Target Phoenix by Evan Graver

Author:Evan Graver [Graver, Evan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 22

CARTEGA ENDED his call and said, “I need you to come with me.”

“Why?” Phoenix asked.

“Your friend Ximena has asked that I take you to her,” Cartega replied.

“May we have our passports back?” Blanco asked.

“When we reach our destination,” Cartega replied, pocketing his phone.

Blanco and Phoenix followed the police officer through the park to a black Dodge Durango SUV that sat on the sidewalk by the Museum of Modern Art. As he climbed behind the wheel, Cartega instructed them to get into the rear seat.

Thirty minutes later, they were in the heart of Ciudad Neza, the slum dominated by the Los Perros Negros MC.

“What are we doing here?” Phoenix asked, watching the rundown homes and businesses as they passed.

Cartega didn’t answer. He continued to drive without speaking to his two passengers.

After a few more turns on the winding streets, Cartega pulled to the curb behind a large group of other police vehicles. Exciting the Durango after Cartega had opened the back door, Phoenix glanced up and down the residential street, wondering why Cartega had brought them there. He saw enough cop cars to indicate the place was a possible crime scene. Small knots of onlookers stood along the far sidewalk, staring with morbid fascination.

Phoenix took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the bougainvillea blossoms coming from the pink-flowering bush hanging over the stucco walls that lined the sidewalk from one end of the block to the other. The residents had painted the security walls to match their homes, and a variety of ornate wrought iron gates allowed access to the inner courtyards. Cop cars blocked both ends of the street, and the first cops on the scene had strung up crime scene tape to ward off unwanted guests.

The air was ripe with cooking meat and a pungent smell of death that Phoenix was all too familiar with. Normally, he swooped in, spilled the blood, and disappeared in the night. He rarely stuck around to see the aftermath of the carnage that he and his fellow paramilitary or Special Forces troops had left behind.

Another uniformed cop stopped them as they approached the gated entrance to a house from which other law enforcement officers were coming and going.

“They’re here to see Ximena,” Cartega said to the other cop who guarded the entry gate.

“Wait here,” the beat cop said. He crossed a small courtyard littered with old motorcycle parts to the front door and hollered into the house for the female intelligence officer.

Ximena came out the front door, wearing jeans and a white blouse with an FN FNP-9 pistol on her hip. Phoenix wondered if she’d been carrying the gun when she’d entered the hotel this morning in her maid outfit. It almost seemed too big for her tiny hands. She peeled off latex gloves as she walked and tossed them on the sidewalk with a pile of other garbage left by the crime scene techs and police officers.

“Thanks for bringing them, Miguel,” Ximena said to Cartega. “You can give them back their passports now.

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