Power and Empire

Jack stacked the bags on a cart and looked at his watch and then at Chavez. “What’s the plan?”

“Argentines don’t eat until after eight. We’ll do some foot recon, but if we want to get a true picture of the place, we should wait to eat.”

Midas chuckled. “You’re just scared of Adara.”

“Well”—Chavez gave a mock shudder—“she does spend a hell of a lot of time doing CrossFit.”

• • •

Three hours later, six blocks to the north of the hotel and seven blocks west of Avenida 9 de Julio, an attractive brunette named Amanda Salazar sat at a table at the back of the Parrilla Aires Criollos restaurant with her friend Beatriz, an equally attractive blonde. A set of rawhide boleadoras, a weighted throwing weapon of stone and rawhide, hung from the wall above them with other assorted gaucho paraphernalia. Multitasking, or at least multitasking skillfully, was impossible, so the young women divided their responsibilities.

Amanda’s job was to laugh between sips of La Azul Malbec and bat her impossibly long eyelashes at the attentive older man who waited on their table. She wore her shoulder-length hair down and loose. Beatriz wore hers up, pulled back with unseen pins that made her look older, though at twenty-six she was actually the younger of the two. Beatriz did her share of smiling as well, but she left flirting with the waiter to her partner. Under the table, the blonde concentrated on her work, wiggling the face off the heating vent with the tip of her toe.

Parrilla Aires Criollos was an upscale restaurant with gaucho decor, tile floors, and crisp white tablecloths. As the name implied, it served Argentine cuisine and grilled meat with a distinctly Spanish flair. The long tablecloths, aided by Amanda’s entrancing laugh, helped to conceal the tedious work removing the vent cover.

Amanda and Beatriz were dressed in stylish blouses and skirts, each wearing just enough makeup and jewelry to make them attractive but not especially memorable. Classy dress was the norm in Buenos Aires, and dressing down would have garnered more attention. Each woman carried a brown leather briefcase, leading people to think they were lawyers, or perhaps some other brand of young professional women who had decided to grab some dinner before they got an early start at some of the local clubs.

Tonight, they had chosen to arrive exactly at eight p.m. The restaurant was busy enough that all eyes would not be focused on them but not so crowded that they would have trouble finding a table in the area they wanted. They’d come in for a late lunch two days earlier, locating the area where they would have to sit in order to accomplish their mission. The area near the bar, it seemed, was reserved for private functions. But if no such function was scheduled, guests were seated here when all the other tables were filled. A visit to the restrooms during their lunchtime visit took the young women near enough to locate the vent cover and devise their plan.

Either woman was capable of removing a vent or captivating the emotions of all manner of man or woman. They had met Franco, the waiter, on this previous visit. Whether he intended to or not, the man’s extra attention to Amanda’s water glass made it obvious that he was smitten with the beautiful brunette. He took her order first and smiled his thin smile when he gave her his suggestion for just the right pairing of wine and food. Far from being jealous, Beatriz had considered this a happy circumstance and allowed it to dictate their respective duties the following night. She would much rather deal with high explosives than the attentions of an overly attentive waiter with greasy hair.

Tonight, Amanda had caught Franco’s eye across the long and narrow dining room as soon as they came through the door. He rushed forward, still carrying a tray of dirty glasses he’d just cleaned off one of the tables, greeting her effusively. She pointed out the area near the bar and begged to sit there.

Like most instances where women preplanned their dealings with men, it was all too easy.