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The drones’ cameras began zooming in on windows, flying overland and circling slowly around the massive hacienda, and Contreras just sat back and watched the monitors because he wasn’t controlling anything at all right now. With Raul seated back by the again-closed cargo ramp and the pilot continuing a racetrack pattern farther out to sea, there was nothing for Contreras to do other than sit there and try to figure out just what the hell he was in the middle of.
•••
The pair of Portuguese security officers remained at the house on Soliman Bay while Fitzroy, Court, and Zoya climbed into a silver Mercedes four-door and set off for the estate of Jack Tudor. The rains of the day had quickly come and gone, and the nighttime darkness was brightened somewhat by the twinkling stars above.
Court and Zoya had dressed in clothes provided to them by Pedro and Francisca. A lightweight beige suit for him, and a gray pantsuit for her. They did not bring firearms, as they would simply be confiscated before they got anywhere near Tudor’s property, so instead they just carried the bearing of well-trained security professionals.
Their Mercedes rolled south through the hotel zone of Tulum, past ritzy shops, high-end restaurants, and four- and five-star luxury accommodations. Eventually the buildings, the traffic, the beaches, and the crowds gave way to a flat open road heading along the coast into dense jungle.
From Sir Donald’s description of Tudor and his operation, Court had expected a well-guarded front entrance to Tudor’s property, but the GPS said their car was still a quarter mile away from the driveway the first time they were stopped, and this Court had not expected. Local police had a checkpoint on the sand-strewn two-lane road leading to Tudor’s estate, and even though Court and Zoya’s last police checkpoint experience had not gone well, they both kept their cool as they passed over their documents and Zoya explained, in Spanish heavily thickened with a Portuguese accent, that their protectee had an eleven p.m. appointment to meet with Tudor.
The cop in the window said he had a guest list for “Mr. Jack,” and he confirmed that Fitzroy and two bodyguards were on it, but he still asked Court and Zoya to step out and submit to a pat-down.
Two other officers checked the Mercedes while Zoya and then Court were searched for weapons and only then allowed back into the front seats, while Sir Donald in the back was not questioned at all.
Soon the Mercedes was waved on through the checkpoint.
•••
Thirty-one minutes after the feed began on the two ISR drones, Contreras watched a single four-door vehicle approaching the guard shack at the end of the road leading to the hacienda.
The thermal image locked on the car as it stopped briefly. The tiny camera on the drone was easily five hundred feet from the vehicle, but the images were so good he could recognize the emblem of Mercedes-Benz on the front grille.
The driver spoke with the guards, then pulled forward to the front of the large modern glass mansion, parking in front as a group of four more armed sentries stepped outside to meet them.
Contreras lit a cigarette, looked on idly, and wished he had some other mission beyond tossing boxes out of the back of the aircraft on command and watching TV.
Three people climbed out of the Mercedes: a male driver, a passenger from the back, also male but larger and perhaps older, and a woman from the front passenger seat.
All three of them were wanded with a handheld metal detector, and then the male driver was frisked. To Contreras’s mild surprise, the female passenger lifted her arms and was patted down, as well, and then they all turned for the door to the house.
The camera had a better angle now; it zoomed in tighter, examined sixty-eight different geometric features of each of the faces, and suddenly red boxes appeared over the images of both the woman and the driver.
Contreras shot back up, staring intently. His eyes flicked to his other laptop.
Target Acquired, Gama 18. Target Acquired, Gama 19.
Zakharova and Gentry. Here.
He began to type a direct message to Cyrus, but before his fingers hit the keys, a box popped up on the screen.
This is Cyrus. Stand by on targets.
Contreras sat back, somewhat confused. All he was doing was standing by; it wasn’t like he was about to parachute down there and kill them himself.
Then he looked to his cargo, and he thought of the bomb-wielding hexacopters.
Holy shit.
One minute later the pair of AI-powered aerial surveillance drones had turned their attention to the windows of the property; one of the two hovered two hundred yards out to sea and captured a good image of the second-floor interior, where floor-to-ceiling windows were open to the water and the house lights were on.
The thermal imaging system on board turned itself off; the optical camera zoomed in tight on the lighted interior.
Contreras saw no one in the room, so he rose in the cabin to begin preparing two more camera drones to replace the first pair when they got low on batteries and had to land.
•••
As soon as Court, Zoya, and Fitzroy climbed up the steps to the entrance to the home, the door opened and an armed Hispanic man met them and ushered them inside. Here, another pair of security officers, both wearing pistols on their hips, took up positions behind them, and the three visitors were led by more security through the expansive arched entryway.
