A Ryan Weller Box Set Books 1 - 3

by Evan Graver

  Volk laughed. Then he slammed Ryan to the ground. He stood over his opponent, looking at him as if he were a specimen he was about to crush. Volk raised a size-eighteen foot and aimed it at Ryan’s throat.

  The exasperating American devil rolled out of the way just as Volk slammed his foot down. He bellowed in pain as it crashed into the hard carpet-covered concrete. His scream became a roar of anger as he flexed his arms and advanced.

  Ryan got a foot planted and heaved himself up. He clutched his back and fell back to the ground. Groaning, he tried to rise again.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Mango and Jim Kilroy dispatched the two terrorists at the front of the hotel. Mango stepped into the lobby and yelled to Greg, “You good?”

  “I’m fine,” Greg shouted back without taking his eyes off his gunsights. He hammered any terrorist who came near the rear lobby doors.

  Mango stepped back to the door. “Jim, go around the front and see if you can flank them. I’ll stay here with Greg and we’ll try to advance.”

  Jim nodded and took off. Mango edged toward the restaurant entrance. He would provide crossfire if the tangos jumped to the other side of the lobby door to breach. Just as he reached the doors, a metal cylinder punched through the wall. The scuba tank skipped across the tile and hit the far wall, where it spun like a top on the floor.

  Mango and Greg looked at each other in disbelief. A second tank slammed into the outside wall followed by a third hitting the balcony. Mango rushed to the rear lobby doors and shot one of the intruders and missed the other as the man sprinted away.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Mango observed a guard topple over near the huddled hostages. Then, in the firelight, he saw a giant blond man fire his gun and run toward the dive shop door. Mango looked down at Greg, who had joined him. He pushed one of the glass and aluminum doors open for Greg to pass through.

  Mango left him on the pool deck and sprinted to the dive shop. He ducked through the shattered door. Ryan was trying to rise as the giant advanced on him. Mango leveled his pistol on the blond’s chest just as the big man saw him. Mango pulled the trigger twice. Volk spun on his heels and fled the dive shop.

  Mango glanced at Ryan as he chased the giant out the door, amazed that his two 9-mm hollow points hadn’t slowed him down. He speculated the man wore a bulletproof vest like many of his men. Staring out the door, Mango saw a group of men running toward the dock. Ragged bursts of gunfire rippled the air as they covered their retreat. Mango had his gun up and trained on the fleeing figures, but he didn’t shoot, knowing they were too far away for him to hit with his pistol. The attackers gained the dock and hopped into a boat.

  Mango didn’t bother to chase after them as they roared away. Instead, he turned and knelt by his friend. Blood oozed from Ryan’s right nostril and the corner of his mouth. His knuckles were skinned, bruised, and swollen from his fistfights. He had a cut on his hand, and the bandages around his left wrist were wet with water and blood.

  “You look like shit, bro.”

  Ryan wrapped both arms around his midsection and lay back down. “I feel like shit, too.”

  Chapter Thirty

  A moment later Ryan Weller sat back up. Adrenaline hammered through him as he scrambled for the AK he’d just crammed a fresh magazine in before Volk decided to play professional wrestling with him. Every bruise, cut, scrape, and torn fingernail on his body still throbbed and he’d feel it even more in the morning, but he forgot all about them as his eyes locked on the man coming through the shattered door of the dive shop. Jim Kilroy carried a pistol loosely in his right hand like it was a casual wear accessory of his apparel. Mango turned and brought his own gun to play, trusting Ryan’s instincts.

  Ryan adjusted his aim to compensate for the warped barrel.

  Kilroy jerked his pistol up, crouching into a combat stance as he aimed at Ryan.

  Mango lowered his gun and said, “Relax, Ryan, it’s Jim Kilroy.” To Kilroy, Mango said, “It’s cool, Jim.”

  Kilroy stood and let the gun dangle again. He stepped closer to the pair of ex-military men.

  Ryan could barely make out Kilroy’s shadowed face in the fading firelight.

  “Be cool, bro,” Mango warned.

  “Be cool?” Ryan shot back. “What’s stopping me from putting a bullet between his eyes and ending this right now?” His finger tightened on the trigger.

  Kilroy said, “Because we need each other.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Aaron Grose stood on the second-floor balcony of the Caye Caulker Adventures hotel. In the harsh light of day, he could see the full extent of the carnage. Broken glass littered the ground, palm trees lay twisted and broken, fire had scorched the sides of the buildings and burned the roof of the tiki huts. Room doors lay twisted and broken from their frames where the terrorists had smashed them in. There were blood smears everywhere.

  Even though he was grateful for the help of the three men who’d defended the resort, treated the wounded, and pitched in to put out fires, he was still furious with them. Before they’d arrived, Caye Caulker Adventures had been a peaceful, idyllic setting. His hard work had been destroyed in a matter of minutes, his reputation as a top-tier dive destination gone. Who would want to come to a place that had been attacked by terrorists? Why had this happened? He gripped the railing as a scream welled inside him.

  His eyes lifted from the destroyed courtyard at the sound of two boats approaching the dock. Anger settled in his gut like burning coals, white hot and intense. His eye twitched and his lip curled in a snarl. Jim and Karen disembarked from their center console and the three Dark Water Research divers climbed from their RIB. Those men were the cause of his ruin. DHS agents were preying on him for back taxes, sending investigators after his friends. And, the man who called himself a friend was the worst.

  “Jim Kilroy.” The name rolled out of his mouth like burning acid. The man had infected his resort with low-life thugs, illicit money, and corruption. He owed Jim his life, his property, and his livelihood, but he couldn’t see beyond the destruction Jim had caused. Unable to stand the sight of them, he stepped into his office and slammed the door. He’d never been this angry, not even with his father whom he’d purposely cut from his life. With a wicked kick, he sent the trash can flying across the room. Waste papers and trash flew into the air.

  “Son of a bitch!” he screamed.

  He stormed out of the office and downstairs. He saw the objects of his anger talking to members of the Belize Police Department’s Criminal Investigations and Gang Suppression Units.

  Over the course of the next several hours, Aaron watched as they reenacted the events of the previous evening, unsurprised when the police didn’t arrest them. He knew both Jim and Ryan had ties to the U.S. government who had probably pressured the Belizean police to not arrest them. It rankled him. Where were his connections and support? Who was going to back him in rebuilding his life or aid the hotel guests and workers who had been killed or wounded in the night’s actions?

  Thankfully, his manager pulled him away to help clean out a freezer that had been damaged in the original bomb blast. Normally, the work would have been cathartic, but today, with every spoiled fish he tossed out, he seethed.

  Aaron was tying a trash bag closed when one of his female dive guides, Missy, came into the kitchen and said, “You wanted me to keep an eye on those guys.”

  “Yeah.” Aaron picked the bag up and carried it outside to throw on the growing pile of debris with the dive guide in tow.

  Missy said, “They went into the bottom suite.”

  Aaron wheeled to face her. “When?”

  “Just now.”

  “Thanks, Missy.” Aaron headed for the back of the hotel. He had to force himself to walk slow to not draw the attention of the cops who stood around with M16s like the bad guys were going to spring out of the bushes and attack again.

  Aaron shoved the door open and stepped into the hotel suite. Seated around a table were Jim
and Karen Kilroy, Ryan Weller, Mango Hulsey, and Greg Olsen. They all had drinks in front of them. Karen got up from her chair.

  Stalking across the room, he raised a finger and stabbed it at Jim Kilroy. “You … you ...” Aaron fought for the words. “You’re going to pay!”

  “Aaron, not like this, please,” Karen said softly, stepping between her husband and her friend. “Just sit down. We’ll figure everything out.”

  “Figure what out, Karen? Figure out who’s going to pay to fix my hotel, repair my business, and my reputation?”

  “Easy, son,” Jim said.

  “Don’t you son me. I was never your son. Hell, I was never your partner. You used me.”

  “Aaron, please, sit down,” Karen pleaded. “We’ll straighten everything out.”

  “And you—” Aaron wheeled on Ryan “—trying to get me to turn on Jim because I owe back taxes. Screw the government. They don’t do a damn thing for me in Belize. I ain’t paying a dime! Matter-of-fact, I’m going to become a Belizean citizen, and the U.S. government can go screw itself.”

  Ryan stood and pointed at an empty chair at the round table. With a drill instructor voice, he commanded, “Sit down, Aaron.”

  Aaron stared blindly at Ryan, then followed the order.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” Karen asked.

  “Always the perfect hostess, huh, Karen? You knew all about Jim shoveling his guns and his money through my resort, but you couldn’t bother to tell me.”

  Karen’s bottom lip poked out, and her shoulders drooped.

  “Listen to me, boy,” Jim said, leveling a finger at Aaron. “You can scream at us all you want, but you leave my wife out of this. She didn’t know anything about my business until a month ago. That’s what our fight was about before she went to New York.”

  Aaron looked at the beautiful blonde. “I’m sorry, Karen. I’m just angry.”

  “And justifiably so,” Jim said. “I, however, had nothing to do with the terrorists. You can thank these gentlemen, here, for bringing that ugliness to Caye Caulker. Ryan and Mango are wanted men.”

  Aaron looked over at them. “Wanted by whom?”

  Ryan said, “We foiled a plan by Aztlán cartel leader, Arturo Guerrero. He wanted to start a war with the United States to take back the Southwest. I killed Guerrero, and now we have a two-million-dollar bounty on our heads. A Russian, named Volk, led those men last night. He’s a bounty hunter and hitman who now works for José Luis Orozco, the new leader of the Aztlán cartel.”

  Mango pointed at Jim. “Guerrero was a customer of your buddy.”

  “You’re leaving now, aren’t you?” Aaron asked, before adding, “I don’t need those men to come back.”

  “Yes, we’re leaving,” Jim replied. He looked at Ryan who nodded in agreement. “I want you to know I’ve arranged for crews and supplies to be shipped from the mainland to begin rebuilding the hotel. I’ve also deposited money into your account for the work. It’s money you won’t have to repay. In fact, I consider your debt to me paid in full. I’ve authorized my accountant and attorney to send you the required paperwork for your signature.” Jim placed a hand on Aaron’s shoulder. “Aaron, I’m sorry for what’s happened. We’ll make the best of it. Now, if you’ll excuse us, these gentlemen and I have a few things to discuss.”

  Aaron stood and looked at Jim for a long moment. His eyes darted to Karen and lingered there. He took a deep breath to calm his jangled nerves. Even so, the adrenaline was still pumping. He’d worked up a good lather before coming into the suite. He’d wanted a fight but was plied with money instead. “You better have a damned good lawyer. I’ve got a feeling we’re about to be sued.”

  Jim nodded.

  “And I don’t want guns, drugs, or whatever else you’re dealing anywhere near here. As far as I’m concerned, you don’t have to come back either.”

  Jim looked crestfallen and Karen wounded.

  Aaron smiled at her. “You’re welcome back anytime, Karen.”

  She did not return the smile.

  He’d just lost his best friend. Now angry at himself for his harsh words, he turned to leave. Pausing to look at Ryan, he said, “In case you’re wondering, I don’t have any money left to pay my taxes.”

  “You kept your end of the bargain, Aaron,” Ryan said. “The government will forgive your back taxes, but what you do from here on out is your business.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Ryan watched Aaron walk away. He was sorry for bringing death and destruction to the man’s place of business. He felt for the victims who’d been wounded and scared during the attack. There wasn’t much he could do about it now. Kilroy was making amends with Aaron for the damages. Greg could offer monetary and material support through DWR, but that was up to him.

  Kilroy cleared his throat. “Let’s get back to what we were discussing earlier.”

  Ryan turned to look at the arms dealer. “What’s stopping me from shooting you right now? That would end your reign of terror and stop the shipment.”

  Kilroy laughed. “I’ve ordered Oso, the first mate on my ship, to make the delivery no matter what.”

  “Then what do you need us for?” Mango asked.

  “You’re mercenaries for the U.S. government but you have a conscience. You won’t shoot me because I’m unarmed. You suffer from the cowboy syndrome. You believe you wear the white hat and every fight must be fair. Gentlemen, this world is more ruthless than that. There are children in Darfur who would kill you for less than the price of a Big Mac. Drug dealers have a less caring attitude than you do. So, I’m going to put your do-right attitude to work for me and your precious United States.”

  “What does that mean?” Ryan asked, pulling an unlit cigarette from his mouth.

  Kilroy smirked. “I only sell weapons; I don’t use them.”

  “That makes you a self-righteous prick,” Greg muttered.

  Kilroy ignored the barb and continued. “Have you heard of Toussaint Bajeux?”

  Ryan, Mango, and Greg shook their heads.

  “Bajeux is planning a coup to overthrow the government in Haiti. He will use the weapons I am selling him to do so. He must be stopped, and you’re the men to do it.”

  “Don’t deliver the weapons,” Ryan said dryly.

  “It’s a catch twenty-two,” Kilroy said, leaning back in his chair, and crossing his legs. He folded his hands in his lap and stared at Ryan as he continued. “I’m a businessman. My reputation is at stake. I have to deliver the weapons as a show of good faith, and he’s paying me a lot of money. Gold in fact.”

  “Where’d he get gold in the poorest country on Earth?” Mango demanded.

  Kilroy shrugged. “That’s not my concern. The shipment must be made, and you’ll be my proxies. Oso is a brute. He doesn’t have the finesse to work with the clientele.”

  “I’m here to stop you,” Ryan said, letting a hint of anger raise his voice. “I don’t give a damn about some third-world dictator asshole.”

  “You should. If he takes office, the balance of power in the Caribbean will shift. He has big plans to bring his country out of the stone age.”

  “Let him,” Ryan said. “That place needs to be cleaned up.”

  “It’s not about cleaning up Haiti.” Kilroy shook his head sadly. “He talks a good game about clean water and food, but what he wants is power and control of the country’s natural resources. If he gets them, everything will shut down.”

  Greg snorted. “Just another in a long line of hapless leaders to abuse their country.”

  “More than that,” Kilroy said. “Do you know what’s happening in Venezuela?”

  Ryan let a look of exasperation cross his face as he rolled his eyes. He didn’t come here for a lesson in current events. “Hugo Chavez forced socialism onto the population and now they’re rioting in the streets because there isn’t enough food, clean water, and electricity to meet the demand.”

  “Exactly!” Kilroy exclaimed. “If you allow Toussaint
access to his weaponry that’s what will happen. He wants to nationalize the oil fields, the gold mines, and the factories. Every economic resource you can think of will become property of the Haitian government. All the investments that private companies have made will go down the drain. Foreign capital and knowledge will flee, and there will be no one left who can coax the natural resources out of the ground. Sure, there may be a small portion of Haitians who know how to run a factory or keep an oil rig pumping at max capacity but not enough to keep everything at full strength.

  “Once the flow of money is completely shut off and the population is starving, they’ll flood across the border to the Dominican Republic and build more rafts to escape to the US. It will be a travesty of epic proportions. In short, we can’t let Toussaint have his weapons and ammunition.”

  Ryan asked, “Why’d you agree to sell them to him?”

  Kilroy chuckled. “For the gold.”

  They sat silently staring at each other. Ryan had yet to be convinced as to why he should even care about some wannabe dictator. He was still debating about just lunging across the table, shoving his knife into the man’s eye socket, and rooting around in his brain pan. Once Kilroy was dead, he could call the Coast Guard and have them intercept the gunrunner’s ship.

  Kilroy broke the silence. “Parsons had a plan on how to deal with the matter, but he neglected to tell me the specifics. So, it falls to you to come up with a way to stop Toussaint from ruining Haiti with his ideology.”