“Are they together, Monroe?”
“Not sure, sir, but if I were a bettin’ man, I’d say yes…ah…two more have joined the party, a block behind the first group.”
“Roger, Monroe. Keep an eye on them. Clifford keep watch for anyone approaching from the north.”
“Aye, Captain.”
“On your toes, guys,” Candy said. I watched guys jump into the other linesman truck and slowly drive up toward the guard gate. One of the techs who got out near the gate was huge, even taller than Candy, which meant it had to be Mac McCallahan. He was the only person I knew taller than me. Through the scope, I confirmed my suspicion as the big Green Beret walked nonchalantly over to one of the other linemen’s trucks. I didn’t see what he did after that since I turned my attention back to the line of vehicles. I noticed they were still a block away. Through the scope, I could see into the front seat of the lead vehicle.
“One block away, Captain. Two Hispanic men in the front seat…okay…he just moved into the left turn lane. Get ready.”
“Roger.” As several people echoed replies, the first sedan turned and drove up to the valet stand. Agent Steele walked right over and bent to speak to the driver. His voice came through the earwigs clear as day. “Name, please?” I watched him standing there with pen and ticket pad in hand.
“Mr. and Mrs. Rabadan for the Hernandez party,” the driver said in heavily accented English while the man beside him kept silent.
Agent Steele wrote something on the ticket and through the scope, I watched him duck his head to look into the backseat of the car before handing the driver the ticket. “You’ll need to get out and show your ID at the guard kiosk, sir.” He turned and pointed to the row of golf carts. “You know how to drive one of those?”
The driver glanced over and then back at Steele. “Si. I can drive.”
Steele nodded. “Okay then. I’ll wait here until you’ve checked in.”
The driver got out and headed to the guard kiosk while our agent glanced at the passengers in the back seat and smiled. “These golf carts are for your use, Mr. and Mrs. Rabadan.” He opened the door for an elderly man and woman who stepped out. She wore a sparkly, full-length gown which glittered in the afternoon light. I watched Steele turn to the group of valets who waited to be called over. He gestured to one of them who jogged up. As soon as the valet jumped into the car, the passengers started toward the row of golf carts.
“Checking our list of scumbags now, sir,” someone said in the coms. I recognized the female voice as our IT genius, Judy Mendez, who had a list of cartel goons back in the office. “Aaand…yeah, there’s a Hugo Rabadan on the list. His wife is Claudia Rabadan. They’re Mexican nationals. He’s got one outstanding warrant here in the States—” She suddenly chuckled. “For several unpaid parking tickets dating back ten years.”
“Thanks, Judy,” Candy replied. “Let them through the gate, Agent Wallace.”
“Roger, Captain,” Wallace replied.
I watched the valet make a U-turn around a landscaping median in the driveway and then turn right onto Roscomare to park the Rabadan’s sedan on the street as the second sedan pulled up and idled in the drive. Agent Steele walked up to the next vehicle as the Rabadan’s driver jogged over to get behind the wheel of their golf cart. He drove them through the gate which Wallace opened for him. It shut behind the golf cart as Agent Steele began speaking with the driver of the second sedan.
The process of IDing the passengers was repeated with the next three cars. When the fifth car drove up and Agent Steele walked over, a valet jogged over, his turn up at bat. As Steelespoke to the driver, I swung my scope toward the valet who stood there, bouncing anxiously on the balls of his feet behind our agent. I wasn’t sure what it was about the man which struck a chord in me. I couldn’t see his face clearly because of the ball cap which had been pulled down over his forehead but the warm brown curls which poked out beneath the cap looked way too familiar. I stared at his profile as I heard the voice of the driver speaking to Steele.
“Señor and Señora Castillion for the Hernandez party,” the driver said.
My ears perked up as I watched Agent Steele stiffen for only a second or two before he started writing on the ticket.
“We’re in business.” I tensed as I heard Candy’s voice in my earwig. “Wait until they’re out of the car. Monroe?”
“Ready, Captain,” I said, gently flipping the trigger lock on my rifle as I took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly.
“McCallahan…Hampstead, you know what to do.”
“Moving in now, sir,” Nash said quietly.
“Ready when you are, Cap,” Mac said. I momentarily looked past my scope and saw both agents approaching the car from a distance of about thirty feet. They slowly converged from either side, staying in the driver’s blind spot. The rest of my team also moved closer.
The driver jumped out at Agent’s Steele’s direction and headed for the guard kiosk where Wallace waited for him. Steele moved to the back door of the sedan, opening it. A man’s leg appeared. He set his foot on the ground before he climbed out of the car. As the man emerged, the valet moved to the driver’s door. He briefly turned to Agent Steele to ask him something and the voice came in loud and clear.
“Where the keys, please?” the valet asked.
Steele turned to look at him. The sweet features and curly, brown hair framing the valet’s face came into focus as a brilliant smile crossed his lips. My heart was suddenly in my throat, and I made a sound as I instantly recognized the beautiful, young man.
“Cachi,” I breathed.
“Monroe?”
I hadn’t realized I’d said anything out loud until Candy repeated the question.
