Rubio was the object of Beltran's obsessive interest. What would he do, how would he play it? Beltran sighted the scoped rifle's crosshairs on the back of Rubio's skull.
Rubio dismounted, swinging his legs off the bike. Crossing to the nearest Dumpster, the one closest to the corner of the building, he slipped out of the knapsack, shrugging it clear of his shoulders.
He lifted the lid of the Dumpster, dropping the knapsack with the money inside. He gently lowered the lid, went to his dirt bike, and saddled up.
Torres had sat there idling, waiting for Rubio. The big man looked ridiculous on the small bike, like a circus bear riding a tricycle. Rubio and Torres rode their bikes to the rear of the van, where Moreno had already loaded his bike into the back of the box.
Not bothering to dismount, Rubio rode his bike up the ramp and into the rear of the panel van.
Torres had had enough of motorbikes. Dismounting, he picked up his machine bodily and tossed it into the back of the truck. He wrestled the ramp free and slid it up to his partners, who wrestled it into place in the box.
Torres slammed the rear door shut and jogged around to the right front passenger side. Moreno was already in the front seat, starting up the engine. A blue-gray cloud of smoke jetted from the exhaust pipe in the rear.
Beltran had already set down the rifle. He now held a remote-controlled detonator, armed and ready. It was similar to the one used by Rubio to explode the blast charges under the bridge and the smoke bombs in the cemetery.
The van pulled out of the lot, turning right and starting southbound along the highway. Fastened to its underside was a charge of explosives that Beltran had fixed there earlier, when he'd first arrived at the Kwik- Up.
This was a matter of nice timing. If the van got too far away, the detonator might not work. But he didn't want the van too close to the Kwik-Up, either, for fear that that might block his own escape.
Beltran watched the van roll southbound, his finger poised over the red button. The machine was about a hundred yards down the road when he pushed the button, triggering the explosives wired beneath the van.
He might have been a trifle overzealous in the amount of explosives he'd used; the blast was tremendous.
The van disappeared in a blinding flash of white light. Disintegrating, its pieces fountaining skyward, it geysered upward in a roaring column, a pillar of smoke and fire.
A mighty crumping boom reverberated along the strip, the concussion blowing out plate-glass windows in stores on either side of the highway near where the van had been.
Beltran, a fastidious man, used a handkerchief to wipe down the rifle, removing all fingerprints. He left the weapon behind, hidden under some bushes. Before, it would have attracted little if any attention, but now a man with a rifle even in its case shrouding would likely catch the eye of some of the many who were rushing out of stores on all sides to see what the blast was all about.
Beltran pushed his way through the bushes to the dirt path and descended the hill. Down the road, the crumpled shell of the van was the center of a smoky, oily blaze whose scarlet tongues of flame stood out dramatically against the lowering darkness of the stormy night.
Cars were stopped in the middle of the road in all directions. People were running across the lot for a better view.
No one, absolutely no one, had eyes for the rear of the Kwik-Up building. Beltran lifted the Dumpster lid, a stench of garbage rising to meet him. Reaching in, he got hold of a shoulder strap and hauled out the knapsack.
What was it the old Roman emperor — was it Domitian? — had said?
'Money has no smell.'
Chuckling to himself, Beltran went the long way around the back of the building, emerging around the corner of the north side. He crossed the lot to where his vehicle was parked. Standing facing the driver's side door, he reached for his key when he heard a scuffle of shoe leather on the pavement behind him.
A voice said, 'Hello, amigo.'
Even before turning around to meet his destiny, Beltran knew without a doubt to whom that voice belonged:
Colonel Paz.
17. THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 9 P.M. AND 10 P.M. CENTRAL DAYLIGHT TIME
Jack Bauer and Pete Malo sat in their SUV in the Kwik-Up parking lot. Pete said, 'Looks like our plans to tail the kidnappers back to Beltran just went up in smoke.'
The blast that had obliterated the getaway van was still echoing up and down the highway. A CTU Center team was still covering the mini-mall parking lot. The stakeout would continue.
Jack said, 'Beltran wouldn't have blown up the money along with his stooges. They became expendable only after they passed the money to him.'
He went on, 'Our people had the kidnappers under observation from the moment they left the cemetery. We've been here in the lot, waiting for them. One of them went to the van immediately. The other two stayed behind the building for about a minute, minute and a half, before they went to the van.'
Pete nodded, encouraging him to go on. 'True.'
Jack said, 'Our spotters on the power frail reported that the trio had a bagful of ransom money when they started downhill We know that they didn't have it when they came out from behind the back of the building. Somewhere during that time, they got rid of it. We know that they didn't stop to talk with anybody in the lot. They went directly to the van, got into it, and drove away.'
Pete said, 'And then — blooey!'
'Belfran pressed the button on them. It had to be him and nobody else,' Jack said. 'But back to the ransom money. That million dollars. They had it coming downhill and didn't have it a minute later when they went to the van. What happened to it?
'Either they handed it off to somebody or they left it in a dead drop for pickup later. Knowing Belfran's history of a penchant for anonymity, I'd opt for the latter.'
Pete said, 'Sure, but where is he? We can't go around detaining every old geezer in the lot, holding them for questioning.'
Jack said, 'Our spotter up on the hill reports that there's nobody behind the building now. We haven't seen anybody come out from there since the kidnappers showed. Let's sit tight for a while and see what happens.'
The SUV was parked where the CTU agents had clear sightlines of the front and sides of the Kwik-Up store. They looked around in a 360-degree circle, slowly scanning the scene, seeking any odd or off-pattern detail.
Traffic was stopped in both directions in the highway. Backed up. From a distance, sirens sounded and emergency lights flashed as police cars and fire trucks approached the scene.
Some civilian vehicles were turning into the lots of the stores lining the road, searching for a way out of the ever-worsening jam. A couple of cars and vans pulled off the road into the Kwik-Up lot, mostly so their occupants could park and get out and see what was happening.
A short, slight, white-haired man ambled across the lot toward the store. Pete said, 'Check out that old dude.'
The man in question was a contrarian. Foot traffic in the lot moved away from the store and toward the highway, as people crowded, massed, and craned to get a better look at the blazing wreckage of the van.
The white-haired man moved in the opposite direction, his back turned on the scene of devastation. His gaze was fastened straight ahead, looking neither to the left nor the right. Nearing the storefront, he did not enter but instead angled off to the right and kept on going, rounding the corner and vanishing from view.
Jack said, 'Bingo.'
Pete leaned forward, on the edge of his seat. 'He fits the demographic. Beltran would have to be a fairly ripe
