W Griffin - Hunters

"Well, one thing is to determine whether Pevsner is one of the semigood guys or the unscrupulous murderous bastard most people think he is."

"How do you think that determination will come out?"

"We're about to find out," Castillo said, then added, "We just turned onto Route 8," and broke the connection. When they reached the safe house in the Mayerling Country Club, Castillo saw that the Traffik was now parked on the driveway so that it blocked a view of the main door of the house from the street and that enough room had been left between it and the shallow steps up to the door for the BMW. From the street, no one would be able to see the BMW.

"Les, pull between the Traffik and the house," Castillo ordered, softly.

"Yes, sir."

The door of the house was closed and Castillo could see neither Davidson nor Kensington. But when Bradley had stopped the car and Castillo started to open the door so that he could go in the house and see where the hell they were, Delchamps touched his arm and pointed toward the Traffik.

The rear door was open and Davidson looked as if he was quickly prepared to jump into the BMW.

Castillo waved him off.

"There's more room in the van," Castillo said.

Delchamps opened his door and ran around the front of the BMW and quickly got into the Traffik.

"No, Max!" Castillo ordered sternly and reached around the dog and opened the rear door.

Max looked at both open doors, decided they had been opened for him, and that he had misunderstood Castillo-that what Castillo had really said was, "Go, Max!"

"Oh, shit!" Castillo said, then slid across the seat and followed Max into the van. He saw that Alfredo Munz was seated in the third row of seats.

"We're going to meet Aleksandr Pevsner," Castillo said. "They expect us-Delchamps, Munz, and me-to be in the Bimmer. So we'll be in this. If they hit the BMW-a real possibility-just get the hell out of the line of fire. If anybody is here, they're probably ex-Stasi and therefore good at what they do. And while I would really like to take them out, a firefight with bodies lying all over would cause all sorts of problems I don't need."

"Where do you think they're going to hit us, Colonel?" Jack Davidson asked. "On the road somewhere? The highway?"

"Let's find out," Castillo said and took out his cellular, punched an autodial button, and then the SPEAKERPHONE button.

"?Hola?" Pevsner's voice loudly came over the phone.

"You really ought to work on getting rid of the Russian accent," Castillo said. "You really sound funny."

"Well?"

"Tell me more about this suite of yours in the Sheraton," Castillo said.

"Alfredo has agreed to meet me with me?"

"No. I'm thinking of taking a suite in the hotel myself," Castillo said, "and thought I'd have a look at yours first."

"It's on the fourth floor, 407," Pevsner said. "There is a stairway, then the elevators, and 407 is the second door on the right."

"And who would be in 407 if I decided to call?"

"No one. May I make a proposal?"

"Go ahead."

"You tell me when you can be there and I will get there ten minutes before you do. There is a basement garage…"

"People have been known to get whacked in basement garages."

"There is also an outside parking garage. But people going to and from it are far more visible than those using the basement garage. Your choice."

"That's your proposal?"

"I will have Janos check out the suite or he and I will check it out."

"And then?"

"There is a lobby bar. If you park outside, walk across the lobby and there it is. If you park in the basement, there is an elevator. Take it to the lobby floor and then turn right. Janos will go there and bring you to the suite."

"You will come to the bar," Castillo said.

"All right."

"I can leave here in five minutes and it will take me twenty minutes to get there," Castillo said.

"Thank you. And tell Alfredo I said thank you."

"Twenty-five minutes, Alek. Be there," Castillo said and broke the connection.

"It's only ten minutes from here to the Sheraton, Karl," Munz said, in German.

"I know," Castillo said. "As soon as Davidson and Kensington get in the Bimmer, we'll go to the basement parking garage in this. Jack, you wait five minutes and then you go there. Tell Bradley to drive slowly."

"I'm not sure Bradley knows where the hotel is, Carlos," Solez said, in Spanish.

"Good. In case somebody's watching, let them see him looking for it as if he doesn't know where it is," Castillo said. "When you get to the basement, park somewhere where we can get out in a hurry. Pevsner probably will be in a big black Mercedes, an S600, operative word probably."

"Got it," Davidson said. "I'm a little confused, Charley. Are you going to be in that bar or what?"

"Not on your life. If Pevsner shows up when he's supposed to, in the basement garage, the minute he gets out of it we'll get out and join him. And go right to his suite. That's when we'll really have to have our back covered."

"Got it," Davidson repeated.

"Okay you two. Get in the BMW."

Davidson and Kensington moved to the car. Kensington returned to hand Castillo a small package just as Solez was starting the engine.

Castillo opened it. It was the Micro Uzi and its magazines.

"Not to worry, Ace," Delchamps said. "Everybody gets a little forgetful once in a while, especially when they get older."

Castillo chose not to respond. Instead, he said, "Don't get us pinched for speeding, Ricardo, but the sooner we get there, the better." Castillo had seen the Sheraton Pilar Hotel before and remembered where it was, but he had never paid much attention to it. Now he wanted to.

"Drive real slow when you get close to the hotel, Ricardo," he ordered.

Solez missed the turn off of Route 8. They now would have to go to the next exit, by the Jumbo shopping center, cross the highway on an overpass, and approach the hotel by a service road.

Castillo kept himself from snapping at Solez and was glad he had when he realized that it was probably a good thing Solez had missed the turn. Now they'd have a chance to look over the hotel and the approaches to it more slowly.

As they came close to the Sheraton Pilar Hotel and Convention Center, a fairly new brick-walled structure four or five stories high, Castillo saw, in a line of small businesses, a glass-fronted store with ECO LAUNDRY AND DRY CLEANING on the window. There were two white vans like the one Davidson had told him Bradley had chased around Mayerling on his bicycle.

Hell, better safe than sorry. Davidson did the right thing.

When they turned into the hotel's driveway two hundred yards later, Castillo saw that the outside parking lot Pevsner had mentioned was to the left of the main entrance to the atrium lobby. To the right was another entrance that looked deserted.

That one, Castillo decided after a moment, was obviously the convention entrance to the Hotel and Convention Center. There was a small sign with an arrow pointing to the underground garage.

There was a rather steep down ramp. When Solez took a time-stamped parking ticket from a machine at the bottom, a fragile-looking barrier pole rose, giving them access.

That barrier wouldn't keep anybody out of here, but it probably sets off an alarm if somebody goes through it.

The low-ceilinged garage was not crowded, maybe fifty, sixty vehicles. There was room for at least twice that many cars.

Strange. It's the dinner hour. It should be nearly full. Answer: This garage was designed to handle convention traffic. Obviously, there is no convention tonight.

"Circle it once, Ricardo," Castillo ordered. "And then park over there."

He pointed to a spot which would give them quick access to the exit ramp. Another frail-looking barrier pole guarded that.