Lex talionis
Chapter 03. A vital mission
He hesitated for a moment, but Jubal sat down, across from Vargas in the small interrogation room of the prison. The movement was a bit strained because his whole body was still bruised. The doctors had not been very happy with Jubal leaving the hospital asking for a voluntary discharge.
There was a certain curiosity in Vargas' eyes, as if he expected Jubal to do something that might be interesting, but not that interesting.
This man just tried to kill me. Again, thought Jubal. This man actually killed Rina. He had to make an titanic effort to put that and the anger it provoked aside.
"What am I doing here?" asked Vargas, with not so good feigned indolence.
Serving five life sentences for selling drugs and killing people, you bastard.
"Where's Isobel? What have you done with her?" Jubal replied without even saying hello.
Vargas' brow furrowed slightly. "Have you misplaced her, Agent Valentine?" he asked ironically, like someone asking about some keys. "What an unforgivable oversight." His expression was deadly serious, though.
Yubal knew Vargas was deliberately messing with him, but knowing it did not stop him from succeeding. He exhaled with a low growl. "Where is Isobel?" he insisted, wanting just to beat an answer out of him.
Vargas glared at him openly with hatred and contempt. "I have no idea. But you'd better hurry up and find her, Valentine, because if my people do it first, you're going to find little of her when you do."
The air caught in Jubal's chest, tearing at his throat. Coming there had been a stupid and terrible mistake. He wasn't going to be able to get Vargas to tell him anything. It had only served to blow his fears out of proportion.
He got up and left without another word.
·~·~·
It was almost midnight when the brown envelope was passed under the hotel room door. The professional had been waiting for it lying on the bed barefoot, casually zapping away without watching anything in particular while sipping a bourbon on the rocks.
It was a somewhat old-fashioned procedure, but in some ways more reliable than the darkweb. Through an intermediary, a night, a hotel, a room was arranged. An envelope delivered.
The professional stood up, picked up the envelope from the floor; sat down in front of the coffee table to empty and study its contents.
The stern, frowning face of a middle-aged Caucasian man with short brown hair and a goatee stared back at him from a folio-sized photo. "Jubal Valentine," it said on the back. Curious and dramatic name...
He carefully read all the information. Forty-something, 6'2", 174 pounds, divorced, two children. He was an experienced FBI agent... that could complicate things, but maybe that was precisely why the client had turned to a professional. Because this wasn't something trivial that just any thug could do.
It also stated: 'MPT-5hV'. He hoped the guy deserved it. DBT were messy, nasty jobs. But, hey, they also paid triple.
Moreover, in this case it was aimed at someone else. Perhaps the person who deserved it was the one who was going to receive the five hours of video recording of Death By Torture... The professional would not like to be in their shoes.
In any case, that was the job.
·~·~·
"Come on, Mr. Castille," Jubal insisted, trying to make the other man see reason. "The hotel where Isobel was going to stay in Miami belongs to this very chain where you work."
That could not be a coincidence. It was the only clue they had managed to piece together since Isobel's disappearance, which had caused him to go talk to her father in his office in midtown Manhattan. It was the only hope Jubal clung to.
Sitting on the other side of the table, Jubal leaned forward and sought Roberto's eyes. The other man returned his gaze with an imperturbable face.
"Isobel checked in the day before yesterday," Jubal continued, "but there's no trace of her in the room. Not even a sad toothbrush."
"I'm sorry, agent Valentine," answered Roberto. "I repeat that I do not know Isobel's whereabouts at the moment. I didn't even know she was traveling. Our relationship is mending, but it is not as close as you suppose."
Roberto Castille had an excellent poker face, Jubal had to hand it to him. However, his perfectly diplomatic mannerisms gave away that he was lying. Plain and simple. No father, no matter how distant their relationship, could be so indifferent to a missing daughter. At the very least, there would be some curiosity about the situation.
Exasperated, Jubal almost slammed the palm of his hand against the tabletop. He clenched his fist to restrain himself.
"You lie," he said flatly. "You know something."
Roberto stood up and turned his back to him, looking out the window with his hands clasped behind. The sun had just set and the dark silhouettes of the skyscrapers, studded with lit windows, outlined against the orange sky.
"Isobel told me that you have a daughter, Agent Valentine."
"Yes, that's right." It was making him nervous. "And call me Jubal, please." He waited impatiently to see what Mr. Castille's point was.
"Alright, Jubal, then. Have you ever betrayed your daughter's trust, Jubal?"
"No." He hesitated, "I don't think so." Abi was little when he was a mess because of his infidelity, his divorce, and his alcohol problems, but maybe... "I really hope not. She's only twelve."
"Believe me, you've had plenty of time," Roberto said bitterly. "Pray never to do it. I am trying to regain my daughter's trust." He turned and looked Jubal in the eye. "I'm determined to succeed. I hope you understand that I'm not going to risk it for nothing."
"I can arrest you until you talk," Jubal threatened in desperation.
"Without probable cause, I highly doubt it, Agent Valentine."
Jubal sighed, running his hand over his face. He should not have forgotten that Roberto was a lawyer. He stood up with a grunt and wince, had to overcome a dizzy spell of weakness. "Roberto, please listen," he pleaded. "Isobel is in danger. "You don't know how serious this is. I need to find her as soon as possible. She needs me- She needs her team backing her up" he tried to rectify but Roberto scrutinized him, intrigued. "And if anything happens to her, I really don't know what I'm going to do," concluded Jubal, desperate, his voice breaking.
That seemed to have finally reach Isobel's father. His expression became worried. "Isobel didn't want me to tell anyone. Anyone. She was very specific," explained Roberto somewhat hesitant. Jubal became hopeful. Unfortunately, for no reason. "If Isobel trusted you, she would have told you herself."
"I was unconscious, damn it! She couldn't tell me anything!" Jubal burst out, flailing at the air. "Especially if she was so serious that she wouldn't have told me any other way than in person!"
His outburst made Roberto smile slightly, but Jubal didn't even care anymore if he was putting himself on display.
"All right. I will trust you, because I know you are his friend."
Yes! Yes! Thank goodness...
"Thank you," Jubal exhaled, relieved.
"And because I see how much you care about Isobel," added Roberto. If Jubal had been younger, that would have made him blush. "But only if you promise not to tell anyone else."
"What!?" Was that man crazy? He needed the JOC, he needed his agents, he needed all the resources of the FBI to get her out of that mess, whatever it was. "But-"
Roberto's face became solemn. "I don't care what you tell me, Jubal. I will not betray beyond you the trust Isobel has placed in me for the first time in two decades."
Jubal lowered his head and scratched the back of his neck. "Okay," he agreed, defeated. "You have my word. I won't tell anyone else. Please. Please, tell me what you know."
"Isobel is in Mexico. She is on a mission that is, in her own words, "vital."
Jubal was stunned. His fleeting sense of triumph turned to terrible doom at a stroke.
·~·~·
The day earlier, when the plane landed at the San Antonio's Airport, Texas, Isobel didn't even have to wait for her luggage; she was only has with her a small carry-on suitcase.
The cool light-colored summer dress, her high wedge sandals and large sunglasses made her indistinguishable from the tens of thousands of travelers who came and went through that international airport every day. She picked up a rental car and in less than four hours had crossed the border through Del Rio to Ciudad Acuña.
It was almost dark when she parked near the agreed place. She would leave the vehicle there. That way no one would be able to locate her exactly, even if they found out that she had rented the car and had access to the GPS.
A discreet gray sedan driven by a man pulled up to the curb where she was waiting.
Isobel looked through the front passenger window, the glass of which had been rolled down.
"Darío," she greeted.
"[Hop in.]"
~.~.~.~