Catalyst (Breakthrough Book 3)(2)

He stepped inside, keeping the gun low but in front. The pain in his ribs screamed as he twisted around to ease the door closed –– a result of the near fatal wound Blanco had given him.

The door gave a muted click shut and Caesare eased forward over the spotless marble flooring. He stepped away from the wall and gradually edged himself around the corner.

Then he froze.

The scene before him was not what he was expecting. The room seemed pristine except for two dining room chairs positioned in the middle. In each chair sat a motionless figure, bound and bloodied. Both gagged, with their heads down upon their chests.

The first was a woman, barely recognizable through the dark brunette hair dangling in front of her face. Carolina Sosa. The second was Miguel Blanco himself, his body slumping but held in place by the ropes around his waist.

Neither was moving.

Caesare immediately stepped back out of sight, leaving only the gun and half of his face exposed. The scene looked fresh enough that the murderer could still be inside the suite. After waiting a minute, he slowly eased himself back away from the wall and moved at a wedged angle, slowly peering back into the main room. He crept forward onto soft carpet. Caesare rounded the next doorway, staying well away from the corner, providing him maximum visibility.

It took several minutes to ensure the entire suite was clear, after which Caesare returned to the front room. He gazed at the two lifeless bodies.

Approaching the pair, he stared into Carolina’s hair-strewn face. Beneath the dark strands, he could see her badly bruised skin. He passed by her and stopped in front of Blanco. The man’s face was entirely black and blue, his gag now fallen halfway off.

He stared at Blanco for a long time, finally shaking his head. Living a life of deceit often ended abruptly, and sometimes violently. The small rubber tourniquet hanging from the man’s arm told Caesare that whatever secrets Blanco had now belonged to someone else. They had literally beaten and drugged it out of him.

It was too bad Caesare hadn’t gotten to him first. At least he would have lived. He scanned the room one last time before returning the gun smoothly to its holster.

Caesare began to turn for the door when something suddenly caught his eye, startling him. His gun was back out before his brain even registered what it was.

Blanco had moved.

It was slight, but it was movement. Blanco’s eyes remained closed, but the movement was more than just residual muscle twitching. Caesare waited with his gun lowered but gripped firmly between both hands. Then it happened again.

With one hand, he reached up and eased the Brazilian’s head back before pulling the rest of the cloth gag out of his mouth. The swollen eyelids struggled, but finally managed to crack themselves open. Dark, unfocused eyes peered out.

“Blanco,” Caesare whispered.

It took time for the eyes to focus on Caesare. When they did, the recognition came quickly. They opened wider in disbelief.

Caesare managed to refrain from smiling at Blanco and vindictively muttering the word “surpresa.” Instead he rose and turned toward the phone. He had picked up the handset when Blanco blurted something behind him.

“Não!” A moment later he mumbled again, switching to English. “Don’t call.”

“I’m calling for help.”

Blanco’s eyes dropped to his arm, where a small drop of blood was drying over the remains of an insertion point. “There is…no help…for me,” he said weakly.

Caesare knelt in front of him. “Who did it?”

“Otero,” he whispered.

Caesare knelt down next to him. “What did he want?”

“Please.” Blanco’s voice grew fainter. “Please…save them.”

Caesare glanced around the room. “Save who?”

Blanco was now struggling just to make his lips move. “My family.”





1





Admiral Langford looked up as John Clay opened the wide door to his office with Wil Borger standing behind him. The Admiral quickly waved them in as he pushed a button on his phone and dropped the handset back onto the cradle.

“Okay, Clay and Borger are here. Go ahead, Steve.”

“Bom dia, gents,” Caesare called through the speaker. “You’re missing some beautiful weather down here. Sweltering and muggy.”

Clay smiled. “Sounds lovely.”

“Yeah, unfortunately it’s not all sunshine and roses.”

“Did you find Blanco?”

“Oh, I found him all right. But I’m afraid he’s not in the best of moods. He’s dead.”

Clay and Borger looked at Langford with surprise.

“Dead?” Borger repeated, confused. “But we traced that call he made right before he turned his cell off just an hour ago.”