THE BRIDGE TO CARACAS (Volume 1 of The King Trilogy)

CHAPTER 66

Flush with cash from an oil rich economy, the Venezuelan government had constructed numerous, gleaming white apartment buildings in Caracas. The buildings blended nicely with the existing structures, which were some of the most impressive examples of modern architecture in North America. The apartments were offered to the poor for next to nothing, but there were few takers. The poor elected instead continued to live in the vast expanse of ranchos, which were sprawling slums consisting of corrugated metal shacks covering the hills surrounding the city, where goods and services were cheaper and family was close by. Luis Martinez was one of these inhabitants. Carlos had succeeded in verifying that fact by tracking Martinez's license plate.

Servito's black Rolls Royce followed Luis's green Pontiac onto a narrow dirt road. Both cars stopped less than thirty feet from Martinez's tin shack. The stench of rotting garbage and urine pervaded the track. Servito and Carlos emerged from the Rolls and approached Martinez. "Are you Luis Martinez?" Servito barked.

Martinez immediately recognized both of his visitors. "Si," he replied, terrified and clinging to his steering wheel.

Servito frowned. "I know you speak English. Now get the hell out of your car and talk to me. I want to ask you some questions."

Martinez climbed from his car and trembled as he faced Servito.

Servito's evil smirk was a portent of what was to come. He pointed to Carlos with his right thumb. "You've already met my bodyguard. His name is Carlos. He doesn't like liars, and he particularly doesn't like people who come snooping around my house. In fact, I've given him instructions to kill people who do that. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," Martinez gulped, his lower lip quivering.

"Good. Then tell me what were you doing at my house today. Tell me the truth and I won't let Carlos kill you."

Martinez closed his eyes and shook his head. "I...I can't tell you," he mumbled, his entire body consumed with fear.

Servito turned to Carlos. "We're wasting time. Kill him and let's get the hell out of here."

Carlos removed a machete from the front seat of the Rolls and approached Martinez with a menacing scowl. He lifted the machete above his head and prepared to swing.

Martinez raised his arms in defense. "Please don't kill me," he begged. "I'll tell you."

"Good. Do it."

"My boss ordered me to do it. He—"

"Who's your boss?"

"Mr. Blankenship."

"Why did he order you to do it?"

"He...for a friend of his."

"Who's his friend?"

"Mr. King."

"Who?"

"His name is Mike King. He was in the car with me when I came to your house."

"No!" Servito gasped, surprise and shock contorting his expression. "Was there anyone else?"

Martinez nodded. "Her name is Karen. She's looking for her son."

Servito rolled his eyes and shook his head in amazement. "I can't believe it. How the hell did they find me?" His right hand shot for Martinez's throat, and he gripped tight, with bared teeth. "How did they find me?" he shouted.

"I don't know," Martinez whimpered.

"Where did you find them?" Servito screamed.

"At the Residencias Anauco Hilton."

"Is that where they're staying?"

Martinez nodded. "In suite two hundred and twelve."

Servito released Martinez and spat on the ground. "This is the last fucking time!" he vowed. He turned to Carlos and nodded. Carlos lifted the machete and decapitated Martinez with one powerful swing.