Black Ops (Presidential Agent 5)

In the opinion of Liam Duffy--a short, muscular, blond thirty-nine-year-old--there was a good deal to recommend the Restaurant Oca on a blistering hot Christmas Eve, starting with the fact that it would stay open until seven. Most other restaurants in this country of devout Catholics closed just after lunch to celebrate the night before Christ's sacred birth.

The food was good, but the basic reason he had suggested to Monica, his wife, that they take a ride out to Oca in Pilar from their apartment in Barrio Norte was the geese.

Oca was adjacent to a residential country club called The Farm. Just inside the gate to the guarded community of larger-than-ordinary houses, and immediately behind the restaurant, was a small lake that supported a large gaggle of geese.

The geese had learned to paddle up to the rear of the restaurant and beg for bread scraps. The Duffy kids--there were four, two girls and two boys, ranging in age from two to seven years--never tired of feeding them.

This meant that Liam and Monica could linger over their dessert and coffee without having to separate the children from sibling disputes. These occurred often, of course, but far more frequently when the kids were excited, as they were by Christmas Eve and when the temperature and humidity were as oppressive as they were now.

Duffy ignored the waiter standing nearby with their check in hand as long as he could, but finally waved him over. Monica collected the kids as her husband waited for his change.

From here, they would go to Monica's parents' home in Belgrano for the ritual Christmas Eve "tea." They would have Christmas dinner tomorrow with his parents and four other Duffy males and their families at their apartment in Palermo.

Monica appeared with the children, holding the hand of the youngest boy and the ear of the elder. The other two children seemed delighted with the arrangement.

Duffy shook hands with the proprietor, whose smile seemed a little strained, then left the restaurant and got in the car. He handed the car-parker a five-peso note instead of the usual two. It was, after all, Christmas Eve.

And he was driving a year-old Mercedes-Benz 320 SUV, which suggested that he was affluent and could afford a five-peso tip. He wasn't; the car belonged to the government. But the valet, of course, had no way of knowing this.

To get in the southbound lane of the Panamericana Expressway, it was necessary to pass through a tunnel under the toll road itself. As Duffy came out the far side of the tunnel and prepared to turn left onto the access ramp, an old battered white Ford F-150 pickup truck pulled in front of him, causing Liam Duffy to say certain words, ones Monica quickly pointed out to him should not be used in the presence of children.

Duffy followed the Ford up the access ramp, where the sonofabitch driving the pickup suddenly slammed on its brakes.

Duffy stopped just before ramming him.

And then, as the hair on his neck curled, he looked over his left shoulder.

Holy Mary, Mother of God, not on fucking Christmas Eve!

He jammed the gearshift into low, spun the steering wheel to the right, and floored the accelerator. He rammed the right rear of the Ford. The pickup's tires scream

ed as Duffy pushed it out of the way. The SUV--which was why Duffy had chosen it--had full-time four-wheel drive.

Monica screamed.

Duffy then heard bullets impacting the Mercedes. By the time he reached the top of the access road, he had both offered a prayer for the safety of his family and drawn from under his shirt his semiautomatic pistol, an Argentine-manufactured version of the Model 1911A1 .45 ACP Colt.

He held down the horn with the hand holding the pistol as he drove through the traffic on the toll road.

Monica was screaming again.

"The kids?" he shouted.

She stopped screaming and tried and failed to get into the backseat.

"Monica, for Christ's sake!"

"They're all right," she reported a moment later. "For God's sake, slow down!"

Yeah, and let the bastards catch up with us!

He didn't slow down, but did stop weaving through traffic.

Five kilometers down the toll road, he saw a Policia Federal police car parked in a Shell gasoline station.

He pulled off the highway and skidded to a stop by the car. The policemen inside looked at him more in annoyance than curiosity.

Duffy pushed the button on his door panel that rolled down his window.