by Brent Towns
“Uh huh. That was some ballsy move jumping off the building like that. Too bad you aren’t working for me.”
“Yeah, too bad.”
Collins indicated to one of the SUVs. “After you.”
Puerto de Topolobampo
Sinaloa Mexico
A dog barked and brought Cara to a halt. She held up her left hand and signaled the others behind her to stop as well. She lowered herself to one knee and brought up the M110. With her right eye to the night scope, she swept the area ahead of her.
The alley looked deserted. A rundown wooden fence ran along the left of it with a dumpster pushed up against it. On the right side was a long brick wall, the rear of some kind of building. Movement caught her eye ahead, and a cat slunk across in front of them.
The sound of boots on gravel sounded beside her and Axe said in a low voice, “What’s up?”
“I’m not sure,” Cara whispered back. “I have a feeling.”
“I’m not surprised. I mean, look where we fucking are. Sinaloa. Christ, the only ones who last down here would be drug lords and my mother-in-law.”
Cara lowered the M110 and stared at him incredulously. “You have a mother-in-law?”
“Nope. I meant if I had one.”
She shook her head and brought the scope back up to her eye. She focused it on the alley mouth and waited a few more heartbeats. That was when she caught the movement. “There,” she said.
Axe lowered his night vision goggles and peered through the green haze. Three men had appeared when they turned into the alley. They were armed with what he thought were AKs. “You figure they’re part of the ones who attacked us?”
Cara didn’t answer straight away. Instead, she studied them for a while longer. One of them had his weapon canted back onto his right shoulder while another held his pointed to the ground. The third man passed his to the first and then proceeded to take a piss on the fence.
“I don’t think they are,” Cara finally said.
The dog barked again. The noise was followed by a string of invective in Spanish as its owner cursed its noise. From the end of the alley came muffled laughter as the three armed men shared a joke.
“What’s happening? Are we in trouble? Is it those men?”
Cara and Axe turned to face one of the girls they had rescued. She had crept up on them while they were concentrating on the three men ahead of them. Cara said, “You need to go back and wait for us to tell you it’s all right to move.”
“I was just curious,” she said, hoping that it would make everything OK.
“Go, now.” This time her voice was firmer.
The girl turned to walk away and kicked a discarded tin can. The noise it made was accentuated by the narrowness of the alley, and the echo rolled all the way along it.
“Shit!” Axe hissed and grabbed her by the shoulder and forced her down.
Anger surged through Cara because she knew that the three armed men to their front couldn’t miss the damned racket. She looked through the scope again and saw that the men were all looking their way. Not that they could see them in the darkness. And maybe they wouldn’t investigate the source.
Not to be. They had already started along the alley.
“Axe,” Cara whispered in a harsh tone. “We have incoming.”
Axe turned back around and stared straight ahead. “Damn it, that’s all we need.”
Cara spoke into her mic, “Teller, Reynolds, get the girls under cover. We’ve got three tangos inbound.”
“Copy,” Reynolds said.
“Don’t do anything until I say, Axe,” Cara said. “Wait until they get up close.”
They waited in silence and watched on as the three men grew bigger in the green haze of their NVGs. When they were close enough, Cara said, “Now.”
The M110 punched back into her shoulder, and the armed man on the left of the trio dropped like a stone. On her right, Axe fired a burst from his suppressed 416 and the second Mexican went down without a sound. The third man turned to flee, and bullets from both weapons caught him in the back. He was flung forward, and he skidded to a stop with his head jammed up against the dumpster.
“Moving,” Cara snapped and strode forward. She shouldered her M110 using the strap and drew her M17. Axe did the same.
One at a time, Cara checked for life on the fallen Mexicans. Once she’d established that they were of no further threat, she reached into her pocket and drew out a small flashlight. She then rechecked each of them.
All three were covered head to toe with tattoos. A sure sign they were cartel. She riffled through their clothes and found a cell in the second man’s pocket. She put it in her jacket and turned him over.
He was young, maybe in his early twenties, and yet his face was covered in tattoos, and he had a string of skulls around his neck. “Hey, Axe, get a look at this.”
He crouched beside her and stared at the tattoos. “Trophy chain,” he said.
“I thought so.”
A trophy chain was testament to each kill that a cartel man had. This one had at least nine, possibly more. Cara felt a vibration in her pocket. She reached in and took out the cell. It trembled in her hand and the backlit screen said unknown.
“Shit,” she whispered in a low, harsh tone.
“What’s up?”
She showed Axe the cell. “You going to get that?”
“Yeah right.”
Axe reached out and took the cell. He hit the connect button and answered as only Axe could, “Speak, motherfucker.”
Cara rolled her eyes, but a smirk touched her lips at the same time.
“Dónde está Emiliano?”
“Emiliano can’t come to the phone right now; he’s a little fucked up.”
“Quién eres?”
“Who am I? I’m the son of a bitch who killed him. Who are you?”
“I am Marco Antonio Ramos,” the voice hissed.
“Nice to meet you,” Axe said and hung up. He tossed the cell to Cara. “Asshole.”
“Who was it?”
“Some feller called Marco Antonio Ramos.”
“Christ, Axe, do you know who he was?”
“Damn it, I just said, didn’t I?”
“Ramos is one of three lieutenants in the damned cartel.”
“OK. I guess we’d better get moving then,” he suggested.
“You think,” Cara said. She pressed the transmit button and said, “Brook, you and Teller bring the girls up. It’s time we got the hell out of here.”
“Copy.”
“Axe, find us some transport. I’m sick of walking.”
Thurston and Ferrero had the same idea. And they had their eyes on the perfect ride. A 2015 Ford Mustang F-35 Lightning II. The only problem was that there were five armed men standing around it.
“That is one sweet ride,” Thurston said with more than a hint of appreciation in her voice as she peered around the corner of the large building.
“Are you a car nut, ma’am?” Swift asked her.
“I can appreciate the finer things in life, Slick,” she said to him. “All we have to do is get it.”
The sound of boots on gravel sounded behind them, and Ferrero appeared. He said, “There’s company coming up behind us. Four shooters that I could see as they passed under the street lamp.”
“I guess we’d better get this car then,” Thurston said and tucked her M17 in the back of her pants. Then she let her hair down and shook it out. It fell down to her shoulder blades, and the transformation was almost complete. Finally, she grasped the top of her T-shirt with her hands and gave it a sharp pull. What followed was the sound of tearing material as it ripped down to just below what Swift adjudged to be her well-rounded breasts, revealing a lacy black bra. She adjusted them in their cups, pushed them up a touch and stared at Swift. “How does that look?”
The corner street lamp showed the dumb expression on his face and Thurston nodded. “I’ll take that as OK.”
“Ahh, yep. Yes … I
mean yes, ma’am.”
“What are you doing, Mary?” Ferrero asked her.
“Going to steal us some wheels. Just be ready in case it goes south, and I need help.”
Ferrero took his own M17 out of his pants and said, “If it gets too hot, get out.”
Thurston smiled, “I’ve got this.”
She walked around the corner and out of sight. Swift turned to Ferrero and said, “She’s hot.”
The ex-DEA man said, “Shut up.”
Meanwhile, Thurston strode purposefully towards the five men crowded around the Mustang. They saw her coming and stretched out into a line in front of her. Which suited her just fine.
One of them gave a low whistle when she emerged into the orange light of the street lamp. He ran his gaze over her, letting it linger long enough to take in her semi-exposed breasts.
“Hola, Cielo. Hablas Español?”
Thurston gave a giggle and shook her head, making sure it was hard enough to give her breasts another jiggle. She said, “Sorry, sweetie, I don’t, and I’m a little lost.”
Every last one of them had some sort of tattoo on display. The man who’d spoken had the most, and she guessed that he was their leader and the owner of the car. She also noted that they all had handguns tucked into their pants.
“We can help you, Chica,” the Mexican said.
“Really. That would be great. At least I’ll be safe with some big strong boys like yourselves.”
They all gave each other knowing looks. The leader said, “Sure. You come with us, and we’ll keep you safe.”
Thurston casually moved both her hands around behind her back which in turn thrust her chest further forward. It had the desired effect, and every last one of them diverted their gazes right where she wanted them.
The familiar feel of the M17 came into Thurston’s hand, and she brought it forward. She figured that the way the five were bunched together it should be over in a matter of seconds and take six or seven shots at the most. Her first one would be a double, however. Cut the head off the snake.
The SIG M17 crashed twice, and two 9mm rounds blew into the group’s smiling leader. The first punched into his chest, the second his head. Without waiting for him to fall, Thurston shifted her aim and fired again.
BLAM!
Shift.
BLAM!
Shift.
BLAM!
Shift.
BLAM! BLAM!
The last man fell with two bullets in his chest.
Thurston knelt beside the man whom she believed to be their leader. She went through his pockets and found what she wanted. The keys jingled as they came free and she stood erect. Behind her, Ferrero and Swift hurried along the street.
The general turned and threw them to Swift. He caught them, and she said, “I presume you can drive?”
“Sure, but I thought you would want to drive.”
Thurston shrugged. “I’ve got one at home.”
Swift raced around to the driver’s side door of the Mustang. Before he climbed in, he asked, “Where are we going?”
“To the airfield. We need to get the fuck out of this country.”
After she climbed in, Thurston pulled her cell from her pocket. She punched in a number and waited. There was an answer from the other end, and she said, “We’ve been compromised and need extraction.”
Silence.
“Yes, as soon as possible.”
More silence and then she hung up. She turned to face Ferrero. “The C-130 will be on the ground in two hours. Let’s hope we can last until then.”
Ferrero nodded. “I just hope the others think of rendezvousing there. And since they don’t have cell phones, for operational security, we won’t know.”
“I guess we’ll see.”
Chapter 12
Appalachian Mountains
“Hammerhead One-One, this is Scimitar, do you read? Over.”
The Black Hawk pilot’s voice sounded over the comms. “Scimitar? Hammerhead One-One, copy? Over.”
“Hammerhead One-One, we’re two mikes out from the LZ,” Hunt said. “We have the package with us.”
“Roger, Scimitar. You’re two mikes out with the package. Hammerhead is inbound. Out.”
“Copy. Scimitar out.”
Hunt turned to the others and said, “Let’s keep going.”
They moved out once more with Pop-Eye in the lead and Rucker bringing up the rear. Jimmy walked in the center of the small column, between Traynor and Arenas. Suddenly their comms crackled to life.
“Scimitar? White Shark, over.”
“Copy, White Shark.”
“Chief, you’ve got an estimated eight tangos about to crawl up your rear, over.”
Shit. “How far out are they, White Shark?”
“They’ll be upon you before you can board the helo, Chief.”
“Copy, White Shark. We’ll take care of it.”
“Roger. White Shark, out.”
“Pop, on me,” Hunt said into his mic.
From the thick foliage ahead, the SEAL appeared. “What’s up, Chief?”
“We’ve got tangos coming up on us from behind. I need you to watch our six until the helo touches down.”
“How many?”
“White Shark says eight.”
“Won’t be that many by the time I’m finished, Chief.”
“Just don’t miss the chopper.”
They kept on until they reached the clearing where the Black Hawk would put down. In the distance, they could hear the WHOP!-WHOP!-WHOP! of the rotor blades. Once again, Hunt spoke into his mic, “Hammerhead One-One, Scimitar is in position, over.”
“Copy, Scimitar. We’ll be on the ground shortly. Hammerhead One-Two will provide air cover.”
It wasn’t long before Hammerhead One-One was on the ground. Just before it touched down, Hunt ordered Pop-Eye back for extraction. He appeared from the brush and ran across to the helicopter. Overhead, Hammerhead One-Two flew a steady circle. Suddenly a loud Brrrrp! sounded and a stream of tracers streaked across the sky like red-hot lances.
“Looks like he found something,” Hunt said to Pop-Eye.
“Yeah.”
Hunt looked back into the chopper to do a quick head count to ensure that everyone was there. They were. He gave the crew chief a windup signal, and before he knew it, the Black Hawk lifted into the sky.
Sinaloa Mexico
Just outside of Puerto de Topolobampo
The old battered Ford truck hit a hole in the road, and the crunch of the undercarriage was felt throughout the vehicle. It slowed slightly as Reynolds’ foot slipped off the gas pedal and she cursed before jamming it back on, and with a roar, the truck shot forward.
“I thought you said you could drive this thing,” Axe growled.
“I got it hot-wired, didn’t I?” Reynolds shot back.
They had come across the truck soon after taking down the cartel soldados. Reynolds had weaved her magic when no keys could be found, and the old beast had roared to life.
The back was packed with the girls, Teller, and Cara. Everything was going to plan so far, as they made their way to the airfield where the HC-130 had dropped them.
The truck hit another hole, and the headlights bounced wildly across the landscape. In the back, a couple of the girls gave out a yelp of panic.
Cara said into her mic, “How much further you think, Brooke?”
Reynolds said, “About two minutes.”
Nodding, Cara let her mind wander back to Reaper and Spencer. Maybe they had got away. Escaped. Maybe.
Axe’s voice filled her comms. “Heads up, we’re coming in. Just over the next rise.”
“Stop and kill the lights,” Cara snapped.
The brakes were applied, and the truck slid to a halt on the gravel. The lights went out, and Reynolds made the engine stall. Cara climbed over the side of the truck and brought the M110 up to sweep the area ahead of her. She could see nothing for the slope and the brush which adorned it.
>
“Pete, get the girls off. We’re going the rest of the way on foot.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Axe, on me.”
The ex-recon marine climbed from the truck. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Take the SASS and give me your 416. Then get on your bike and get to the top of that low ridge and have a look. We’ll join you shortly.”
“Ma’am,” Axe said as he took the M110 and melted into the darkness.
“Where’s he off to?” Reynolds asked.
“Trailblazer,” Cara said. “Get the girls moving and have Teller bring up our six.”
“Copy that.”
Ten minutes later, Cara stopped them just below the crest of the rise. They’d taken a weaving route which took them through the brush. She found Axe lying on the crest with his eye to the scope of the SASS. She hunkered down beside him and asked, “What do you see?”
“Someone’s down there,” he told her. “They’re in a flash-looking car. Mustang I think.”
“Can you tell who they are?”
“Not from this angle. They’re still in the car, and I can’t make out what they look like.”
Cara said, “We’ll wait for a moment and see what happens.”
“Copy.”
After ten minutes of watching and waiting Axe said, “We’ve got movement, ma’am. Someone’s getting out.”
He observed a while longer and then chuckled. “I’d know that oddball anywhere. That’s Slick, ma’am.”
A sigh of relief escaped Cara’s lips. “Get down there and let them know we’re coming in.”
“Roger,” Axe acknowledged and climbed to his feet.
Swift had been busting for a piss for some time when he squeezed out of the Mustang. He hurried around the back of it and started to relieve himself. A wave of satisfaction washed over him as the floodgates opened.
For a time it felt as though he wouldn’t stop, but eventually, the stream slowed and then ceased. He put himself away and turned around to walk back to the passenger door when he was confronted by the large smiling face of Axe. “Boo!”
Swift’s heart lurched in his chest. “Fucking hell, Axe. Don’t do shit like that, man. I almost died.”