?”

  “El Rey’s men. They are all over the place.”

  “Why did you tell the cops it wasn’t me?”

  “Same thing, this time, people saw you and they saw me, and the police made me look at you.”

  “But why did you let me go?”

  “I hate El Rey, he’s a pig.”

  “Why do you want to go to Tijuana?”

  “Because El Rey will kill me if I stay. I have friends in Tijuana that can help me get out of here.”

  “How much do you know about El Rey’s business?”

  “I don’t know much.”

  “Does he run drugs?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so. The cartels leave him alone.”

  “He can’t protect himself from the cartels?”

  “He has money, but not enough to protect himself from the cartels.”

  “How does he make money?”

  “I don’t know. Nobody really does.”

  “What do you know about El Rey’s airplane?”

  “His airplane?” He flies people, school teams, for charity.”

  “It seem so unlike him.’

  “He likes to think he’s good for the community. He likes to present that image. I don’t know, maybe he feels guilty about the people he’s hurt. The people he’s killed.”

  “What about the winery he owns?”

  “I know nothing about any winery.”

  “Okay.”

  “Even the pilots don’t like El Rey.” The girl said.

  “The pilots? You know the pilots?”

  “Yes, they come in to the club. They drink. They buy dances and girls.”

  “Are they local?”

  “No, they are not Mexican. They are from someplace like Egypt or Iran or one of those countries, I don’t know which.”

  “They? How many?”

  “Three that I have seen. They always come together. They always request that one song. ‘No sleep until Brooklyn.’ Sometimes two or three times a night and they go crazy dancing.”

  “When is the last time you saw them?”

  “Maybe a week ago. They stopped coming.”

  “Interesting,” Rex muttered, as he let the girl out on the last block before the border entrance. “What do you make of that?” He asked Kirsten.

  “I know that an ATR 42 is a specialized aircraft, and there are not a lot of people that are rated to fly them.” She replied. The statement wasn’t really true. They are actually fairly common.

  “But they fly them all over South America. I know that.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “Terrorists, maybe?”

  “It doesn’t make a lot of sense. I can’t see terrorists wasting their time performing charity flights.” Kirsten replied.

  “What if... What if maybe they are trying to set up a legitimate routine? In preparation for a future attack?”

  “You mean like a nuclear attack?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Again, a device small enough not to trigger our sensors would be incapable of doing much damage, even if it were a dirty bomb.”

  Chapter 7 – The Grapes of Wrath

  “This damn thing drives like a truck.” Kirsten grumbled, as she wrestled with the Jeep CJ7’s controls.

  “At least, we found one.” Rex pointed out. He studied the points he had plotted on the map with the list of longitude and latitude coordinates. The analysts that scoured the aerial photos found four suspect images within the boundaries of the mountain regions and ranked them in order of probability, from one to four.

  Meanwhile, Kirsten was also able to receive a secure fax of a high-resolution image from a field office on which Rex was able to transpose the locations. “Number one just doesn’t look right to me.” Rex said. “I just don’t see any roads; a winery needs truck access. We’ll start at number two and work backwards if we don’t get anywhere.”

  “Let me see that road map,” Kirsten said.

  “Tell you what. Why don’t you stop, let me drive, and you can do the navigating.”

  Reluctantly, she pulled in to a parking lot, put on the parking brake, and got out. “Fine. Have it your way.”

  “You really have a hard time bringing yourself to say that, don’t you?”

  “I need to focus on the mission. Get in and drive.”

  Rex expertly shifted through the range of gears, and took the freeway entrance to Interstate 8. “I think the easiest way to get there is to take the eight to the one-eleven and then cross the border at Mexicali. We can take the Mexican two all the way to the mountains. From there, we will have to figure out how we’re going to get by on the dirt roads. Unless, of course, you have a better idea.”

  She gave him a dirty look. The dirty look meant that she did not have a better idea. Although the Jeep was enclosed with a hard top, the wind noise made conversation difficult at highway speeds.

  Finally the speed slowed down as they approached Mexicali. “Getting to these places is going to be a real bitch. If you take a look on the map, there is a river about seventy miles south of the town of Sonoyta. There seems to be a dirt road going up the vall
ey. But listen, I don’t think this is going to be a day trip. I think we should plan on grabbing a couple sleeping bags, some food, and a lot of water.” Rex said.

  “You really think that’s necessary?”

  “Yeah, look at the time already. We have over a hundred miles of highway travel, and then probably a good fifty miles of dirt road travel over terrain, and that’s just to get to the place. Then we need to start looking. No, we’re going to be here a good solid two days, I assure you.”

  “Okay, you’ve convinced me. I used to camp with my parents as a little girl. We can get a tent!”

  “We don’t need a tent. It isn’t that cold.”

  “We need a tent.”

  “I don’t need a tent.”

  “Fine. I need a tent.”

  An hour later at a local sporting goods store, they had two sleeping bags and a tent in the back of the Jeep. The next stop was a supermarket. “Are we going shopping, together? The two of us?” She asked.

  “Well, unless you want me to do it all myself.” Rex replied.

  “I need to make a list. We’ll need hot dogs, hamburgers, a grill, charcoal...”

  “Whoa! Stop! Just stop! We don’t have time for all that! We need canned stuff! Peanut butter! Some bread, and water!”

  Shopping with this woman was like pulling teeth. Rex would grab two cans of tuna. Kirsten would grab a can of gourmet pink salmon. Then, there was the tin of smoked oysters. Rex grabbed one when her back was turned. She grabbed one herself when his back was turned. At least she agreed that milk, mayo, and eggs were out of the question. Some peanut butter and a single big, massive baguette of French bread should do it. In reality, Rex on his own could probably survive for a week on all this food. It was a little bit overdone, but at least she was happy. It was a classic case of ‘go big or go home.’ How can you not respect that?

  Sure enough, as they reached the dirt road that runs parallel to the river, the sun started to set low. The valley between the El Humo mountains and the mostly unpopulated farming region of El Humo was easy enough to navigate, but by nightfall, travel through unmarked trails in to the hills west of the valley, where the target areas were located, would be to treacherous. One thing that the remoteness of the area had going for it was that it least it was secure. Camping on the side of the highway would be stupid and dangerous. Camping out in the middle of the desert mountains fifty miles from the nearest living person was no big deal.