Lethal Agent (Mitch Rapp #18)(64)

He pulled off one of the man’s boots and pried apart the sole, hoping to find some kind of plastic stiffener, but it was just rubber and leather.

Why did everything have to go the hard way?

He pulled the man’s leg inside the cage and yanked back on it, using one of the bars as a fulcrum. The quiet snap of bone sounded immediately, but he kept pulling until the jagged fracture popped through the skin.

Surprisingly, the knife was razor sharp, and it took only about fifteen minutes to fashion part of the man’s fibula into the appropriate tools. Once the lock had dropped off, Rapp swapped clothes with the corpse and shoved it in the cage. It wouldn’t fool anyone who was really interested, but it’d be enough for someone casually glancing through the trees as they passed.

A quick recon of the compound confirmed his first impression—minimal physical or electronic security, but a lot of armed guards. None looked particularly attentive, but their sheer number made getting by them unlikely even in the remaining darkness. Quietly killing a couple more was definitely doable, but how high a body count could you run up in a popularity contest? It wasn’t really his area of expertise, but he guessed that anything over zero was a move in the wrong direction. So he waited.

Dawn brought what he was looking for: a fairly sloppy changing of the guard. Taking advantage of a temporary gap along the northeast corner of the compound, Rapp slipped out of the jungle and through a door partially hidden by foliage.

It opened to a storage room and probably provided access for deliveries. Past the well-stocked shelves was another door that led to a spacious industrial kitchen. There were a couple of pots steaming on the stove but no sign of the cook, so he crossed the tile floor into an airy dining room.

Human activity continued to be nonexistent as he crossed a surprisingly tasteful living room and entered a hallway at the back. Most of the doors were open and led to stylish bedroom suites that looked like they’d never been used.

He slipped into one of them and locked the door. A quick search turned up a closet full of designer clothes, some of which still had the tags hanging from them. As luck would have it, he and Esparza were around the same size. The loafers looked a little small but would undoubtedly be more comfortable than the guard’s damp, torn-up boots.

The bathroom was behind a massive stone barrier that doubled as the headboard of the bed. The back wall was constructed entirely of glass and looked out into dense, flowering jungle. Rapp spotted a switch set apart from the ones for the lights and flipped it. The glass turned opaque.

This was more like it.





CHAPTER 32


RAPP pushed his hair from his face and examined himself in the still steamy bathroom mirror. With a belt, Esparza’s designer slacks stayed up and the fact that he wore his shirts loose allowed them to accommodate Rapp’s broad shoulders. The loafers were definitely on the tight side but that was probably a good thing—they’d stay on if he had to run. But that wasn’t the goal. If there was any running happening today, his mission had failed.

Satisfied that he was appropriately groomed for a job interview, Rapp strode back out into the hallway. It was still empty and he headed unchallenged toward the large, palm-frond-covered terrace he’d noticed when he arrived.

On his way across the living room, a plump woman in her fifties appeared from a door to the right. She stopped short, giving him a quizzical look as she wiped her hands on an apron that appeared to have seen some serious action. Just the person he was looking for.

“Breakfast?”

Her eyes narrowed as she tried to decipher what he’d said.

“Comida?” he managed to dredge from his memory.

That got a nod.

“Cómo se llama?”

“María, se?or.”

“María. Café?”

That got another nod, but he wasn’t through his Spanish repertoire yet.

“Huevos rancheros?”

“Sí, se?or.”

“Perfecto. Y orange juice.” He pantomimed holding a glass. “Uh, naranja. Sí? Muy grande. Mucho hielo.”

“Entiendo. Tortillas de harina o maíz?”

He had no idea what she’d just said, but on the subject of food his instinct was to just agree with whatever this woman recommended. “Sí.”

She didn’t seem to fully understand his response, but he wasn’t worried. “Dónde está Se?or Esparza?”

She pointed. “En la terraza.”

Esparza was right where María said he would be, sitting at a table with a plate of fruit and a newspaper in front of him. The entire terrace—including the fountain and massive fireplace—were shaded and protected from overhead surveillance by foliage. The bugs were a little thick, but at least they weren’t for breakfast anymore.

The cartel leader didn’t look up until Rapp sat down across from him. His confused expression only lasted a split second before recognition set in. He looked like he was about to shout for help from the surrounding guards, but Rapp spoke first.

“I figured you’d probably heard something back from your contacts by now.”

There was a place setting in front of him, so Rapp shook out the cloth napkin and set it on his lap.

Esparza was frozen, eyes flicking to the knife near Rapp’s right hand. His body language suggested he was going to throw himself backward and call in a little machine gun fire, but then María appeared with a cup of coffee and a pitcher of icy, fresh-squeezed orange juice.