He’d been thinking the same thing, but how in the hell were they going to prevent that? “Let me give this a minute of thought. There has to be a way to get this accomplished without running into an ambush.”
“I’ve got something,” Kane said as he returned.
“What?” Max asked.
“Bradshaw is dead. Fucking Carter from CIA doesn’t even know it yet, but there’s been a fire at the Imperial Hotel on Aruba, multiple casualties and one death. It was Bradshaw’s alias. We’re not quite sure when it happened, but it was recent.”
“So, somebody is trying to tie up some loose ends. That only makes it more likely that Nomad was on Maduro’s payroll and that we can’t trust Patel or Carlson,” Asher surmised.
“That’s my take,” Kane agreed.
Chapter 6
Señora Azua hadn’t moved much when Eden had applied a real bandage to her neck, and now she didn’t even flinch when Carlson’s phone rang. That really worried Eden.
“Yes,” Carlson answered tersely. He looked around before putting it on speaker. Can’t say she blamed him, since Schlessinger had been roosting in the office for the last hour. She wouldn’t want him listening in either, not that he could understand Spanish.
“Is this Carlson?” a voice asked.
“Yes, which one are you?”
“This is Asher Thorne. I’m going to be coordinating the entry into the bank. I need to ask a few questions of Señora Azua or one of her employees, preferably one who is familiar with the building layout and security.”
“How are you planning on getting into the bank? We’re surrounded by Maduro’s men,” Carlson demanded to know.
“It’s Mike, right? Mike Carlson?”
“Yes,” Carlson answered slowly.
“Well, Mike. I can’t rightly answer that question since I haven’t spoken to the people who need to provide me with some details I need. Are you going to put them on the phone or not?”
Oh, he’s good. He just shoved that knife right through Carlson’s ribcage straight into his beating heart. Eden had to smother a grin at Carlson’s less than happy expression.
“Señora Azua is resting. I’ll get Hector, he’s the bank manager,” Carlson bit out.
“Actually,” Eden interrupted. “I spoke to the Señora before she went to sleep. She said that we should find the guard named Torres, he would be the best one to help us get information. It sounded like Hector was more of a bureaucrat.”
“Hi, Eden,” Asher said.
Yay, I got a pleasant voice. Screw you, Mike. See, you catch more flies with honey than vinegar. I’m loving Carlson’s pissed-off expression.
“Why didn’t she tell all of us?” Carlson asked as he pointed to Leland and waved his hand toward the door where Becker was outside avoiding Schlessinger.
“She can’t strain her voice,” Eden explained. “What’s more, the three of you were talking amongst yourselves.”
“It’s true, we were,” Leland confirmed.
“Stay on track,” Asher coached them. “I need some inside help. Get this Torres guy.”
“I’ll go,” Eden said. She wanted a chance to see if Chairman Becker was out whispering with Dr. Nilsson. Or worse yet, was he on his phone making calls to Maduro’s men? Dammit, she needed a spy of her own to keep track of both Carlson and Becker in case one or both were bad guys.
“Hurry up,” Carlson ordered.
She rolled her eyes at him and hurried out of the room. At least as fast as her pencil skirt allowed her to go.
There in one of the office cubicles, she spotted Heinrich Becker with Gerta Nilsson. She hoped that since Kaito Nakamura was with them that she was wrong, and they weren’t in cahoots with Maduro. Maybe, just maybe, they weren’t trying to figure out a way to sell everyone out and have the secret police smear them into the ground like roadkill.
Okay, I need to quit obsessing and focus on finding Torres. Suzanne promised me he would be excellent. And I want excellent. Asher seems excellent. Please say I’m right. Please say I’m not just spitting in the wind.
Eden saw two men coming out of the door at the far end of the open office area. One was kind of small, the other looked big and mean. She hoped that the big and mean one was Torres. She headed their way. Big and mean looked up at her and smiled.
“Hello,” Eden started in Spanish. “I’m Eden York and Señora Azua has been telling me wonderful things about the guards here at her bank.”
The small man frowned. “Where is the Señora?” he asked.
“She is resting in her office, she’ll—”
“How badly is she injured?” the man persisted.
“Not too bad. As long as infection doesn’t set in or her throat doesn’t swell up, she’ll be fine.”
“We need to get her to the hospital.” He looked over to big and mean. “Marco, I want you up on the roof. I want a count of exactly how many men, vehicles, and snipers are surrounding us. You have twenty minutes to get that report back to me.”
The big and mean Marco hopped to it by immediately turning back to the door that led to the stairs, which Eden assumed led to the roof.
The guard, who clearly knew his stuff, rubbed his right temple. “Thank you for taking care of Señora Azua, she is a fine lady.”
Eden held out her hand and the man took it. “I’m sorry, where are my manners?” he asked with a small smile. “My name is Angelo Torres. Normally I supervise the guards on the night shift. I volunteered to work today because it is
