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Date Posted: 17:04:20 04/21/09 Tue
Author: Randy
Author Host/IP: S010600179a334297.gv.shawcable.net / 24.69.74.23
Subject: finish of this section
In reply to: Randy 's message, "Cleaned and updated version" on 12:03:39 04/21/09 Tue

He motioned for his men to follow, and charged through the hole in the wall, BXP at the ready, scanning the darkness with his night vision set. Whatever room the rotor entered through, now it was little more than a half-collapsed tangle of drywall, debris, and splintered framing planks. The ceiling tilted down, front to back, at a crazy angle. Ruined furniture lined the far wall, next to another, smaller hole. Beyond that, in the darkness, Paul could see the still-heated metal of the Huey rotor glowing in his goggles.

More gunfire sounded, and Kepler kicked down a door on the right side of the room. It was hanging awkwardly by a single hinge, and fell outward. He stepped through, looked left and right, then covered the hallway that was beyond while another member of his team followed up and scuttled, weapon at the ready, down the corridor. Jacobson followed, and Paul turned to cover the rear of their advance.

Another small explosion sounded from outside, behind the house. A dusting of plaster fell from the ceiling in a thin sheet, covering them.

They moved through the hall, into an open antechamber, floored and walled in marble. In the center of the room was a fountain flanked by two spiral staircases that terminated at a landing. Beyond, was a larger room. Flashes of gunfire from outside reflected, every few seconds, from the walls.

There was another detonation in the chamber beyond the large area that Kepler and his men occupied. The walls shook, and a large sheet of marble crashed to the tile from one wall while flying glass skittered across the floor. A door flew from its hinges and tumbled down one of the staircases.

For several seconds after, all was quiet.

“Pool area secured, team 1,” said a voice in Kepler’s headset. “Saw the primary. He was playin’ Rambo on the balcony, far east room, just above the pool. Couple of near misses changed his mind. Went inside.”

Kepler grinned. “Hold your position, then. If he does a cliff diving act, fish him out. Alive, if you can. In one minute give us some fire through the windows. Lay it on thick. About ten seconds should do it.”

“Roger.”

Paul and the pair with him moved quickly up the stairs, and turned to the right. The hallway terminated in two, solid, oaken doors.

Kepler took a position at the side of one door, and Jacobson at the other. The third member went prone in the center of the hallway.

Then, the three heard chaos erupt in the room beyond the doors. That was all Kepler needed. There was no lock. He merely counted eight, turned a knob and pushed the doors open, one by one.

Laying face down on the floor, under a desk, amidst the falling dust, scattered glass, and splintered furniture, was the man who Kepler had been sent to see: Senior Vargas.

Paul stepped into the room, weapon trained on him. “I guess that’s game, set, n’ match, amigo.”

Vargas glanced up, clearly startled to see the men walk into his study. Then, his expression quickly changed to a scowl, and he reached out for something under the desk that Paul couldn’t see.

Kepler fired a single shot, into the floor, just short of Vargas. The man froze.

“You’re missing the point, here,” Paul said. He gestured with the barrel of his weapon at two other men, dead near the shattered balcony doors, who lay on the floor. “Stand up.”

Vargas rose to his feet, hands to his side, palms open, facing outward. He was dressed in silk pajamas. His face was pale, but his expression calm.

“Habla Espaniol?”, he asked.

Kepler shook his head, once. “Muy poco. Have a seat.”

Vargas’ eyes never left Paul’s as he slowly lowered himself into the shreded remains of what was recently a fine, leather upholstered chair. It creaked and moaned as his considerable weight settled into it, but held together.

“You seem to have me at a disadvantage, senior…you are the American DEA, I presume? Or its mercenaries? ”, Vargas said. His English was quite good, and his voice was steady. Far from the cowering figure that Paul had first seen.

“You purchased a document in Prague last summer,” Paul said. “Where is it?”

“A document,” Vargas repeated. Paul estimated his expression to be one of genuine puzzlement. “I purchased many documents. Purchased many things, in Prague, that summer.”

“Dee,” Kepler said. “John Dee. Give me that, and you live.”

Vargas stared at him, incredulously. “So, gringo. All of this…” one hand gestured slowly, expansively, across the room, “and you come for a document? A document of nonsense?”

Kepler nodded, and Vargas began to laugh. It was wild laughter. Wild and bitter.

“No money, no cocaine, no DEA. You come for old papers!”

“Worth enough for you to pay two million gringo dollars.”

Vargas snorted. “I am a collector. What I pay two million for now will sell for ten million later.”

“So, where are they.”

“And then you will kill me.” It wasn’t a question.

Paul nodded. “Not a matter of ‘if’. Just ‘how fast‘.”

Vargas’ eyes narrowed. His sudden contempt was evident. “That’s all you have? Fuck you, gringo.” He started to bend over, to reach for whatever lay beneath the desk.

“And Paulo,” Kepler said.

Vargas froze.

“Yep. Economics major at UCLA. 1236 St. John Circle. He doesn’t have to be involved in this. But he can be.”

Slowly, the calm of his expression broke, and Vargas sat upright. “You would kill my son?”

Kepler shrugged. “You kill sons, every day. Daughters too, from what I hear. But don’t think I’m preachin’.”

Now, the rest of team 2 filed into the hallway behind Kepler.

“So, Senior Vargas,” Kepler said, wearily. “Do we have an understanding?”

Vargas nodded, slowly.

Kepler turned to Jacobson. “Get on the horn. Send code blue to the Old Man.”

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