Chapter 1
RIO DE JANEIRO, BRAZIL
The Belmond Copacabana Palace Hotel portrayed luxury at its finest. A perfect spot for a vacation. The exterior of the six-floor rectangle glowed a brilliant white in the mid-day sun, surrounded by green blanketed cliffs that jutted into the air. Alex Parker had reservations under his alias, Alex Preston, the owner of Preston Enterprises, an organization devoted to preserving the world’s wildlife on the land, in the air, and in the sea. Today, he was here to support the endangered coral reefs and marine life off the coast of Brazil. At least that was his cover for being in Rio De Janeiro, if anyone asked.
On top of being a great place for the rich and famous to frequent, the Copacabana Palace was a fine retreat for anyone on the run from the United States government. In particular, the hotel presented a choice destination for a North Korean spy who stole nuclear secrets and sold them to the highest bidder. That bidder turned out to be a wealthy real estate tycoon by the name of Alfred Coraco. Now dead. Brought to justice. So the story goes.
Alex exited the cab, paid the fare, and started a casual stroll toward the lavish front entrance. As he walked, he turned his head and lowered a pair of sunglasses to peer over the top edge of the frame. Across the Avenida Atlantica, or Atlantic Avenue, people ran and played on the beach and basked under the hot rays of the sun.
Kites flew in the pristine blue sky as men and woman in skimpy swimwear enjoyed the sugar sand beach on what proved to be a beautiful day.
Inside the hotel, Alex checked in without a hitch, paying for his suite on the fifth floor with a credit card under the name of his alias. He tipped the bellhop a hundred-dollar bill to take his luggage to the room. It wasn’t the legal tender in Brazil, but it could be used for tipping. The hotel had a bank that could exchange the money for the Brazilian real.
With the bellhop gone, Alex wheeled his luggage past a sofa into the heart of the room. He picked up the suitcase and placed it on the bed. The color scheme and decor were light and airy, and exquisitely smooth in appearance and taste. Through the French doors, the Atlantic Ocean caught his eye, rolling in beyond the sandy beach. From a pocket, he inserted a tiny earpiece that paired with a translucent microphone the color of his skin, the size of a pencil eraser but thin like Scotch tape. He stuck the mic under his chin.
“I’m in place,” Alex said.
“Splendid,” a voice replied in his ear. It was Wes, his Weapons and Equipment Specialist, also a savvy special operations manager. “Your room is directly below the sixth-floor penthouse suite that offers the exclusive black pool. Mr. Lee is currently relaxing in a lounge chair with a drink in his hand.”
“How do you know?” Alex said as he unzipped the suitcase, removed his trusty Glock 21 and screwed on the suppressor. It was the same weapon Wes modified for him in Spain a few months ago.
“Eye in the sky.”
Alex nodded. “I hear the new addition to our team, Agent Brady, is good with drones.”
“Exceptional,” Brady replied, young and cocky, but resilient.
Alex knew the agents, Mike Wilson and Jaxson Brady, were part of the beach crowd he’d observed earlier. “How about my getaway?”
“Secured,” Agent Wilson said in Alex’s ear. “Samantha has you covered once the job is done. We told you it was an evolving plan. When you scale down the side of the building, she’ll be waiting in a white Land Rover.”
Alex aimed the handgun at the far wall and grinned when a red dot appeared on the drywall. How Wes smuggled the weapon into Brazil was not Alex’s problem. All he knew, his luggage entered and left the baggage claim area at the Rio International Airport, passed through the x-ray machine free and clear, and then somehow the Glock made its way into his suitcase before the cabby dropped his bag into the trunk.
He shoved the gun into the waistband of his pants and turned to the French doors.
Alex walked out onto the balcony and peered over the rail. A fall from the fifth floor would end with a splat. That’s why he didn’t intend to fall.
Hopefully, no one would notice him out on the ledge, scaling the side of the building. And if someone did, the attention it would garner would come too late to stop his plan.
Back inside the suite, he removed a pair of leather gloves and a rope with a grappling hook from the suitcase. The gloves were for friction during the climb, not to keep him from leaving fingerprints. If he left any behind, a database search would end with a picture of a farm boy from Savannah, Georgia, murdered less than a year ago. Authorities would determine the prints must have been left behind at some point in the past before he died. The fact the deceased happened to be a former Navy SEAL would perplex the Policia even more but lead them nowhere but a dead end.
Out on the balcony, Alex leaned back against the handrail and slung the grappling hook over the railing one floor above. The metal clanged against stone and bit down.
Alex tugged on the rope and then started the precarious climb, dangling five stories above the pool down below. He didn’t look down. That would only complicate matters. Instead, he focused on each successive grip until he pulled himself up and over the rail and onto the sixth-floor balcony... which was identical to his and most importantly, empty.
He expected the French doors to be locked, but fortunately, that was not the case.
As soon as he entered the suite, a man in a dark business suit appeared. Before the man reached for the gun under his jacket, Alex drew the Glock and chirped out a round into his throat, above his body armor. The bodyguard clutched his neck and sank to the floor in a gurgling fit that didn’t last long.
Alex marched into the living area of the penthouse suite.
Another man drew a gun, but he wasn’t fast enough. A second bullet found its target between the man’s eyes.
Now to the adjoining balcony with the pool.
“Zjing Lee is still on the lounge chair,” Wes said. “Proceed with caution.”
“What the—” Agent Brady blurted.
Alex froze at the doorway. “What happened?”
“A bird attacked the drone,” Brady said. “No. It wasn’t a bird. It was another drone.”
“We lost visual. Go now,” Wes yelled in his ear. “Before Lee moves.”
Alex charged through the door; gun leveled at the chair where Zjing Lee sat.
But he wasn’t there anymore.
Before Alex could blink, a foot flew up from the side and smashed into his wrist, sending his Glock handgun twirling out over the pool where it sank to the bottom. A split second later, another foot cracked into his chin.
Alex tumbled along the edge of the pool. When he came out of the roll, on his feet, he expected another onslaught from Lee, but the man just stood there with a sly grin, aiming an odd-looking pistol at him.
Lee squeezed the trigger and a dart whooshed from the barrel.
Pain stabbed through Alex’s thigh and radiated outward. As the sensation raced across his leg like a growing spider web, the pain turned to numbness.
Next, something unexpected happened. Instead of passing out with a tranquilizer, Alex simply collapsed next to the pool, unable to feel or move any part of his body. Not even his eyes. But he could see and hear, and somehow breathe. He was paralyzed.
He had walked into a trap.
He should’ve known killing the illusive spy wouldn’t be so easy.
