Chapter 15 #2
“We need to get close to Darrow.” Ricardo drummed his nails on the table between his phone and the remnants of his dinner. “If NightRaven takes him out, we need to be there to take him out.”
“It might take some time to find him,” August said. “Always does, especially if someone is already paranoid. Who knows if we have that time, though?”
“Then I’d suggest you start hunting for him now,” Heidi said. “Because someone’s already assigned the hit to NightChicken.”
Ricardo allowed himself a little snort at the new epithet. Then, “Shit. Are you sure?”
“I’m looking at it right now.”
August and Ricardo both swore.
“Go get ‘im, boys,” she said.
They ended the call after that, and they both sat back and stared at each other over their abandoned meals.
“Well, fuck,” August said.
Ricardo nodded. Well, fuck, indeed.
August reached for his drink. “Is it too much to hope Darrow has zero sense of opsec and leaves a trail of digital bread crumbs right to wherever he’s trying to lay low?”
“Probably.” Plenty of other marks were exactly that stupid.
The Dunning-Kruger effect really showed itself when rich assholes thought they’d outsmarted anyone who might try to find them or get past their security.
The cockier and more certain they were, the more likely they’d done something astronomically stupid like use the default login credentials for their security system or get scary-looking guard dogs who could be bribed with bacon.
Darrow… probably covered all his bases. He’d eluded two previous hits.
He’d booby-trapped his room. He’d even managed to James-Bond his way out of the elevator where NightRaven had tried to keep him on ice.
He was inconveniently paranoid, which was probably how he’d stayed alive for as long as he had in his line of work.
Which…
“Maybe we’re coming at this from the wrong angle.”
August raised an eyebrow. “How do you mean?”
“He already knows to watch his ass.” Ricardo drummed his nails on the table. “But do you think he’d be suspicious of someone offering to do business with him?”
The eyebrow climbed even higher. “You… You want to use one of his clients to lure him out? Or… Oh God. You want to pose as one of his clients, don’t you?”
Ricardo grinned. “I haven’t broken out my cartel persona in a while.” He half-shrugged. “Could be fun.”
“Could be—” August blinked. “This guy deals weapons to warlords, is being tailed by someone who wants to kill him and us, and you think it’ll be fun to play dress-up as Cartel Ricardo to flush him out?”
“You have any better ideas?”
“No, but I didn’t realize you were enjoying this so much.”
Ricardo inclined his head. “And you’re not?”
The corner of August’s mouth twitched.
Ricardo chuckled. “That’s what I thought.”
Coming at Herman Darrow from the client side of things was even easier than Ricardo had imagined. While the man may have kept his security tighter than a drum, waving money in his face worked as well as offering bacon to most guard dogs—he instantly forgot about the threat and started salivating.
Through a couple of liaisons, Ricardo—or, well, Arturo Munoz—made contact with Darrow.
They didn’t speak directly, but Arturo made his intentions clear, and the response came mucho rapido.
Before long, they were arranging to meet so that Arturo could procure weapons on behalf of a growing paramilitary group setting up shop in the Darién Gap, the dense strip of barely passable and extremely dangerous jungle dividing Panama from Colombia.
They would meet later this week in Panama City to discuss the specifics.
The otherwise security-conscious jackass told Arturo he’d be flying in from Miami on Tuesday, though he didn’t specify the time.
The dipshit flew on a private jet. He was smart enough not to take a jet he owned, but not smart enough to fly under an alias that hadn’t already been connected to his real identity half a dozen times over.
By the time his jet took off, August—also flying on a generic private plane—was an hour ahead of him.
Ricardo, having left the day before, was already waiting for both of them in Panama.
Still no sign of NightRaven, though, and Ricardo didn’t like that.
He had to have caught the scent by now and at least be aware that Darrow was on his way to Central America.
Was he already in town? Was he flying commercial?
Was there yet another private jet stomping its carbon footprint into the atmosphere as part of this shitshow? It was anyone’s guess.
And that part was also August’s problem.
Ricardo didn’t like it—he didn’t like it at all—but the only way they were going to end this was if one of them focused on Darrow while the other locked on to NightRaven.
That meant August being out of his sight and engaging with someone hostile.
It meant Ricardo going in without backup; that was something he’d done for most of his career as a lone wolf assassin, but that was a lifetime ago.
He wasn’t used to being without August watching his back.
Sitting in an idling car outside of Tocumen International Airport, he tried not to twitch or fidget.
His neck prickled with the certainty that someone might come up behind him.
Every car that approached was potentially NightRaven or some other random hostile.
He couldn’t relax. He fucking hated this.
August, be careful. Please.
His phone pinged.
Heidi
Darrow’s plane just landed.
Ricardo acknowledged that with a thumbs up.
He’d have waited outside customs, but Darrow was undoubtedly taking advantage of the VIP customs bypass, so he wouldn’t exit customs with all the normal people.
It would take him about half an hour to get through, during which time he’d sit in a VIP lounge and feel important, and then he’d leave through the main exit.
So Ricardo sat out here in a rental car in the cell phone lot, the air conditioning blasting to ward off the tropical heat, and waited for Darrow to ping his other phone.
Not long after Heidi’s text, another message came through.
August
He’s in the VIP lounge.
Ricardo gritted his teeth. He didn’t like that August was in there with him, even with a disguise to be sure Darrow didn’t recognize him.
Not that Darrow was interested in killing them, but if NightRaven was getting close to Darrow, then he’d be getting close to August. In an airport.
Where access to weapons was woefully limited, and where law enforcement would get involved in the slightest altercation.
Any sign of NightRaven?
Thought I smelled him, but it was just a guy with awful gas. (gagging emoji)
Ricardo managed a laugh at that. As always, August being snarky meant he was dialed in.
He’d be fine. He knew how to take care of himself, and for all Ricardo sometimes joked otherwise, he had a good head on his shoulders.
He’d be fine.
Still… too much time. Too many opportunities for someone to get to Darrow first. Or attack Ricardo.
Or hurt August. Too many ways for NightRaven to make things go sideways.
Patience was a virtue for an assassin, but it was not a virtue of Ricardo’s today.
There were too many variables for his liking.
Angry gray clouds swirled overhead, and he couldn’t help but wonder if they were an omen.
Of course it was the rainy season in Panama, and the sky opened up multiple times a day, but still.
Ricardo was on edge. If a black cat wandered in front of the car, he’d probably—
His Arturo Munoz phone pinged.
Darrow
Finished with customs. On my way outside.
Ricardo took a deep breath. Then he wrote back.
Arturo
I’ll be there shortly. Black Mercedes.
He put the phone aside and drove out of the cell phone lot to the main entrance.
Just as he was pulling up, the glass doors opened, and…
there he was. Darrow was dressed in a yellow guayabera and white trousers, either because he was leaning into the local fashion or because he knew that would make the heat and humidity more bearable.
Ricardo pulled up to the curb and got out.
He masked his Catalan accent with a Colombian one. “Mr. Darrow?”
Darrow looked right at him and his face broke into the kind of smile Ricardo fully expected from a sleazy salesman. “Senor Munoz!” He stepped closer and extended his hand. “Wonderful to meet you in person.”
“Likewise. Shall we? It’s…” Ricardo gestured at the sky. “The rain’s going to start soon.”
Darrow glanced up, and he startled as if he hadn’t expected to see rainclouds gathering above a place that was two-thirds rainforest. He didn’t argue, though, and they put his luggage in the trunk before getting into the car.
Perfect timing, too—as Ricardo pulled away from the curb, a fat raindrop hit the windshield with an emphatic splat. It was quickly followed by more, the torrential downpour clobbering the roof and windshield until it sounded like gunfire.
“They weren’t kidding about the rainy season, were they?” Darrow shouted over the noise.
Ricardo forced a laugh and shrugged. “Rainforest.”
The rain came down hard for a while, limiting Ricardo’s visibility and forcing him well below the speed limit. He didn’t like that, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.
He especially didn’t like when, as they moved from the heaviest rain into a less violent shower, a gray car stayed on his tail.
The car didn’t get close, but it seemed to be pacing Ricardo.
Even after he’d changed lanes three times, the car was still there, and Ricardo didn’t like it.
Paranoia, probably. They were on an expressway—a lot of cars would be heading in the same direction, and the day he’d already spent here had let him know drivers could be quite aggressive.
He took an exit. The gray car followed.
He went around a roundabout three times. The gray car did too.
Shit. Not good.