Inside Outt

building, where he’d be looking for the primary team. In between, in an operational dead zone, with line of sight to where the primary team would set up and maybe to the sentries, too. And to where we expect Larison to emerge.”
    They walked over to the office. It was a small gray building on a cul-de-sac, a sign in gold lettering on the front advertising
Gomez and Golindo, Architects.
Apparently Nico Velez wasn’t a name partner. That they used English rather than Spanish on the shingle suggested a foreign clientele—or perhaps that English had some cachet in Costa Rican architectural circles. Neither of these details was likely to be operationally useful, but Ben logged them regardless, just in case.
    The one-way street simplified things somewhat for a snatch team, requiring only two sentries instead of four. But still…
    They walked to the end of the cul-de-sac. Amid the collection of modest apartments and single-family houses, some converted to professional use, there was a patch of thick grass and trees that led to a highway access ramp. Would Larison approach from there? It was either that or the street. Like everything else Ben had seen in San Jose, the buildings were all mini-fortresses, the windows and driveways gated and barred against crime, razor wire strung along potential access points. And many of the properties had yapping dogs patrolling within. No, Larison’s only two realistic options here were stealth through the trees or an open approach from the street.
    “I think he’s going to start with the condo,” Ben said.
    “Why?”
    “He wouldn’t like the alternatives here. They’re more obvious, and there are fewer of them. Plus he’d know the terrain better around the condo. Presumably that’s where he stays when he’s visiting Nico. Maybe he’s seen the office, but I doubt he’s spent much time here.”
    “Makes sense.”
    Ben looked at his watch. It was past noon. Unlikely Larison could make it here so soon after this morning’s call—unless he were here already, which Ben seriously doubted. Running an op from the city of his secret lover would offer nothing but downside. Besides, Hort had said the emails and sat calls were coming from North America. No, Larison wasn’t here. But he could be arriving soon. And likewise the snatch teams.
    “Time to get in position,” he said. “We might have a long wait.”

CHAPTER 25
Come Out, Come Out, Wherever You Are
    L arison flew into Limón airport on the Carribean coast, and at a shop nearby rented a motorcycle—a Kawasaki KX250F dirt bike. A little smaller than he would have liked for the drive to Los Yoses, but perfect for dodging traffic and jumping curbs and avoiding potholes once he was inside the city. It was an older version of the same bike Nico kept at his condo, which Larison used to get around the city while he was in town and Nico was at work. Obviously, he couldn’t access Nico’s bike now, but this one would do. Especially with the flip-up helmet, which nicely concealed his face.
    The ride in took less than three hours. In a park at San Pedro, just east of Los Yoses, he stopped, his shirt soaked with sweat, his skin covered with a fine coating of road grit. He removed his helmet and wiped his face with a sleeve. It was getting near dusk and he had to hurry now. He knew the terrain but the opposition would have better tools, including night-vision gear, and he didn’t want to cede a single unnecessary advantage.
    There was an outhouse in the park that was serviced less frequently than good hygiene might be thought to require. So it was very unlikely anyone would have been inclined to squeeze underneath the structure, the back of which was raised on wooden stilts about a foot off the dirt, and grope in the dark miasma along the beams supporting the floor. As Larison did now. It took him only a moment to retrieve his stash and squirm back out—a moment short enough, in fact, to enable him to hold his breath during the entire excursion, which was the best way to get in and out of the passage in question without vomiting en route. In Larison’s experience, a good hide always provided disincentives for casual exploration, outhouses therefore often providing prime possibilities.
    Outside, he looked around to confirm he was unobserved, then unwrapped the package he had retrieved. Inside was an HK USP Compact Tactical, known in the community as the CT, for counterterrorism, plus spare magazines and VBR-B .45