Nothing had become of it then, but Jacob had determined that he would be the first to go. He didn’t want any trouble, and Fart Boy was the most likely to provide it if he were sitting by himself, the last target left alive.

In the hallway, hearing the drunken slobber from the room, Jacob called Carlos. “You good?”

“Not yet. I need ten minutes. Let it get full dark.”

“Okay. I’m taking the first boy. By the time we get to the alley, it’ll be night. You need to be there. Remember the story?”

“Yeah. We’re going to a pirate’s cave over by the airport.”

“And why aren’t we going all together?”

“Because the boat is rated for three. The Italian Carabinieri will pull us over with more.”

Jacob had no idea if that was true, but neither would the boys. He said, “Did you get the cinder blocks?”

“Yeah. I found a construction site. I drop you off, then go load up, then return. No problem.”

“I’ll see you in twenty minutes. Be waiting.”

Jacob returned to the room, smiling and saying, “Carlos is ready! Who’s first? Come on, let’s go check out the cave!”

On cue, Devon stood over Fart Boy and jerked him to his feet. “You go first, big guy.” Fart Boy looked a little uneasy, the wine and beer flowing through him.

He said, “Maybe we should tell Chris what we’re doing?”

Devon scoffed and said, “What? You think he’ll let you go? Our chaperone thinks we’re in our rooms. And we’re not even in our hotel. Don’t be a pussy. This is the last night.”

Fart Boy stood, a little weakly, and Jacob dragged him by the arm. They exited down the stairwell, away from the elevator, and spilled out into the lobby. Jacob pushed Fart Boy to the side door that led to the alley, glancing into the small lobby to see if anyone was watching.

And saw Chris’s mistress sitting in a chair, pretending to read a newspaper.

68

Knuckles opened the door, asking, “Did you spike at the desk?”

I said, “No. It was empty. But I don’t know about any camera systems.”

Knuckles stepped back and we flowed into the room, dragging three carry-on suitcases. He said, “Don’t worry about that. I’ve already checked. There aren’t any.”

Retro was in the rear on a cheap desk, stroking the keys of a laptop. Aaron, Brett, and Jennifer started unpacking the kit, breaking out weapons, cameras, and other things. I said, “So, what’s the status?”

“We got the room. Well, we got the room the computer’s in. The hotel only has ten rooms total, six on the second floor with shared bathrooms and four on the first floor with their own bathrooms. We picked a room with its own bathroom figuring that’s where he would be, but we were wrong. The computer’s on the second floor.”

“Access?”

“Outside stairwell right in front of the entrance and an inside one at the end of this hall. Straight linear target. The room is the second one in from the outside stairwell.”

“Recommendation?”

“Inside stairwell. It’s farthest from the door, but to get to the outside one you need to pass by the front desk.”

“Assault plan?”

“Bang it hard, just like Rashid. Hit both rooms, the computer one and the one it connects to. The problem will be exfil. We get the Chechen, he’s not going easy. We’ll have to take him down, then exfil with the dead weight.”

He lowered his voice, glancing at Aaron. “Even if we don’t, we have to assume Shoshana’s been hurt. Worst case, we’re exfilling carrying two.”

“We brought some litters, and Brett’s prepared to do limited trauma care. Showboat’s ready to receive with medical support. What’s the story on the renters? How many and who are they?”

“Hotel database is shit. They don’t run passports and work mostly on cash. When we signed in, they didn’t even use a computer. They used a ledger from 1970. The Internet system is self-contained, like someone built it stand-alone in an attempt to modernize, then gave up.” He pointed to the Ethernet cable and said, “Look at this thing. It’s slow as shit and definitely an afterthought.”

The plug for the cable was glued to the wall, with the line leading to it running on the exterior, as if it had been added as a temporary fix.

“So we don’t know who’s got the room, or who’s on the other side?”

“No. All we have is the room the computer is in.”

“What did we get from it?”

Retro looked up and said, “It’s not Islamic State stuff. It all looks like organized crime shit. Mafia things. Business transactions hidden by steganography, a bunch of pimp lists, some porno, things like that.”

I said, “Are we sure this is it?”

Retro nodded. “The raw file from the video is on this box. So is the YouTube upload trace. That video was sent from this computer.”

I nodded, thinking. I went to the door, cracking it and looking at the lock. A cheap dead bolt worked with an old-fashioned key. Easy to pick, but no way would I waste my time manipulating a lock on a hostage rescue. Well, that’s not exactly true. I’d pick it with the knock-knock, shattering the damn thing into a hundred pieces. Hostage rescue was all about speed, surprise, and violence, and we needed to ensure we had all three.

I said, “We need more intel. I want to know how many are in the room. I want to know who’s next door. I want to know what weapons they have. I want to know—”

Retro interrupted. “I got someone on the box right now. Sending a chat request.”

We all gathered behind him, and he said, “The chat’s in Russian. Stand by.” He manipulated the keys and another chat window came up from the Taskforce. He typed a command, and the man on the other end started work. Five seconds later we were looking at the person typing a floor above. A thin-faced, bald-headed man with brown eyes and a goatee. He looked nothing like the pictures Kurt had sent. Behind him was an empty room. No Shoshana.

“Who the hell is that?”

“No idea. Hang on. Taskforce is using a key logger. We’ll get a readout of what he’s typing.”

We waited, Aaron jostling for a better view. The chat window began spitting out words.

Sender: The guy is crazy. He’s going to kill her here, tonight.

Receiver: Get out. Don’t get involved. It will damage everything.

Sender: I don’t think I can. You don’t know this man. We’ll be back tomorrow one way or the other.

Agitated, Aaron said, “She’s alive. She’s right above us. Come on, let’s go.”

My mind cranking through the information in the small chat, formulating an assault plan based on what we knew, I said, “Hang on.” I pinched my chin, then started issuing orders. “Okay, he said ‘we’ll,’ so we know there’s at least three, which means we hit both rooms. Retro, you get the knock-knock on the computer room. I’ll be behind you. Brett, you get the adjacent room with Knuckles. Aaron, Jennifer, you lock down the hallway for breach—Aaron in the front, Jennifer in the rear. Everyone, it’s a hostile force rule of engagement. My call. You see a threat, you take it out. Capturing the Chechen is secondary to recovering Shoshana.”

I held up one of the pictures of Omar Kurt had sent. “This is all we have, but remember, he might have ditched the beard, dyed his hair, or something else. Look for the size and his eyes. This is kill or capture. If you can incapacitate, do so, but don’t work at it.”

A noise came from the computer. Retro leaned in and said, “The mic’s on, the mic’s on. Shh.”

Everyone grew quiet, waiting. The speech came in incoherent, and I realized it was in a foreign language. I hissed, “Get the Taskforce on it. What’s he saying?”

He started typing, and I heard the words from the speaker slip into space, losing valuable intelligence while we waited. Eventually, they petered out, and the man in front of the computer stood up, leaving our view. I stomped in a circle, cursing, then Retro said, “The Taskforce got the tail end.”