Washing down the last bite of the cinnamon pastry with a sip of his fancy French vanilla cappuccino, Anson stuffed the trash inside the cooking bag. The maple sausage patty had either been not half bad or he had just been craving protein. At least Jennie would have been pleased to see that the MRE had included both a granola bar and a bag of blueberries. It took him five seconds to break camp and store his poncho. Glancing back in the direction of Montez’s compound, he considered returning. But he knew that the desire didn’t come from any true need. He had the information he’d come to get. If he returned, it would be with the hope of catching another glimpse of Natalia. With the compound so well guarded, and the news that Montez would be leaving within a couple of days to attend his birthday party, the professional in Anson knew that he’d have a far better chance of getting to Natalia once she was taken into the city.

Turning away, he began to hike, pausing to scan for any danger, animal or human, before stepping out of the tree line. Squatting at the edge of the Parana River, he dropped a water purification tablet into his CamelBak and then filled it. The water would likely taste worse than plastic but at least it would be safe to drink. He took the time to wash his face and hands but didn’t bother shaving. He wasn’t attempting to win any pretty boy contest. Slipping the pack on his back, he returned to the trees. It would be easier to walk along the river bank, but the heavy vegetation of the jungle provided far more concealment. He didn’t want to run into any locals or men working for Montez who constantly patrolled the area. Double checking the direction with his compass, he began to walk.

Montez’s fortress was a little less than twenty miles outside Buenos Aires. A trip that would take no more than half an hour by car. Faster if the man hadn’t located his compound deep in the jungle, accessible only by rutted dirt roads that were constantly washing out with the rains. Still, it would most likely be night by the time Anson hiked that far. That didn’t particularly bother him as darkness provided yet more cover. And with Montez not expected to enter the city until tomorrow at the earliest, Anson had plenty of time. As he walked, his mind ran through possible scenarios as his eyes constantly scanned his surroundings. He also listened to the jungle. The first time he stopped, dropping to his haunches, was when all bird song stopped, a sure sign that danger had been perceived. Anson remained perfectly still, and after a few minutes, the chirps and song restarted. He’d seen nothing, but trusted the potential peril had passed.

He continued to hike—or more like push and shove his way—through the vines, branches and growth; his footsteps almost completely silenced by the thick layer of dead plants, leaves, and God only knew what that covered the ground. Every half hour or so, he’d stop to rest, check his compass to make sure he was still heading in the right direction, and take a few swallows of water. By the time the sun moved overhead, its beams barely penetrating the canopy, he figured he’d covered about seven miles.

Though he was alone, he wasn’t the only thing moving through the jungle. The birds were colorful and loud. He also saw all sorts of insects, including a super-sized centipede. Ants were everywhere, as were beetles as big as his thumb. Rustles and snorts were given by smaller mammals, which he wasn’t concerned about. The only dangers he really worried about would come from man, snakes, spiders, and any of the species of large jungle cats that roamed the rainforests of South America.

He didn’t hear any sounds of civilization until mid-afternoon. He’d been following the river and knew that many people used it as a food source. Resting again, he trusted his camouflage to keep him invisible as he watched an older man, accompanied by a much younger one. After the boy was seated in the canoe, the man pushed it off from the bank as he stepped in with one fluid motion. Seeing that instead of rifles, there were fishing poles sticking out over the gunwale, Anson dismissed them as any threat but had to admit he felt a bit of jealousy. He remembered Drake taking him on weekend trips down the Rio Grande. They’d fish, swim, and camp, but more importantly they’d spend hours just talking. The younger boy had truly bonded with his adoptive father during those weekends, which had meant the world to Anson. He smiled as the sound of the boy’s chatter faded as the canoe rounded a bend.

Anson figured he had no more than five miles to go when it began to get dark. Clouds were rolling in fast and he knew he had two choices. Either set up camp or push on. A loud crack of thunder helped him make his decision. Pulling on his poncho, he soldiered on. If it rained as hard as he believed it would, he’d not stay dry either way. Better to be drenched by the time he reached the city than to spend a miserable night attempting to sleep on wet ground.

Exhaustion was setting in when he finally reached his hotel. Upon his arrival in Buenos Aires two days earlier, he’d taken a cheap room in a small hotel in the San Telmo district. Though he could have afforded to stay in any of the top-rated hotels in the business district, he had chosen this place because there was no lobby to walk through. The less he was seen, the better. Slipping his key into the lock, he entered his room. It wouldn’t rank even two stars in the United States but he didn’t need fancy. It might be shabby but it was obvious the owners took pride in their establishment. Fresh sheets were on the bed and, just as important, clean towels waited in the bathroom. Dropping his pack, he stripped out of his clothes as he turned on the taps. He was already soaking wet, but the pounding of the hot water against his body drove the chill away. He stayed in the shower until the water began to turn cold. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he draped his discarded clothing over the shower rod, hoping it would dry overnight. He dug through the suitcase he’d had when he checked in under the name of John Gardner. Anson figured that there were only a handful of people who would know that Gardner was one of the authors who had been contracted to continue the James Bond novels after Ian Fleming’s death.

Wrapping the scabbard around his calf, he tucked the knife inside and then tugged down the leg of his jeans to conceal it. Pulling on a t-shirt, he stuffed some money into his pockets. By the time he stepped outside, he looked nothing like the man who’d spent the past forty-eight hours in the jungle. He walked through the streets, constantly categorizing the people he moved among. Young couples strolled along hand-in-hand, tourists gawked, and older people, looking almost as tired as he felt, were returning home after work. As he approached a small square, the aromas in the air had his stomach growling. He bought a choripan, which consisted of a thick chorizo sausage sliced in half and left to sputter on a grill. As it cooked, a baguette was cut down the middle and placed face down beside the meat. When the stall owner handed the assembled sandwich to him, Anson ladled chimichurri sauce over it, adding a spoon of salsa criolla, and topping it off with a few sliced picantes. He took his beer and meal to a small table.

Lifting the sandwich, he had to smile. He could practically see Jennie, hands on hips, grey curls swaying as she shook her head. The beloved woman was a fanatic about eating healthy which, in her opinion, meant strictly vegetarian. She could come up with some very creative ways to make sure her “boys” remembered that fact, but Anson knew she had a heart of gold.

“Forgive me, Jennie,” he said softly before he took his first bite of the artery clogging concoction. He almost groaned as the spurt of grease exploded in his mouth as he bit through the crisp casing of the sausage. The chimichurri sauce, advertised as Argentina’s BBQ sauce, was nothing like that found in the States, but combined with the salsa and spicy chilies, it was delicious. Finishing the sandwich and discovering he had half a bottle of beer left, Anson did the only thing that made sense. He ordered another. The second was just as good as the first, even if he did eat it much slower while he people watched. Though he had seen some drug sales going down during his walks around the city since his arrival, for the most part, he could almost pretend he was sitting near the mercado in Nuevo Laredo, Texas. Just this side of the bridge that took you into Mexico, there were street vendors selling food and drink, and tourists enjoying the fact that you could get a filling, very tasty meal for a very few pesos. Lively music was playing and several tourists were attempting to mimic the steps of the sexy Latin dances.

Finishing his beer, he gave a nod of thanks to the cook and started back to his hotel. He took a different route, not one to ever be predictable when on a mission. No need to give any potential enemy a routine they could easily follow. He’d spend tomorrow checking out the hotel where Montez would be staying, as well as the area where the fair would be held. He’d need to make a few purchases as well. But for now, he was ready to check in with his family, strip out of his clothes and fall into bed. The call connected and he relayed the fact that he’d returned to the city. Drake confirmed that Montez would be arriving sometime tomorrow, which was Friday, but that the party would definitely be on Saturday night.

“It appears Montez is planning on conducting business before his party. You know, remind all the little fish that he is still the biggest shark,” Drake said.

Anson chuckled. “Yeah, they do tend to eat anything that comes close.”

“We’ve also started getting reports that trouble is brewing. We’re hearing rumors that the Ortez cartel is putting aside their rivalry with the Hernandez family for the time being. The only thing that makes sense is if they are plotting against Montez. Seems they aren’t too happy with his controlling and demanding payment for the privilege of using Ruta 34.”

Anson knew his father wasn’t talking about vehicular traffic. Ruta 34 was the route taken by drug couriers. “So, there could be a great number of bad men in the same place at the same time,” Anson reflected.

“Yes, but if some turf war breaks out among the cartels, your mission just got more dangerous,” Drake said instantly. “You are not there to try to take out every drug lord in the country. As much as the idea is appealing, it wouldn’t truly help.”

“I know, Pops. It would just have more fucking cockroaches coming out into the light. Don’t worry. I’m only interested in the birthday boy.”

“Just remember that,” his father said. “Now, get some sleep. You sound exhausted.”

“I am,” Anson admitted. “I’ll call tomorrow.”

After hanging up, he stowed the sat phone on the table beside him but tucked his knife beneath his pillow. He was asleep within seconds of closing his eyes.

The Alvear Palace Hotel was located on Avenida Alvear. Over a dozen colorful flags hung from poles along the façade of the porte cochère. Six stories rose above the street that contained the suites, with additional large domes along the roof. Anson knew the true luxury began when a guest stepped inside.

He slipped into the hotel from a service entrance in the back before the sun began to rise. Very few people roamed the halls, and most of them were cleaning staff. If they even bothered to look up, Anson gave a slight nod and continued walking. He’d learned that in most situations, if he acted as if he belonged, people were far too involved in their own business to question his presence.

Climbing the spiral staircase, he had to admit that either Montez had a far bigger set of cajones than he’d given him credit for, or he was a complete idiot. No matter how luxurious a hotel was, it didn’t provide the security he’d think a man in Montez’s position would expect. Guests from all over the world chose this five-star hotel for both vacation purposes as well as to conduct business meetings. A place this size and this opulent would have a staff numbered in the dozens if not hundreds. The wealthy did not condone waiting for anything. They would expect private, individual attention from the moment the doorman welcomed them to the Alvear. Security would be a nightmare, as there was no way to know if the man who was wearing jeans and a polo shirt was a lookie-loo or the newest member to join the club of the ultra wealthy. That definitely worked to Anson’s advantage while he reconnoitered, but he knew he couldn’t depend on it.

Despite the mask he’d worn that night, Anson couldn’t count on the fact that his identity was unknown to Montez. Not only had he been in the same room in Moscow, attending the same auction, he’d actually bid against him. The man hadn’t been pleased to have another raising his bid, and while circumstances had forced Anson to drop out of the bidding, he had drawn Montez’s attention. Of course, it hadn’t helped him remain invisible when Vasily Poplov had “suggested” the winning bidders join their recently purchased sex slaves on stage and provide a bit of entertainment. It had been one of, if not the most, delicate situations he and his brother Stryder had ever had to orchestrate. Though Montez had been slobbering all over his recent acquisition, Natalia, causing Anson’s blood to boil, he’d had no choice but to help Stryder perform a scene which would keep the woman his brother had purchased safe from any true harm, as well as convince those assholes around them that they belonged in the same room and were as evil and perverted as the rest of them.

The moment he stepped through the glass doors and saw the huge roof-top pool, Anson could easily envision Natalia’s lithe body gliding along its length. Tables and lounge chairs sat along the edge, the glass dome covering the area offering stunning views of the city. A commotion behind him snapped him out of his thoughts. Turning, he saw a maid was struggling to get her heavily laden cart through the doors. Pulling it open for her, she looked up and gave him a smile.

“Gracias, señor.”

“De nada,” Anson answered, returning her smile. He watched as she began laying thick white towels, folded with precision, on every chair. As the image of a wet Natalia wrapping one around herself filled his head, he silently berated himself.

You’re not some horny teenager, so get a grip and concentrate on the mission.

After stepping closer to the windows and selecting the locations that would give him the best chance of watching activities within the hotel without being seen, he left the rooftop. Additional staff had obviously arrived during his walk throughout the hotel as the halls were far more crowded. He heard, “Disculpe” several times as he strolled down the halls as maids excused themselves for having carts blocking his path. What he found more interesting was that bellhops had begun to file out of the elevators, luggage carts in tow. It was a bit early to be checking out and yet, when he stepped onto one of the elevators and it stopped at the next floor, he was joined by guests and their luggage.

Once they exited on the lobby level, Anson began to understand the early morning activity. The registration desk was crowded and staff were directing departing guests to the door, where a long line of taxis had pulled beneath the porte cochère.

“Do you need assistance?”

Anson turned to see a man he supposed was the concierge hurrying towards him. “No, I’m just leaving,” Anson replied.

“I hope you enjoyed your stay, señor, and will come visit us again.”

Trusting his instincts, Anson gave a shrug. “That would be more likely if this visit wasn’t being cut short.”

The man looked pained. “I’m afraid it couldn’t be helped. We have… a private party coming in who has booked the entire hotel for the weekend. Of course, we are more than happy to assist you in finding other lodging—”

“That’s not necessary, I’ve already arranged to stay with friends.”

“Very well, have a good day.”

Once satisfied that his help wasn’t needed, the man hurried off. Anson moved across the lobby, turning into the gift shop when a half dozen men pushed through the hotel’s front door. A soldier recognized another despite the fact that these men weren’t dressed in combat fatigues. Anson could see the bulge of guns beneath their coats and the look in their eyes as they began to scan the lobby. Anson understood that the first wave of the hotel’s special guests had arrived.

“This is ridiculous. Richard, we have reservations! I do not appreciate being treated so rudely. I insist that you talk to the hotel manager and demand we be allowed to check in!”

Anson looked into the shop and was stunned to see that he recognized the couple. Before he could duck out, Richard Latham looked up and caught his eye.

“Well, I’ll be. What in the hell are you doing here… son?”

The fact that he hadn’t addressed him by name told Anson that the man was as sharp as a tack. Anson stepped forward and held out his hand.

“Good to see you again, sir. Hello, Mrs. Latham.” Directing the attention from himself, he turned the tables. “What brings you so far from Austin?” Richard Latham was a highly respected member of the Texas Legislature. He was so popular, he often ran unopposed, well into his third term in the senate. There was talk of him becoming the next governor.

“Mixing business with pleasure,” Richard said, and when his wife gave a harrumph, he chuckled. “Though Elizabeth isn’t pleased at being asked to leave. I’ve assured her that there are additional hotels—”

“But, Richard, you know that Judith said that the Alvear is the only decent hotel in the city. I simply can’t return home and tell her that we’d been kicked out like… like stowaways on some cruise ship! I don’t understand how you can just stand there and accept this!”

“Judith Thorenson?” Anson asked, drawing a nod from Elizabeth. “As I recall, the woman is a wine connoisseur. Why don’t you purchase a bottle of the hotel’s house wine and take it home?” he suggested, nodding towards a display where several bottles of wine with the hotel’s distinctive label were displayed. “Argentina has several wineries that have produced a variety of award winning wines.”

“She’s more of a lush than a connoisseur, but that is an excellent idea,” Elizabeth said, looking towards the display.

“That’s right, darling, and what Judith doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Why don’t you make your choices, and I’ll be over to arrange delivery?”

The men waited until Elizabeth walked away before turning back to each other. “You want to tell me what’s really going on? Is Drake here?” Richard asked, dropping the volume of his voice.

“No, sir, Pops is back at the ranch. I’m on my own this time, but I can tell you that you don’t want to be anywhere near this hotel this weekend,” Anson said, just as quietly.

Richard nodded. “So there’s a reason they are willing to piss off a bunch of guests by cancelling reservations made far in advance?”

“Yes, sir, a very good reason,” Anson said, and with that, Richard nodded.

“That’s all I need to know, son. But if you run into trouble or need help, all you need do is call.” He pulled a card from his pocket, scrawling a phone number on the back. “I’m serious. I might be in South America, but I’m not about to abandon a fellow Texan.”

“Thank you, sir,” Anson said, taking the card.

The two men shook hands and as the senator moved to join his wife, Anson slipped out of the door. It hadn’t needed to be said that he’d appreciate it if Richard didn’t mention their encounter. The man was not only a good friend of his father, he’d often been instrumental in getting intelligence and offering his legal expertise to the Steeles over the years. The man might work within the boundaries of the government, but understood that some missions required him to look the other way.

An hour later, from his position on a rooftop across the street, Anson watched as the hotel slowly cleared out. As the line of taxis diminished, they were replaced by black SUVs. More and more men appeared and began to take up positions around and inside the hotel. The morning’s activities answered Anson’s earlier question about Montez’s choice of venue. He didn’t need to worry about either unknown guests or lack of security. The invitation list provided only those guests he knew, and the small army patrolling the hotel was all the security needed.

His stomach was growling by the time the guest of honor arrived. If the hotel staff had been polite to their guests as they kicked them out, they were practically groveling by the time Montez rolled himself out of the car. No doorman or concierge was good enough for the birthday boy. No, it took them, as well as the manager of the hotel, to bow low as if subjects to some king of eons ago. Anson corrected his thoughts as he remembered how in the movie The Godfather, people had supplicated themselves, bowing and kissing Marlon Brando’s ring. Just like the movie, it was evident that the citizens of Buenos Aires considered Juan Montez to be their Don Corleone.

Anson watched as Natalia exited the car. She looked tiny next to Montez and his goons. She was wearing a red dress that molded to her body like a second skin. The bodice clung to very generous breasts that accentuated how small her waist was. The hem came to mid-thigh, her legs trim and shapely, and Anson could see the muscles of her calves as she stood in ridiculously high heels. When she turned towards the hotel, Anson saw that the woman had a figure any man would lust after. Her rounded ass was full and the dress tight enough to have him doubt she wore anything beneath it. Long brown hair fell in curls to the middle of her back, held at the nape of her neck with some sort of clip whose stones glittered in the sun. Another flash of splintered light came from a bracelet when she lifted her hand to place it on Montez’s forearm. Every man with eyes watched her walk beside the most dangerous man in Argentina as they entered the hotel. Even as they disappeared into the lobby, Anson saw that it took a few seconds for Montez’s underlings to seem to remember they had a job to do. He couldn’t blame them. The woman was gorgeous.

With the assurance of Natalia’s location, Anson left the roof. He needed to make his contingency plans. He walked down the block and then hailed a cab. “Avenida de los Corrales, por favor,” he requested. Though the fair would not begin until Sunday, he was hoping to get not only the lay of the land, but pick up any information and perhaps some clothing that wouldn’t brand him a tourist. As the taxi let him off, Anson again began to stroll, ever vigilant to possible scenarios… one that he prayed would lead to him rescuing Natalia Alvarez.