Hazardous Duty by W. E. B. Griffin

Author:W. E. B. Griffin
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9780399160677
Publisher: Putnam Adult
Published: 2013-12-31T06:00:00+00:00

[THREE]

The Imperial Penthouse Suite

The Grand Cozumel Beach & Golf Resort

Cozumel, Mexico

0945 11 June 2007

Castillo’s CaseyBerry vibrated and rang—the ringtone actually a recording of a bugler playing “Charge!”

“And how may I help the comandante on this beautiful spring morning?” he answered it.

There was a reply from Comandante Juan Carlos Pena, el Jefe of the Policía Federal for the Province of Oaxaca, to which Castillo answered, “Your wish is my command, my Comandante,” and then broke the connection.

Castillo then turned to the women taking the sun in lounge chairs beside the swimming pool. There were three of them: Svetlana Alekseeva; Susanna Sieno, a trim, pale-freckled-skin redhead; and Sandra Britton, a slim, tall, sharp-featured black-skinned woman.

“I’m afraid it’s back to the village for you, ladies,” Castillo said.

“What did you say?” Sweaty asked.

“El Comandante just told me to put my pants on and send the girls back to the village.”

Sweaty threw a large, economy-size bottle of suntan lotion at him and said some very rude and obscene things in Russian.

Max leapt to his feet and caught the suntan lotion bottle in midair. But to do so he had to go airborne himself, which resulted in him dropping from about eight feet in the air into the pool. This caused the ladies to be twice drenched, first when he entered the water—a 120-pound Bouvier des Flandres makes quite a splash—and again when Max, triumphantly clutching the bottle in his teeth, climbed out of the pool and shook himself dry.

With a massive and barely successful effort, the men attached to the ladies—Castillo; Paul Sieno, an olive-skinned, dark-haired man in his early forties; and John M. “Jack” Britton, a trim thirty-eight-year-old black-skinned man—managed to control what would have been hysterical laughter.

“Over here, girls,” Castillo said, as he went to the side of the penthouse and pointed downward, “you really should see this.”

Curiosity overwhelmed feminine indignation and they went and looked twenty-four floors down. So did Jack Britton, Roscoe J. Danton, and Paul Sieno.

They saw four identical brown Suburbans, each roof festooned with a rack of what is known in the law enforcement community as “Bubble Gum Machines,” approaching and then disappearing beneath the canopied entrance to the Grand Cozumel Beach & Golf Resort.

“American Express is here,” Castillo said.

“What the hell does that mean?” Roscoe asked.

“Juan Carlos calls them that because he never leaves home without them,” Castillo explained.

“Your friend has a CaseyBerry?” Britton asked.

“I could do no less for the only honest police officer in Mexico,” Castillo said. He turned to former Marine Gunnery Sergeant Lester Bradley.

“Lester, stand by the door. Our guests are about to arrive. The rest of you are cautioned not to make any sudden moves when they arrive.”

Three minutes later the doorbell chimes bonged pleasantly. Lester pulled the door open. Three burly police officers came through the door, each armed with an Uzi submachine gun. They quickly surveilled the room, and then one of them gestured for whoever was still outside that it was safe to enter.

Jack Britton was impressed. During his career with the Philadelphia Police Department, he had once served on the SWAT team.

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