“So we split up, search out the areas we designated last night. Riley, you’re going see what you can find out from the security desk. John, you stay here with the vehicle. Carter and Enemario, you will find the location of the wedding ceremonies, if there are any.”
“You mean you don’t know if there’s an actual wedding?” Riley wanted to know.
“At this point, anything goes. It could be just a slam, bam, thank you, ma’am exchange of dollars or an elaborate crucible event that they go through, kind of like a transfer of power. I have no fucking idea how he’s doing this, but I do know he’s probably gotten paid, and I’m guessing that he’ll hang around long enough to make sure nobody’s unhappy with their bargain.”
“You mean if the Johns, the purchasers, won’t be unhappy with the bargain.” Carter once again appeared to harbor quite a bit of bitterness within his heart. Riley worried about that but was going to shelve it for now.
“Whatever we do, however we’re able to impact this, I’m sure we’ll be making the world a better place. Remember the goal is to take him alive. We may have to shoot him up with something, hurt him in some way, immobilize him. I don’t care if he suffers; I just want him in this van at the end of the day. I want to turn him in, collect our money, and go home. I don’t want to ever think about this guy again.” Brady saw every single man agreed with him.
“We’re close, and this is the time when things get all fucked up. This is when we plan one thing and then something else happens. So I’m going to need you all, even though we’ve not gotten the kind of sleep or we relaxation we intended, I need you all to be sharp. Don’t assume everybody’s doing their job, because there are a lot of moving parts here. No time for excuses, no time for blame. I don’t want to hurt the girls, I certainly don’t want to hurt innocent customers in the hotel, and I especially don’t want anything to happen to any of you. I don’t want to do anything that draws attention to us. We’re going in for a quick extraction. The first part is to locate him, and the second is to get him out silently and quickly.”
Enemario passed out the coms, and everybody did a mic test. John was going to monitor the equipment, and they retested their tapping protocol in case using their voice was not advisable. Riley passed out sidearms Brady had brought with him. They each were given two hundred dollars, and it was agreed they would take roughly an hour to complete their sweep of the hotel, bring back whatever intel they had, and reconvene in the van.
They slipped across the street one at a time, each man going directly to their designated spot.
Brady walked inside the lobby and was immediately struck with the odor of extremely strong aftershave. He glanced over the stained and lumpy overstuffed furniture that once might have looked nice, the old magazines and newspapers piled up on tables covered with paper cups and wrappers from fast food. Then he discovered the source of the aftershave avalanche, the young man behind the reception desk. Out of the side of his vision, he saw Enemario holding his nose, slip through a swinging door leading to the kitchen, and crossing himself before he disappeared.
The youth behind the desk was probably a college student, earning decent money while trying to pursue a degree. Brady imagined it would be an interesting job, for some.
“Can I help you, sir?” the man asked.
“I am looking for a wedding party. I believe there was a group gathering for a celebration?”
The man’s eyes lit up. “Oh, yes. We had quite a party yesterday. I believe the guests will be leaving today.”
“So is there… Did I miss the ceremony?” He squinted his eyes at the last minute, mimicking some kind of emotional pain.
The young attendant rolled his eyes. “You weren’t the first person who asked about the wedding ceremonies. But honestly, I’m thinking there never was a ceremony.”
Brady was not surprised. It was another curveball in a mission that wasn’t turning out to be anything like what they thought it would be, but then they were hunting Esquivel Rojas, who seemed to have more than nine lives and possibly some high-level protection. Brady decided to chance bringing up the man’s name.
“So I’m looking for Esquivel Rojas?”
The young man behind the desk straightened his pens, adjusted the login sheet lying on the desk in front of him, and quickly answered Brady. “I believe Mr. Rojas is in our Presidential Suite. I’m sorry, but I can’t give you access. It’s a dedicated elevator.”
Brady had forgotten that about the penthouse. Years ago, several of his SEAL buddies had thrown one hell of a party there. What he remembered of it was not much.
“Okay, then I will wait for him to come downstairs. I have some important business to discuss with him. He asked me to meet him here.” The attendant straightened his name badge, cleared his throat, and suggested a plan of action. “I can call him, but he asked not to be disturbed until past 10 o’clock. If you know Mr. Rojas, you know it’s not a good idea to make him angry. I did that once yesterday, and I almost got fired.”
“Good to know. No, I don’t know Mr. Rojas. This is just business. We’re not friends.”
“Very well, we have a coffee shop, or there’s a couple of diners down the road. I wouldn’t recommend the food anywhere around here, but you could find some pretty good food carts, if you like Mexican food.”
“I’m fine. I had breakfast already. So I can just take a seat here in the lobby then?”
“Yes, sir. Please. And help yourself to some complimentary coffee.”
Brady sauntered over to the coffee and tea cart, took a whiff of what they called coffee, some dark black mixture that smelled like it had been percolated nearly twelve hours ago, and decided against tasting anything the hotel had to offer.
Brady surveyed the lobby, and years of his life crept back in as he did so. He didn’t often think about those early days as a young SEAL, how it was exciting to wear his Trident or to be able to tell girls at the bar that he’d earned one. Eventually, he kept quiet about it.
The girls kept coming—that was never any problem. He had a good time in those days, being chased, being with a bunch of guys doing incredible things. People came up to him all the time and congratulated him on being on incredibly dangerous missions in foreign lands. But to Brady, he was having the time of his life. He felt he was the luckiest kid out there to find something he loved doing so well at such a young age. He looked at people in business, going to college, getting jobs, raising families, doing mundane things but not being really in love with anything. Brady wanted to live an emblazoned life full of color, turned up to the highest volume possible. He wanted to have fun, he wanted adventure, and he wanted to love deeply to help exorcise his demons.
It took him a while to learn everybody grows up with some childhood wounding. There’s no such thing as a perfect, idyllic life, he mused. Over campfires in remote locations, he shared about his parents, his father’s drinking, the death of his older brother, the girls he won and lost, and the way his mother always cried when he went away on deployments. It was just the patchwork, the stuff of life. They were the markers, the milestones of his time here on earth, not the real juice of being alive.
Brady had wanted to live full tilt. And if it took him out, so be it. He didn’t want to be the guy just existing. He wanted to live like there was no tomorrow.