“It’s copper,” Nicole countered, making a mental note to ask, “What guy?” when things quieted down. In return for the gun, she’d handed J.J. the key to the house’s front door. As quietly as she could, J.J. slid the key into the lock and then turned it. When Nicole gave her a nod, she tacitly twisted the nob and opened the door far enough to allow her mother to see inside.
Nicole moved forward stealthily… then smiled and stood upright. Indicating with a finger to her lips that the others should remain quiet, she pushed the door open and stepped inside.
A short hallway was revealed, which in turn led to a room with a battered sofa and a few old kitchen chairs, their shining metal legs pocked with spots of rust. There were three men as well, one of them who looked big enough to have understudied for the role of King Kong. But Cole was unconcerned with being discovered, as the men were totally engrossed in whatever it was they were seeing and hearing in the virtual reality headset and wireless headphones each was wearing. Dan, holding the knife loosely in his hand, watched them for a minute as they appeared to be twirling in circles, grasping at the air as if they were trying to catch butterflies in their hands. A moment later, they appeared to be punching an unknown foe.
“I think they’re playing ‘Incursion,’” he whispered to Nicole.
Without taking her eyes off the men, Nicole leaned her head slightly toward her husband. “And that information helps me how?”
“Well, if that’s what it is, and if they’re at the scene I think they’re at, there’s going to be a very loud explosion at any second.”
Nicole nodded. Dan might not have mastered all there was to cleaning, but he knew his video games.
A moment later, the men definitely reacted as though they’d been too close to something that had exploded. At that moment, Nicole fired a single shot into the center of Kong’s back, and he slumped to the floor. The other two seemed not to notice, as the report from the Glock was drowned out by the noise in their headphones. Nicole realized this was a teachable moment, and whispered to J.J., “Always take out the biggest guy first.”
One of the remaining men sat heavily onto one of the chairs, while the other seemed determined to recover from the blast and go on fighting. In a single motion, Manny snatched the knife from Dan, and with far more litheness that someone in his condition should have been able to muster, he moved behind the seated man and held the knife to his throat. With his other hand, he pulled the Bluetooth earbud out and growled, “¿Quién está a cargo?”
For a moment, it appeared as though the man had just experienced the most real virtual reality ever, but he quickly realized what was going on, and as he pulled off the VR headset, he pointed to the other man, once again throwing punches at the space in front of him, indicating that he was the one in charge. “Él... Jack.” He pronounced it “Yak.”
Manny put on a grim smile, only partly visible from beneath the bandages, and said in English, “Well, we don’t need you, then!” He bit his lower lip in a sign of effort as he pulled the knife forcefully across the man’s throat.
By the time Manny’s charge stopped his death flailing, Nicole was standing behind Jack. The person Miguel had left in charge was still valiantly battling someone or something, and in fact, just as Nicole leveled the Glock at the back of his head, he lofted his arms in victory with a cheer. “Did you see what I did to that motherfucker?” he shouted in English with a marked Brooklyn accent, simultaneously removing the headset.
He was greeted by the sight of Kong lying six feet to his right in a pool of blood. The next sensation was the barrel of Nicole’s gun at the back of his head.
“Hello, Jack,” she said. “That looked like quite a battle. What did you beat down?”
“A sasquatch,” Jack and Dan said at the same time.
“Wow, I’m impressed. Bare hands?”
Despite the hot metal poking him in the area near his brain stem, Jack smiled slightly. “Fuckin’-a.”
“Fuckin’-a indeed, Jack. Fuckin’-a indeed. Now, if you could answer me one more question, we’ll be on our way.”
By now, Jack had also seen his other compadre, the ear-to-ear “second smile,” Cara Rota had called it, still seeping blood, although the arterial spurting had ended, messily.
“Okay, okay. Fuck, I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” His victory over the bigfoot seemed to have been forgotten, as was any loyalty to his employer.
“Where are Miguel and Danilo?”
“Miguel went back to Tijuana to be there when she arrives.”
“When who arrives?”
“Marybeth Koppens.”
“Marybeth Koppens. The daughter of the Vice President of the United States. That Marybeth Koppens?”
“Only one I know of,” Jack said with a hint of sass. It was a hint Nicole did not like, and she gave the back of his neck a hard poke with the gun barrel.
“Bullshit,” she said, but before Jack could respond, J.J. interrupted the conversation, holding her phone up so that Nicole could see it. The screen showed a picture of Marybeth with the headline “VEEP’s Daughter to Tour Tijuana Sports Complex.”
“Give me the five-cent summary,” Cole told her daughter.
“Some new sports complex opening… paid for primarily by American investors… she’s cutting the ribbon.”
“When?” Cole asked.
J.J. scrolled through the new item. “Nine tomorrow morning.”
“What does Miguel want with Koppens?” Cole asked, making her voice sound every bit as deadly as she was beginning to feel.
“It’s going to be the last killing. It’s going to earn him the full respect of Alejandro.”
Manny had moved in front of Jack now and held the bloody knife threateningly, just far enough out of the thug’s reach that he knew there was no danger of it being taken away. “Who the fuck is Alejandro, capullo?”
In a show of bravado that no one believed, Jack spat back, “He’s the devil, asshole.”
“Wait, Alejandro is Él Diablo? The head of the cartel?” Nicole asked as the pieces rapidly fell into place.
“That’s right. Miguel has been killing American girls for months now, trying to win a more powerful position in the cartel, one that will get him into a real compound, not this shit-puddle. That way, he’ll be safe from the Tijuana Cartel.”
“So what’s an American doing working for the Diablo Cartel?” J.J. asked. Jack shifted his eyes to see the speaker, and a lewd grin spread across his face.
“Give me a chance, and I’ll show you all sort things this American can do…” Another jab to the back of the neck, the most violent thus far, wiped the smile from his face.
“Answer the question, pinche chucha.”
“Whoa, lady! There’s no call for that kind of language.”
Nicole decided she was getting a little tired of talking to Jack. She pointed the Glock up and fired a round into the ceiling, sending a shower of plaster dust down onto his head. “Answer the fucking question.”
“What the fuck do you think I’m doing working for a cartel. Making more money than someone with my skills would ever make in the States, even as a criminal! These guys use money to wipe their asses!”
“Well, Jack,” Nicole said, pressing the gun to the back of his head once more. “I’m going to do you a favor. Because when Él Diablo finds out you didn’t even hesitate to throw the whole operation under the bus, he’s going to kill you. A little bit at a time.”
“Oh yeah? So what’s the favor?”
By way of answer, Nicole squeezed the trigger. A very large amount of brain matter sprayed from the front of Jack’s head as the bullet exited his skull. She looked down at him as his body crumpled to the floor.
“By killing you all at once. You’re welcome.”
She looked around the room. Aside from a rather bloody mess and the video game equipment, there wasn’t much to see. She did spot a couple more guns and walked to where they were. Checking their readiness, she handed one
to Dan and another to J.J.
“I’m going to stick with this,” Manny said, holding up the knife. “It feels good in my hand.”
Nicole turned to look at him and saw that the blood from his victim was running down the blade of the big knife, onto the hilt, and from there onto his hand. “I’m guessing it does,” she said with the cold, almost wild smile with which Dan had yet to become comfortable.
“Oh, sweet Jeebus!” J.J. had walked into an adjoining room, which turned out to be the kitchen, and was thrilled to find a box of road flares on the counter top. Returning to her mother with a red stick in each hand, she whispered, “Would the Lake Hartwell Mauler like to leave her signature on this scene?”
“Where did these come from?” Cole asked with another wicked grin.
“Whole box in the kitchen,” J.J. answered, using the flare in her left hand to point.
“We’ll need accelerant. Danny, see if you can find any gas cans outside.”
Dan was not excited about leaving another burning building in their wake. Hearing the story of Cole’s childhood and witnessing the cabin that J.J. torched in Greenville was all the arson he would ever need in his life. But he dutifully walked outside and quickly located an ATV parked by one of the sheds, next to which sat two red plastic gas containers. One was empty but the other splashed a little of the pungent fluid out of the nozzle as he lifted it. J.J. met him at the door and took the can. Dan could see that while he’d been outside, they’d piled the three bodies, Kong on the bottom, Jack on top. As his daughter poured the petrol on and around the soon-to-be funeral pyre, Nicole approached and pulled the end off a flare, causing it to ignite in a bright crimson flash.
“This would be a good time for everyone who is still alive to leave the building,” Cole said. A moment later, she was alone, standing over the dead men. A momentary flashback unsettled her, but she quickly recovered. “Thanks for the info, Yak!” she said as she walked away and tossed the flare carelessly over her shoulder. It landed just beside the pile and lit the flammable liquid with a loud whoosh.
By the time they began to climb out of the bowl toward where the car was waiting, the building was fully engaged and the burning wood popped like a handful of cherry bombs tossed into a campfire on a lovely Mexican night.
When they reached the top of the rise and started toward the “hidden” SUV, Nicole, Manny, and J.J. suddenly dropped into a low squat. Dan, who was a few steps behind, at first continued to stand, until he finally noticed what had caused them all to choose a less visible profile. Two cars were parked by the Lincoln, their headlights shining on the vehicle they were counting on to get them away from the compound and back to Tijuana. He squatted beside the others.
“Shit,” J.J. said. “I knew that rock was a lousy hiding place!”
Nicole shook her head. “You couldn’t have done any better from the looks of it. Get ready to use that gun, though,” she said.
Then two things happened at once. The second car, a Humvee from what Dan could see of its outline against the dark horizon, was illuminating the first quite well, and to him, it looked a lot like the lead car was Neal’s Land Rover. At the same time, Tony Porter’s voice could be clearly heard saying, “Isn’t that your Lincoln, Marc?”
J.J. and Dan were the first to stand and they began moving toward the vehicles. Cole, recognizing her son’s voice, followed with Manny bringing up the rear, knife at the ready.
“Tone!” J.J. called. “Over here!”
Tony, who was holding a flashlight, ran toward the sound of his sister’s voice and was very pleased to see his parents in the mix as well. However, a fourth person he did not know was coming up behind them holding a knife.
“Look out behind you!” he called.
Nicole looked over her shoulder and then laughed. “It’s okay, Tony Baloney! He’s one of the good guys.”
When everyone came together, there was a round of hugs, and Nicole allowed herself to take a deep breath, realizing she’d found a way out of another near-death experience. Tony drew in a lungful as well, but with much less profound results.
“Mom, you’re pretty ripe. And why do you have a gun?”
“So I can shoot the next person who tells me I stink!” Nicole said in faux-anger. “Come on. We need to go.” As she said this, she pointed her thumb over her shoulder at the blaze.
“Yeah, thanks for the beacon,” Tony said. “A little extreme, though, don’t you think.”
“Antonio, you don’t know the half of it,” Dan said, putting his arm around his son’s shoulder. “By the way, that’s Neal’s car… can I assume you have Neal as well?”
“Yes. Well, some variation of Neal. He’s kind of out of it.”
“Still?” Dan asked. Turning to Nicole, he said, “I think I need some training in proper Mickey dosage.”
“We’ll work on it,” his wife replied. “Right now, I need to scope out the area around this new sports complex, before a string of apparently random killings becomes a world-wide political assassination headline.”
“Can somebody give me some clue as to what the hell is going on?” Tony asked, growing more confused as the conversation went on.
“I guess there’s no point in lying to you anymore, Tone,” Dan said. “Your mom is an international assassin and I’m an assistant-assassin.”
“Assistant to the assassin,” Nicole corrected with a smile.
“Listen, can you two stop screwing around for one second and give me a straight answer? Please?”
“Why don’t you ride with me?” Nicole asked simply as she walked toward the Lincoln.
“I’m going to ride with Marc,” J.J. said with a smile as she walked toward the Hummer.
“Who’s Marc?” Nicole asked, turning to Dan.
“Apparently, that’s a story for another time. At least, that’s what I’ve been told.”
Tony opened the rear driver’s-side door of the Navigator, allowing Manny to slide in before moving to the front seat, as Dan took the keys to Neal’s vehicle.
“I can fill you in on that. Exchange of information, we’ll call it,” he said to his mother.
Nicole jumped behind the wheel. “Fair enough,” she answered.
Dan stood for a moment and turned back toward the building just in time to see its roof collapse, sending a fresh shower of sparks like a swarm of angry fireflies high into the black sky. Then as he closed the passenger’s door for Tony and walked to the Land Rover, he said, mostly to himself, “That is going to be an interesting ride.”
18
The Convoy
J.J. found Marc a little distant as they took the lead in the impromptu caravan back to Tijuana. She had tried to start a conversation three different times, receiving only monosyllabic answers or, just as often, no answer at all.
“You seem a little… less talkative than usual,” she said after a particularly pregnant period of silence.
“I actually think I’m doing pretty well, considering I’m riding with the woman who stole my car.”
“Oh, don’t be a poo! No damage done.”
Marc was about to say “Only to my trust in you” but fortunately realized the inherent hypocrisy the statement would have carried.
J.J., thus far, knew none of what he assumed Tony was currently telling Nicole. And while grand theft auto was no small matter, the fact that he had worked for a man who his gut told him intended to wipe out the entire Porter family certainly made it seem that way in comparison.
“You’re right,” he said at last. “Didn’t even look that dirty, considering these roads.” He paused. “So, uh, what was that all about?”
“What was what all about?”
Marc didn’t really consider asking this question to be duplicitous. Well, maybe a little. Okay, I’m still being a hypocrite, he finally admitted to himself, but that was a bizarre scene to have come upon, and the fact that both of her parents, her dad’s friend, and whoever Mr. Stabby was were all basically in the same geographical area with
out knowing it… yeah. Asking for some clarity wasn’t completely out of line.
“Oh, you know. Burning building, your mom looking like she’d just dug herself out of her own grave. And that one dude with the knife and the Boris Karloff vibe. Seriously, Jay, what’s going on?”
Of course, J.J. had known what was coming. She knew when he’d asked the first time. But she hadn’t planned on him throwing her a major league curve ball.
Jennifer June Porter’s life had been a long, winding roadmap of nicknames, with J.J. being the most frequently used. Her closest family often shortened this into one sound by saying “Jayj.” But no one had ever dropped the tag-along “j.” No one had ever called her simply “Jay.”
She realized instantly that she loved it, and perhaps even…
“What you came upon in the middle of Mexican foothills tonight was a thwarted kidnapping about which no one besides those of us there will ever know. Apparently, this sort of thing happens a lot down here. Important executives are snatched up and held for a quick ransom.”
“Right, and you told me your mom runs that forensic cleaning business. So they’re big enough to be the victim of this sort of thing?”
“They are.” J.J. continued to roll through her lie as if on automatic pilot, especially since most of her mind was still consumed with the fact that he cared enough about her to find a name that was all his… all theirs. “They could have easily met the ransom demand, but the fact is these people also grab folks whose associates cannot pay. Too often, they even take unlucky tourists who were mistaken for someone of importance.”
“What happens to them?” Marc asked, his mind starting to release his earlier flirtation with righteous indignation.
“You don’t generally hear about them either. They’re usually never seen again.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah. So whatever force of nature got my whole family within shouting distance of one another set things up so that Mom fell neither into the ‘pay the ransom’ camp nor the ‘vanished without a trace’ contingent. She gets to be among the ‘rescued without loss’ group.”
The Terror of Tijuana Page 17