The Devil's Elixir

14

Less than three miles north of the hotel, a chartered Embraer Legacy private jet was touching down at Montgomery Field. It had taken off a little less than five hours earlier from Merida International Airport in the Yucatán and was carrying four passengers, all male.

The lone customs agent who boarded the small aircraft verified the passengers’ identities and cleared them for immigration in under two minutes.

He had no reason to subject them to any further scrutiny. The charter company was one of the most reputable around, and he’d met the crew on several previous occasions. The passengers, all Mexican, were well groomed, smartly dressed, and soft spoken. The plane’s paperwork was impeccable, and the men’s passports bore the stamps of several European countries, as well as a few in the Far East. It all reeked of quality and, more importantly, had that intangible, disarming aura of integrity.

Shortly after the customs agent’s departure, the four men disembarked and got into two chauffeured Lincoln Town Cars that had already been there long before the plane landed. Comfortable beds were waiting for them in a luxury six-bedroom oceanside villa that had been rented for them on a quiet street in Del Mar.

They would need a good night’s sleep.

They had a lot of work ahead of them.