Page 44 of Denied Access
Then a plastic bag brought the situation into focus.
To set his trap, Rapp had constructed two rudimentary dead drops. Despite the beauty of their city, Catalonians weren’t much for ensuring their litter made it all the way into the trash receptacle. The greenery around public trash cans was covered with plastic bags, soda cans, beer bottles, and other refuse. It had been a simple matter to repurpose a discarded piece of cardboard and a soiled sandwich wrapper into improvised containers for his bait.
A pair of cell phones.
The first phone was his. He’d wrapped the cell in the greasy sandwich bag before wedging it beneath a bench in the port’s tourist area. The second he’d found in the handbag he’d taken from the woman at the airport. This mobile went into a cardboard box that he’d placed adjacent to an underused trash can guarding the entrance to the shipping container yard. After activating both phones and emplacing the makeshift dead drops, he’d taken a cab to Castell de Montjuïc and begun his vigil of the two geographically disparate dead drops from the castle’s observation area. He was hoping the cells might help with two burning questions—how was he being tracked, and who was doing the tracking?
Someone had discarded a neon-green plastic bag in the vicinity of the dead drop containing his phone. A trio of musicians had taken over the bench beneath which the dead drop was wedged. Two were lustily strumming their guitars, while a third appeared to be singing while keeping time with a handheld shaker.
The green bag swirled at their feet before tumbling across the ground.
Rapp’s eyes were drawn to the motion. He panned away from the bench, tracking the cartwheeling plastic with his binoculars until its flight was arrested by the spindly legs of the Torre de Jaume I. The rickety-looking steel tower stood almost four hundred feet high and anchored the southeastern corner of the promenade between the one-way sister streets of Moll 18 C Barcelona and Moll 18 A Barcelona. In addition to serving as the backdrop for countless pictures, the tourist attraction also featured an observation deck that provided an excellent view of the entire pier.
Rapp panned up to the metal structure to the deck.
Empty.
With a frustrated sigh, he was in the process of lowering his binos when another image swam into view. Twin glass and steel structures flanked the tower. The buildings had an art deco vibe presumablydesigned to match the tower’s scaffolding-like construction. The lower levels housed restaurants, bars, and shops, while the upper deck provided an outdoor seating area.
A covered, outdoor seating area.
The seating area of the building to the tower’s south was empty, but a scan of the northern one revealed several patrons. Most were eating inside, but one man had selected a table along the balcony, perhaps to soak in the evening’s soft light. Conveniently, the table also offered an unobstructed sight line to the promenade and the bench with the musicians. Rapp focused the binos on the watcher’s face. His visage wasn’t familiar, but his fair features didn’t match the olive skin or dark complexion of a native Catalan.
He could be a tourist.
Or something else.
As Rapp watched, the man lifted a cell to his ear and appeared to speak.
Rapp swept the binos across the promenade. The pedestrian area to the tower’s west was still clear, as was the area around the bench.
What was he missing?
That question led to another.
Where would he position the rest of the surveillance team?
With the man at the table observing the pier’s southeastern corner, Rapp would have put someone in place to monitor the comings and goings from the northwest entrance. Sweeping the binos to the right, Rapp centered on a building situated on the corner of Moll 18 A Barcelona and Ronda Litoral. The two-story structure had a striking reddish-brown exterior that resembled cedar paneling and seemed to be some sort of terminal. The flat roof was empty, and the slit-like windows positioned at irregular intervals across the façade sported reflective glass that made guessing what was inside impossible, but the southern exit, which faced the tower, sported an overhang and several benches.
One of the benches held a pretty woman with a cell phone.
Rapp focused on the woman’s face. Talking on a cell wasn’t proof that she was part of a surveillance team, but her choice of seating was unusual. Mere feet away, a pedestrian area offered palm tree–shaded benches and a cool ocean breeze.
Instead, the woman had chosen a congested terminal’s dingy corner.
Still, dingy or not, the corner provided unobstructed sight lines to the pedestrian promenade as well as the adjacent bus station. The vehicular traffic flowing west and east along Ronda Litoral was also clearly visible. Her position was perfect to lock down the northeastern corner of the pier, but if he were running the operation, he’d employ a surveillance element with more than just two operatives. Shifting from the woman, Rapp checked the choke points along the eastern side of the pedestrian area.
A Mediterranean restaurant located on the northeastern corner offered plenty of outdoor seating and an assortment of benches. Rapp panned across the half-full dining area and marked a couple of possibles. Transitioning from the restaurant to the surrounding benches, he found several occupied. Most of the benches faced east, toward the bus stop and away from the dead drop.
Most but not all.
Two were oriented west toward the ocean and the promenade.
One of the two was occupied.
Judging by the shoulder-length brown hair, clothing, and small frame, Rapp guessed that the seated person was female, but he couldn’t determine much else. He was about to shift focus back to the dead drop and the trio of musicians when the woman played with something in her lap. He tried to angle the binos for a better look but couldn’t get line of sight past her shoulder.
Then she lifted a cell phone to her ear.
