sirenas—very loud sirens.'
'How long are the shifts?' asked Kendrick, bending over the corpse of the Secret Service man.
'Twelve hours. Twenty guardas and four jardineros—gardeners. Those not on duty are in what they call the “barracks”. It is a long building north of the main house.'
'Where are the tools?'
'In a metal garage fifty metres south of the generador.'
'The generator?'
'Si.'
'Good.' Evan removed the Mafioso's wallet and black plastic identification case, then went through the mud-soaked pockets finding more than a thousand dollars, undoubtedly not from a federal payroll. Finally, he took out the small electronic 'key' that released the bolts and opened the door of the cabin-cell in the woods. 'Let's go,' he repeated, rising with difficulty from the soft, wet earth and undergrowth.
They started down the path of amber ground lamps. 'Una momenta!' whispered Emilio. 'The lights. Kick them out, senor. The more darkness, the better we are.'
'Good thinking,' agreed Kendrick, heading back with the Mexican to the white barrier, where they proceeded to crush each succeeding domed bulb on both sides. They reached the main island path that on the left led down to the boats and the dock, on the right up to the manor house on the top of the hill, with an offshoot leading to the escape proof rustic cabin. Evan and the Mexican raced from one lamp to another, demolishing each until they came to the cabin path. 'That way!' ordered Kendrick, rushing ahead to the right. 'Forget the lights. We'll take them out on our way back.'
'La cabana?'
'Hurry up!' Once again the startling magnified wash of light from the thick bevelled windows illuminated the clearing in front of the small, solid house. Evan approached the door and pressed a green button on the electronic key. He heard the bolts slap back into the frame; he turned the knob and went inside. 'Get in here,' he called to Emilio. The Mexican did as he was told and Kendrick closed the door, pressing the red button, locking it.
He ran to the kitchen area, opening drawers and cabinets one after another, selecting items that struck him as useful: a torch, a large carving knife and several smaller knives, a meat cleaver, three small tins of Sterno, solid fuel, a box of camping matches—coated with paraffin, strikable on any hard surface—and a stack of folded towels. With everything on the oval oak table, he glanced over at Emilio, who was watching him. He picked up one of the knives, the handle extended, and held it out for the Mexican. 'I hope you don't have to use this, but if you do, don't miss.'
'There are men I could not kill without reasoning with them first, for they are as desperate as myself for employment. But there are others, the ones who have been here longest, I would have no such problems.'
'Goddamn you, you can't have any problems! If one alarm is raised—'
'No alarms will be raised by my friends, senor, not if they know it is I, Emilio. Besides, most of them are in the barracks asleep. They use the veteranos for the night patrols; they fear the boats at night.'
'You'd better be right.'
'I wish to go home, believe that.'
'Take some towels, a can of fuel and a handful of matches. Hurry!' Picking up the remaining items and putting them in his pockets, Kendrick left the meat cleaver until last. He gripped it, went to the intercom console on the wall and, standing sideways, sliced the heavy blade into the back of the equipment, prising it off the wall and out of its recess. 'Get the two lamps over there,' he said to the Mexican. 'Smash them. I'll do the stove lights and the lamp on the other side of the room.'
Less than a minute later the two desperate men were out on the path, the previously brightly lit clearing in front of the cabin now eerily dark. 'The tools—the gardeners' tools. Take me to them.'
'Con mucho cuidado! We must be careful going around the big house. We will put out the path lights only up to where I say. From the second level those in the house can see they are not on, and there will be alarms. If there are patrols, let me study them first.'
