•••
One week later.
•••
"Alright B, are you ready to do this?" Dani asks from the bedside opposite of mine, tinkering with her watch to set the timer. I shift on top of the sheets and readjust my left and right thigh holsters.
"I'm ready when you are," I respond with a sigh.
We have spent the past seven days gathering intel. I found out that Diego Diaz lives in a second-floor apartment about six blocks away from our hotel and has a pretty predictable routine. He leaves around 7:00 a.m., goes to work at a breakfast restaurant called Bella Tierra, returns home around 3:30 p.m. and then occasionally meets a few buddies at a string of bars for a beer or two before calling it a night. The lights in the apartment are always out by 10:00 p.m., so I assume he is fast asleep by the time midnight rolls around.
Isaac, on the other hand, has been completely MIA. I haven't seen him enter or leave Diego's apartment. I've scoured all of Cartagena for any trace of Isaac, but I've come up with absolutely nothing. It's as if he doesn't exist. I've even resorted to using an amplifier to listen in on Diego's phone conversations from across the street to see if he has been in contact with Isaac, but that too proved useless.
Plan A was to coax them both into the AP at the same time to take them out simultaneously, but Isaac's elusiveness has made me wary of this approach. Undertaking an assassination without any intel on a target is a recipe for disaster. That, on top of the fact that Isaac's location remains a mystery, is enough for me to scrap Plan A.
So, on to Plan B: I take out Diego first in the hopes that his death will flush Isaac out. I don't know if he is in hiding, on vacation, or living somewhere else entirely, but I figure that when his uncle dies, he will be forced to surface. As far as I have been able to determine, they have no other family besides each other, so Isaac will almost certainly be responsible for planning his uncle's funeral. This will give me the opportunity I need to stake him out and ultimately eliminate him separately.
I take a deep breath and close my eyes, setting aside my plotting thoughts and tuning out the surrounding distractions. I focus on the breath flowing in and out of my lungs as I mentally begin separating my astral body from my physical one. My pulse slows to a steady thump in my ears and darkness surrounds me like a comforting fleece blanket.
Then, my eyes open.
I'm moving before my eyes fully adjust to the murky darkness of the astral realm, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. I quickly cross the scuffed white tiles and pull open the door, trot down the four flights of stairs to the street, and hang a right in the direction of Diego's apartment. After five blocks, I cross the street and take a left down a narrow alleyway.
A young woman leans against the wall of the alley, and I give her a wide berth, staring her down for any signs of hostility. She's got a bloody bullet hole straight through the center of her forehead and long brown hair messily tossed around her face, but she isn't moving and doesn't notice me. Most of the deceased don't. I've learned that if a spirit has any unfinished business or lacks the awareness that they have passed away, he or she can get stuck in this purgatory instead of passing along with the rest of humanity.
I turn right at the end of the alleyway and then I'm standing about twenty feet from the door to Diego's dark blue apartment building. I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and envision his face in my mind. I picture his oak brown eyes and the fine branching lines that surround them, his short dark hair and his tanned, sun-aged skin. Once the vision of his face is the only thing in my mind, I begin slowly whistling my lullaby.
About five years ago, I discovered that the sound of my voice, coupled with mentally envisioning my targets, draws them to me like a moth to a flame. Lulled out their dream state, they drift to me in a false sense of comfort.
The sound of my voice carries through the mist around me, dancing across the astral atmosphere, angelic and captivating and impossible to refuse. Most of my targets saunter towards me in a peaceful trance, perhaps subconsciously believing an encounter with a divine entity awaits them. But that peace instantly evaporates once they see me waiting for them dressed in black and armed to the teeth.
With a loud creak, Diego's apartment door swings open, and I cut my melody short. I open my eyes, and we stand face to face, directly in front of the building's door frame. Surprise shivers up my spine. For, instead of the terror I was expecting to see on his face, he wears a confident smirk.
He crosses his arms, his stance comfortable and relaxed. "I've been expecting you, Reaper," he drawls.
"Well, here I am," I say, attempting to cover my surprise in bravado. "I'd hate to disappoint by not showing up. We have business to attend to."
"You won't kill me, chica." He snickers and rubs the stubble on his face.
"I don't remember asking your permission," I huff.
He shrugs and begins slowly pacing back and forth. My fingertips skirt across the handle of the blade strapped to my thigh.
"I consider myself a curious man," he says. "And several years ago, I became inquisitive about the Del Sur cartel. Andres Sanchez's son, Nico, died under very mysterious circumstances while he was the leader of Del Sur five years ago. Even more shocking was the random disappearance of six more Del Sur members shortly following his death. And all the while, stories of a Reaper abounded."
My face must have betrayed some of my growing concern because he chuckled as he continued: "I knew this Reaper must be a part of the Cartel. You may have been smart enough to keep the Feds in the dark, but it only took me a matter of time to trace this strange and steadily climbing body count to you, Reaper. Let's just say that I now know enough to make your life very difficult."
How did he possibly draw all of those connections? I try not to let my shock and confusion enter my voice. "First of all, you don't know anything about Nico. Second, your research endeavors don't matter because you won't live to tell another soul anything about me. People don't encounter me in the AP and survive."
If this asshole honestly believes he can intimidate me into sparing his life, he is an idiot. He may know more than most of my targets, but I call the shots in here, not him.
"That's assuming I haven't already told someone else everything I know about you," he says, sneering.
"Someone like your nephew, Isaac?" His face drops and, without warning, Diego turns and takes off into his apartment building.