As she walked to the balcony, she thought she felt him watching her but she willed herself to look out onto the starry night, on the dim streets below, on anything but him.  Vitória was a dingy, sparse little coastal town… aside from the gambling and large quantities of pot available on every street corner, the hotel was its crowning glory.  It was a fluke that they heard of the meeting taking place at this moment… one of the hotel employees, a bellhop, had tried to steal a wallet from an agent staying here three months ago.  After finding his ID inside, he offered information about the meeting to keep from losing his job.  Castor Troy was about to be busted because a nosy bellhop had sticky fingers, but that’s how some cases were cracked… the wheels were set in motion by sheer dumb luck.   Tonight, those wheels were starting to roll downhill, and there was no slowing them down.

            The other two women were engaged in a banal conversation about the pros and cons of the Atkins diet, and Heather was getting restless.  Now it was a game of hurry up and wait… once the truth serum kicked in, she would return for the second half of the plan.   She would use her skills and charm to get as much information out of Castor as possible, as soon as possible, by any means necessary.  Until now, the FBI had no knowledge of the reason for this meeting… she, Aston and Selkirk were sent to fill in the details.  Once Castor started talking, the other agents downstairs would hear all.  They were everywhere… the casino, the lounge, the lobby, all rigged and ready for action.  

            Heather would never, ever admit this to anyone, but she was looking forward to getting him alone.

            A few minutes into the game, all of the players were engaging in a little loose-lipped banter.  The lanky blond in particular was becoming mouthier with every turn, and getting rather loud, almost in a forced effort to overcome his meekness.  At one point, Castor threw down his cards and grasped him by the arm, leaning close and tossing out a commanding glare.  Without hearing a word, Heather could see the two men knew each other well, and then she remembered… Castor had a brother!  He had an odd name… Polluck?  No, it was Pollux.  The dossier contained no pictures of him, but she was certain of his identity. 

As she tried to listen to the men, instinct told her it was time for her to step in.  She left the other women on the balcony and walked into the room, facing an unexpected confrontation between the Hispanic man and Pollux, his arm still clenched by his older brother with an air of jaded annoyance.

“What was that inside your sleeve?”, the Hispanic asked him, first quietly and then with obscene anger.  “What the **** was that inside your sleeve?”.  Heather looked quickly at Selkirk and Aston – they were still seated with their backs turned to her, their hands resting halfway the seat and their ankles.  A faint glint under their pants cuffs revealed their weapons, sheathed in ankle holsters… unfortunately, she had nothing.  Pollux sat back with a disingenuous smile.

“What are you accusing me of?  Cheating?”.  His voice was weasely, creepy.  “I wouldn’t do that.”.  Castor released his grip and started to get up from the table, and Heather gingerly walked behind the agents and around the table to meet him as he stood up straight.  Damn, he’s tall… nice suit…, she caught herself thinking as she faced him squarely.  When he looked at her with his full attention, a polite half-smile playing across his face, she almost forgot what she was going to say.  Almost.

“Is everything alright?”, she asked him.  He made no gesture to move or answer her question, but simply continued to look at her and smile.  “I hope the evening isn’t ending already… we just got here….”, she pressed on, then added, “and I haven’t had my turn yet.”.

“Oh, did you want to play?”, he asked, his smile widening, with a twinkle in his eye.  The way he said it made it sound deliciously salacious, and she felt herself blush.  “It seems that the game has wrapped up prematurely…. I’m rather disappointed.  I was winning.  Please excuse me if I seem rude by not introducing you to my brother, but he’s not in a sociable mood this evening.”.  He looked over at Pollux, who was now collecting the money he and Castor had won, stuffing it into a duffel bag sulkily.  The Hispanic man stared him down ferociously, and the agents watched them both, their hands tensed in place with adrenaline and unease.  The air was thick with apprehension from all sides… except Castor Troy’s.  “Care for another drink?”, he asked Heather as he walked to the wet bar.  Pollux shuffled out of the chair to join them, with his bag and three pairs of eyes trailing behind him, but the dispute was far from over.

“You weasely little son of a bitch… sucio poco híbrido, you gonna cry to big brother now, comadreja?  Huh?”, he cursed under his breath, just loud enough for everyone to hear.  She could barely see Aston reach down lower for his gun while Selkirk started to stand up. 

“Aguilar, please….”, he said, trying to infuse sincerity and warmth into his voice, but it was obvious to Heather that he was getting edgier by the second.  Selkirk was always a bit overzealous and she was surprised to find him on this mission…. instinctively, Heather moved behind the bar for protection.  “I can understand why you would be upset, but if I made Pollux show you what was under his sleeve, would it help?”.

Aguilar snorted haughtily, never breaking eye contact with Castor’s brother.  “Too late for diplomacy… I have been insulted.”.  He had been drinking freely before she and Aston arrived, and now his senses were dulled; he didn’t even notice how low Aston was bending over for his gun.  Where are the others?  The backup?, her mind reeled feverishly.  She glanced at Castor’s glass, still on the table… the rigged wine charm was missing!  A sick feeling knotted in her stomach, and before she could think of what to do next, she heard a muffled, tinny click behind her.

“I thought we were going to have fun this evening!  A little drink, a little song….”, she heard Castor say.  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the unmistakable gleam of a gold-plated .45… one pointed at Aston, the other (she presumed) at her back.  He leaned very close to her right ear, still keeping an eye on the agents.  “Liquor in the front, poker in the rear… am I right, Sinclaire?”, he said softly, the erotic play on words going unnoticed by everyone but her and Pollux, who snickered a little and pulled out a cell phone from his pocket, turning his back on the others.    Castor’s breath tingled on her skin, and she shuddered inwardly at the images he planted in her mind, then pushed them away… she had to think of something fast.  She was still rigged with a mike of her own, and realizing this gave her a shot of confidence.

“Mr. Troy…”, she purred, “you wouldn’t be thinking of using me as a bargaining tool, would you?”.

“There’s no bargaining here… we’ve got what we want.”, he responded calmly, the pistols unwavering.  “I think the real question here is whether or not we want you too.  Maybe you’d be useful… what do you think, Rowinski?”, he asked Selkirk.  His eyes widened a little when referred to by his real name “Sorry to leave this slammin’ party so soon, but we have a pressing engagement that won’t wait.  Pollux…”, he nudged his brother’s side as he spoke in hushed tones on the phone, “we’re ready.”.

            Pollux drew a small semiautomatic weapon from the duffel bag, and Heather felt a gentle nudge in her shoulder blades.  By this time, the women on the balcony were peeking their heads inside, terrified to move any further.  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Aguilar, sweating bullets, riveted to his chair with a look of sick surprise on his doughy face.  The other agents were in a state of limbo, unable to draw their guns and unwilling to drop their hands, and so they watched Castor and Pollux carefully as they shuffled her out the door and towards the stairs.  They were on the top floor… as they entered the staircase, Heather thought she heard the whine of a helicopter overhead.  The agents were most likely getting backup but it would be impossible for them to reach her in time; the first twinges of panic set in when she realized this.  As they reached the door leading to the rooftop, Castor holstered one of the pistols, putting his free hand on the small of her back… the other pistol still pointed at her menacingly, he guided her to the helicopter but didn’t use force.  For a moment, she considered options for escape, but there were none.   Where’s our backup?  I’m wearing a mike… didn’t they hear me?

            “Castor…”, she said, struggling to raise her voice above the engine’s roar, her back still turned to him.  She felt the release of his other pistol from her back, and turned around slowly to face him.  He was looking down at her, almost morosely, his piercing blue eyes shining in the copter’s lights… for the first time, she noticed his thinning hair, whipping around in the wind.  Just for a second, she didn’t see a ruthless, calculating mercenary.  She saw a man.  She was unarmed and outnumbered, but she was still in control.  “I’m not going to struggle… it wouldn’t do any good anyway… please put away your weapons, just for a minute.”.  Castor smirked at her, then holstered his other pistol.  Pollux kept his gun at hand, but was distracted by nothing in particular.  “I know you have inside information on all of us… you know I’m not an agent.  I’m not a threat.”. 

            His eyes glazed over from awareness to agitation, and in one fell swoop he grabbed her around the waist and pushed her into the backseat of the helicopter with him, with Pollux climbing into the front.  The pilot was dressed all in black, his face covered with a ski mask.  Heather could not make out what was happening outside as they took off, but it didn’t matter anyway.  Her mind was numb.  She had no way of contacting the others, no way of getting away.  Pollux was whooping and cheering, digging through the duffel bag like a little kid on Halloween night, while the pilot was deep in quiet concentration.