04.2 The Wolf Pack

A black Falcon parked on the right side of Avenida Alvear. Avenue Palace Hotel stood opposite. A magnificent building of Spanish colonial architecture with arch entrance by the crossroads. A luxury hotel in the upscale area of La Recoleta. Five guys inside the muscle car sat smoking cigars and observing.

Roco at the wheel pointed an arch over a low roof of a shop that stood by the corner between two tall edifices, “That camera points at Avenue entrance.”

“Er!” Castillo in the rear peered, “That’s Miguel de Ochoval, real estate guy. His place is only three-storey high! I know him. Maybe we can take a look at his tapes. What do you say, Mr Fish?”

Yunis thought deeply, “Let’s try! It will save time.”

Castillo went in to talk to Ochoval.

Seven minutes later, Yunis and Castillo sat with Ochoval in his office, fast tracking the tape caught on Camera 4, beginning from the day Jasinski arrived – 15^th Friday.

“Hold it there!” cried Castillo, “Lady in white! That is Madeleine Blanche.”

“Do you know that lady?” asked Yunis.

“She works for SIDE.”

“Let’s see a few days before this Friday he arrived.”

Soon they figured odd activity around her appearances, the people and the vehicles. They also noticed a medical team that arrived by the entry on Ayacucho. Though no person could be identified, this van turned to Alvear by the corner.

Back in the Ford, Castillo made a call to a contact and located Madeleine Blanche. They drove off and a cream-colour Volkswagen van followed few spaces behind with its curtains drawn.

Not very far, on Carlos Pellegrini, they stopped outside Embajador Hotel. Roco climbed down and entered the hotel lobby. Light fell immensely into the hall from tall glass panels. Two round counters, white walls and ceiling, white sofas, yellow pillars and not hugely an attractive interior. Besides, it was not a fancy hotel. One guy stood at the counter wearing a burgundy coat.

Roco reached him with fifty pesos in his fingers and tapped on the counter, “French lady, Madeleine Blanche. Is she in?”

The counter guy nodded.

“Room number?”

He dropped his gaze on the banknote and replied, “Sixth Floor, Six-O-Six.”

Roco dropped the banknote and turned to go but not before he passed a five-hundred-peso bill. The counter guy quickly hid it away and glanced around.

A moment later, three guys entered the lobby and crossed to the gold contact paper fabricated panels of the two elevators. As they waited, Roco passed a nod to the counter guy who totally ignored the callers.

There came a tap on the door to Room No 606. Madeleine wore a layered ruffle skirt in red and a tight black top. Perhaps, she went to a ball and fell asleep in the flamenco dress. Her hair, dyed black, undone in a thick mess. A narrow room with white walls and curtains, pinewood floor and furniture, plentiful light entering from the doors open to a terrace deck on the left, a double bed by the far wall and a side bed near the entrance.

She looked through the eyehole. There stood a bald middle-aged man in a tatty black coat with his hat in his hand. She corrected her blouse and opened the door.

“Señora!” he began, “I am looking for a friend of yours…” The door kicked in sending her staggering back through the narrow entry. Yunis grabbed her thin arm as she reached the bed. He slapped her face and seized her by the neck. She threw saliva at his face.

Next instant, she was thrown down on the side bed, Yunis scruffled through the thin layers of fine fabric voile, unravelling the skirt and groping. Roco got hold of a skinny leg skinnier than bone. Roco kicked some plates on the floor breaking glass into pieces in a struggle to hold down her leg and an arm.

Yunis gored his finger splitting nylon, “Where is Borys Jasinski?”

She spat on his face. She spat saliva in surplus. “Go to hell!” she cried. He drove his finger deep into the belly. Her eyes rolled all over the ceiling and spat saliva plenteously.

That was how Castillo saw as he turned after closing the door.

Yunis repeated, “Where is Jasinski?”

“At Avenue Hotel. Remove your hand!” grouched the woman, “Ouch!” She spat again.

“Room number?”

“Four-Six-Four! STOP IT! I SAY…TAKE THAT BLOODY HAND OFF ME!” she growled.

“You will take us there.”

“Go to hell! OUCH!”

Clenched-teeth and tight-lipped, she’d not speak.

Helplessly, Madeleine could no longer resist, “Yes, yes…”

Only then he released that thick finger with a wrinkled knuckle. She still took a chance to spat on his face and curse, “You will pay for this! You slime! You asshole!”

“Get up!”

“I must change!”

“No time!” Castillo waved a gun with a suppressor from under the hat, “Move!”

Four left the hotel using the staircase and a side gate open to Carlos Pellegrini. They climbed the cream-colour van.