W Griffin - Hunters

Obviously, Ricardo is going to pay that ticket the machine gave him or have it stamped, or whatever, to get that barrier pole to rise.

If we have to leave here in a hurry, so long barrier pole and off goes the alarm!

There was, near one end of the garage, another white ECO laundry and dry-cleaning truck backed up to what was probably a service elevator. Large, white cloth-sided wheeled baskets were clustered around the truck.

This place is nice, but it's not the MGM Grand in Las Vegas with-what did I hear?-some five thousand rooms? It probably makes more economic sense for the hotel to have the local laundry do the sheets and towels as necessary rather than running its own laundry.

When Solez had backed the Traffik into the spot Castillo had picked, he saw that it had been a lucky choice. It gave him a pretty good view of most of the garage. He could see the down ramp and the opening of a passageway with signs and an arrow pointing to the elevator.

"Now we wait," Delchamps said. "This is the part I love best about this job."

"You think he's going to come?" Castillo asked.

"Come, yeah," Delchamps said. "But with who and with what purpose in mind?"

"Ricardo, I don't suppose you have a leash?"

"A what?"

"For Max. I think he needs to take a leak. Walk him up the exit ramp and then, when you come back, walk him around the garage before you come back to the van. Let's see what he smells."

Solez didn't reply.

"I'd do it myself, Ricardo, but these people might know me, or at least have a description of me, and you're an unknown quantity."

"I'll have to use my belt," Solez said.

"Max, go with Ricardo," Castillo ordered. Five minutes later, Solez and Max got back in the van.

"When we walked past the laundry truck," Solez reported, "Max got real antsy. It was all I could do to hold him."

"Maybe he doesn't like the smell of dirty laundry," Delchamps said.

"And maybe he smelled guns. He doesn't like that smell. When the Bimmer gets here, I'll give Davidson a heads-up."

"Why don't you do that now, Ace?" Delchamps said.

"Because Jack Davidson is a devout believer in the preemptive strike."

"Well, tell him to behave. You're a colonel. You can do that."

Castillo pushed an autodial button on his cellular.

"We're about two minutes out, Colonel," Davidson answered. "Lester missed the turn."

"There's an ECO laundry truck down here. It may be picking up laundry, but Max smelled something he didn't like. Just be aware it's there. No, repeat, no preemptive strike, Jack. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." Two minutes later, the big dark blue BMW rolled off the down ramp.

Delchamps and Castillo readied their weapons. There had not been another Uzi available, so Darby had provided a Car-4.

Two of them, Castillo thought, as Solez picked one from the floor of the van and worked the action.

The BMW circled the parking garage and backed into a space across from them.

Nothing happened.

Castillo called Bradley on his cellular and hit the SPEAKERPHONE button.

"Lester," he said, quietly, "go into the hotel, take a look around the corner and see if you see Pevsner or his gorilla or anybody interesting at the bar."

"Yes, sir. Sir, if I may say so, that will also serve to suggest to the person in the cashier's office that I am notifying someone their car is available and alleviate any suspicion of my sitting here."

"Very good, Lester. You're absolutely right."

Castillo hit the cellular's END button, then chuckled and shook his head.

"Don't be smug, Ace," Delchamps said. "The kid is right."

"He usually is," Castillo said. "I didn't even think about the cashier." Nothing happened in the next four minutes, which seemed like much longer. "Lester's back," Solez said, pointing as Bradley walked back toward the BMW.

"And there's Pevsner and Janos the Gorilla," Delchamps said, nodding toward the Mercedes-Benz on the down ramp. "So he did show."

"Give them a chance to park the car and get out of it and then we'll join them," Castillo said. "'Hey there, Alek! Small world, isn't it?'"

The big black Mercedes circled the garage. The heavily darkened windows of the BMW would permit him to see only Lester, which he would expect to do. But the same was true of the Mercedes. When it rolled past the Traffik, Castillo could see only Janos, not into the rear seat. Janos showed no interest in the Traffik.

Well, what does that mean? Maybe Janos is the stalking horse and Pevsner's not in the backseat?

Janos backed the Mercedes into a spot close to the parking garage cashier's office and the tunnel to the hotel. He got out, walked around to the right side of the car, and opened the rear door. Aleksandr Pevsner got out and started walking toward the tunnel, with Janos three steps behind.

There was suddenly the sound of submachine gunfire, very loud in the low-ceilinged garage. Castillo saw where it was coming from. There were orange flashes from three, maybe four muzzles beside the white ECO laundry truck.

"Oh, shit!" Castillo said as he jumped out of the Traffik.

He saw that Pevsner was down, sprawled flat on the floor, and that Janos was sitting down, pistol in hand, bleeding from at least one wound in his side and looking dazed.

Castillo emptied the Micro Uzi in two bursts directed in the general direction of the ECO truck and reached for a second magazine.

Then came fire from the other side of the ECO laundry van, the peculiar, familiar sound of a Car-4 being fired in short controlled bursts of three to five rounds each.

Who the hell is that? Davidson or Kensington? One of them must've got out of the car to cover the laundry truck.

Then immediately-before Alfredo Munz, carrying a pistol, could get out of the Traffik-there came the sound of more short bursts from a Car-4 in the vicinity of the BMW and then the familiar report of a 1911A1 Colt.45 semiautomatic. The.45 was being fired steadily but some what slowly, suggesting aimed fire from a skilled pistoleer.

"All down!" a voice that only after a moment Castillo recognized as that of Sergeant Major Jack Davidson called out. "Hold fire!"

As Castillo, his ears ringing madly, ran to see what had happened to Pevsner, he saw Davidson running-carefully-toward the ECO van with his Car-4 at the ready.

Janos, still sitting holding his pistol, looked at Castillo without comprehension-then fell over. Castillo dropped to his knees and felt for a pulse. There was one.

Where the hell is Pevsner?

Max answered the question. The big dog was growling deep in his throat and trying unsuccessfully to get under the Mercedes.

"Come out of there with your hands up!" a very sincere-if some what youthful-voice ordered from behind Castillo.

Castillo turned to see Corporal Lester Bradley holding a 1911A1 Colt.45 in both hands aimed at the underside of the Mercedes.

Well, now I know who that skilled, timed-firing pistoleer was.

"Okay, Max," Castillo ordered, in Hungarian. "Sit!"

Max, visibly reluctant to do so, sat but did not stop growling. His lips were drawn tight against a very impressive row of massive teeth.

"Come out, Alek," Castillo called.

When Max saw movement, he stood up.

"Goddamn it, Max, sit!"

Aleksandr Pevsner appeared.

"Hands up, goddamn it!" Bradley ordered.

Pevsner got to his knees, then to his feet, and raised both hands in the air.

There is fear on ol' Alek's face. But what's scaring him? Max? Or the boy with the.45 pointed at his forehead? So far, he's managed not to get shot…

"He's okay, Bradley," Castillo said, then saw the dog moving again. "Max! Sit!"

"Can you control that animal so I can go to Janos?" Pevsner asked.

"Go ahead," Castillo said, pointing a finger at Max and mouthing Stay!