Hunt Them Down (Pierce Hunt Book 1)

by Simon Gervais

  “The Black Tosca owns another safe house in Hypoluxo. Hector planned on taking Leila and . . . what’s the name of the other girl again?”

  “Sophia. She’s Tony Garcia’s daughter.”

  “Tony Garcia?” Egan asked. What was Pierce’s daughter doing with the daughter of the head of one of the largest crime families in Florida?

  “That’s what I said, Cole. It’s a long story, one I won’t share with you either, so please continue.”

  “Hector’s original plan, before you rampaged into Pomar’s condominium, was to keep the girls here. When he realized you were coming after him, he left a crew behind to ambush you.”

  “You included?”

  Egan shook his head. “No, I was hired to track you down and kill you,” he said simply.

  Hunt’s eyes penetrated deep into his, but when Hunt said nothing, Egan added, “You gave me a second chance, Pierce. When those assholes took me in Gaza, I never thought I’d see the light of day again. I fully expected to be tortured for weeks on end. I later learned that the brass ordered you not to come after me. But you did. I hope you’ll give me the chance to repay you.”

  And maybe, just maybe, redeem myself for all the stupid shit I’ve done since then.

  “Okay.”

  “Okay? Okay what?”

  “Tell me where the girls are. You don’t think they brought them to the Hypoluxo safe house?”

  “I was supposed to call Hector the moment I put you down. Obviously, I didn’t, so it makes no tactical sense for him to go to Hypoluxo. He’ll have to assume that I’m either dead—”

  “Or that you’ve been turned,” Hunt interjected.

  “Yeah, that too.”

  Egan hoped his father-in-law would move in quick to protect Katherine. Because if Hunt was right and the Black Tosca had even a soupçon of suspicion that Egan had betrayed her, she’d move mountains to destroy him and everyone he held dear.

  “So where’s Hector headed if he ain’t going to Hypoluxo?”

  “To Mexico. He’s taking them to San Miguel de Allende.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  Palm Beach County Park Airport, Florida

  Hector briefly considered hijacking a vehicle, but they were so close to the airport that it wasn’t worth the risk. He sat behind the wheel, started the engine, and redlined the Ford through the red light at the end of the off-ramp. He sped onto the on-ramp across the intersection. Less than three minutes had elapsed since they had been pulled over by the cops.

  In the back, one of the girls woke up and started to moan. It started with little sobs every few seconds but quickly grew in intensity. It almost sounded like an injured animal. Had one of them been wounded? Had a stray bullet hit one of the girls? He hoped not. The Black Tosca wanted two healthy and uninjured children.

  Within minutes, if it was not already done, all local, state, and federal law enforcement agencies would learn about the slaughter of the six highway patrol officers. Then all bets would be off. A massive search operation would be launched, and the police would seal off all the major roads leading to the bus stations, cruise ship terminals, and international airports. He doubted Palm Beach County Park Airport would get the same treatment, but he didn’t care to wait and find out. The sooner they were in the air, the better.

  “Check on the girls,” Hector said, keeping his eyes on the highway. Now wasn’t the time to get distracted. “See what the commotion is about.”

  Leila woke up with a start. She opened her eyes, but her vision remained a dark blur. A face slowly coalesced next to her.

  Sophia?

  She tried to speak but couldn’t open her mouth. She couldn’t move any part of her body. Her feet and hands were bound with zip ties, and duct tape covered her mouth. She had never felt so claustrophobic before. She struggled to break free, the zip ties digging into her flesh. She moaned in pain. Leila’s heart battered her rib cage. At least there was no black bag over her head to keep her from seeing where she was. A van? Sophia was next to her. She could see her friend’s face clearly now. She was gagged and tied the same way Leila was.

  The fact that they were alive meant that their captor had something in mind for her and Sophia. That in itself wasn’t good news. Was it in retribution for what she had done to his ear? Maybe, but she couldn’t let fear cause her to lose her capacity to think clearly. As long as they were alive, there was hope of a rescue. Her gaze settled on Sophia as she wished her friend would open her eyes. But she didn’t. Leila listened carefully. She heard men talking in Spanish—weird, she hadn’t noticed them before—but she didn’t hear any breathing coming from her friend. Sophia’s chest wasn’t moving either. Fear clouded Leila’s eyes.

  Oh my God, she’s not breathing. Sophia’s not breathing!

  Leila tried to yell, but the duct tape on her mouth muffled her voice. She kept trying, but it did no good. She was powerless and angry. She lifted her bound feet and kicked at the side wall of the van. She only managed one soft thump before a man grabbed her elbow from behind. He yanked it back so hard he almost dislocated her shoulder. Then he grabbed her with both hands and pulled her up to a seated position. With one hand, the man reached for one of the edges of the duct tape over her mouth.

  “This will be painful,” the man said in accented English.

  He ripped the duct tape off in one swift motion. Her whole body shuddered. She screamed. In response, he slapped her across the face. Tears ran down her cheeks. She could feel the imprint of his hand on her skin.

  “Sophia’s not breathing!” Leila screamed between two sobs. “Do something!”

  A look of abject fear crossed the man’s features. He climbed over the rear bench seat and pushed Leila over. He removed the duct tape over Sophia’s mouth. The man’s back was toward her, and Leila wished she had use of her hands. She’d try to get the gun free from the holster on his hip or, at the very least, dig her fingers deep into his eyes.

  She could spout all the wishful thinking she wanted; she couldn’t do anything for Sophia. Her mind slowed to a sluggish crawl, only able to focus on one thing.

  Don’t die, Sophia. Don’t die. Please don’t die.

  “Sophia’s alive, Hector,” his man said a minute later. “But she’s having spasms. Her breathing is depressed. The drug you used must have slowed her heartbeat. She’ll be fine.”

  Hector breathed a shallow sigh of relief.

  “Retape Leila’s mouth, and keep the girls quiet until we get to the airport.”

  They were a few miles away from the airport. He called the chief pilot again.

  “Is the plane ready?”

  “It will be in five to ten minutes. We just started the engines.”

  Hector grunted. “I want to take off the moment we get there, and I want you and your copilot to stay in the cockpit. I don’t need a welcome committee.”

  “Yessir. May I ask where we’re headed?”

  “Nassau.” The pilot needed to know which flight plan to file. “Can I drive directly onto the runway?”

  It was an unusual question, but the pilot didn’t seem to care. “Usually no, but if you’re in a rush, I can ask the private aviation clerk to keep it open for you. Would that work?”

  “Perfectly.”

  “Very well. We’ll be ready for you.”

  As Hector took the exit off Highway 95, three Florida Highway Patrol cruisers flew by in the opposite direction with sirens blaring and flashing lights whirling. An ambulance followed shortly after. Then another. It would take the authorities a few minutes to get organized, but there was no time to lose. At the end of the off-ramp, Hector made a left turn onto Lantana Road. He traveled westward for a mile and then was forced to come to an abrupt stop when a pair of Palm Beach County fire rescue trucks—sirens screaming—raced out of their bay and cut him off. Less than a quarter mile later, Hector made a right onto the access road leading to the airport. He slowed down to get his bearings. In front of him was the gate leading to the tarmac. It was opened, a
nd Hector was able to drive the Ford close enough to the King Air 350 passenger door that they would have only a few steps to take before reaching the stairway and disappearing inside the aircraft.

  His men climbed out of the panel van, fanned out around the plane, and took up firing positions. Hector opened the rear doors of the van, cut the zip ties around the two girls’ ankles, and, none too gently, dragged Leila out. He lifted her as though she were a doll and tossed her over his right shoulder. He climbed the small steps and dropped her roughly in the first available seat. He touched his damaged ear again, and his hand came back with a little blood on his fingertips.

  “Don’t move,” he barked at her. She looked petrified. Good.

  He repeated the process with the other girl but seated her in the third row, making sure she was facing the rear of the plane. Hector was about to order his men to board the plane when the cockpit door opened. A man dressed in a pilot’s uniform—the first officer, not the captain, since he was wearing only three stripes—stood motionless, a stunned look on his face. The pilot’s eyes darted back and forth between Leila, who still had her wrists tied behind her back and duct tape over her mouth, and Hector.

  “Weren’t you asked to stay in the cockpit?” Hector asked, reaching the pilot in two strides.

  Hector’s right hand shot out like a bolt of lightning. He buried his fist in the man’s solar plexus with such force that, had he hit the man over the heart, it might have stopped it cold. The man curled up, but Hector didn’t allow him to go down. Instead, Hector spun him around, grabbed his left arm, and twisted it behind his back while locking his own arm around the man’s throat.

  The captain, with whom Hector had had numerous chats over the phone, twisted his head to see what was going on. The look on his face wasn’t what Hector expected. The whole incident with his associate seemed to have amused him.

  The man’s actually smiling, Hector thought.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked the pilot.

  The man’s smile disappeared, and he said, “I told him to stay in the cockpit, but when he saw your men and the guns, he panicked.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “You’re paying me well not to.”

  “Can you fly this plane by yourself?”

  There wasn’t even a hint of hesitation. “Absolutely. And I can keep my mouth shut too.”

  Now it was Hector’s turn to smile. “Good,” he said.

  The conversation’s implications weren’t lost on the first officer. His face was turning dark red as he tried to break free from Hector’s grasp. Hector let go of the man’s arm and pulled his knife out of its sheath. He stabbed the man twice in the chest before embedding the knife deep into his neck. Hector angled his body and threw the first officer out of the plane’s door.

  He looked at the captain. “All set?”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  Stafford, Virginia

  Simon Carter got the phone call in the middle of his workout routine. He was an early riser and preferred hitting the gym when there was nobody else around. His call display told him it was an unknown number. He picked up anyway. He knew it was Pierce Hunt.

  “Any news?” he asked his friend.

  “Kind of. I have a favor to ask.”

  “You got it, Pierce.”

  “You don’t even know what I’m about to ask you. It could be dangerous.”

  Carter chuckled. “I’m sure it is. That’s why you’re calling me, right?”

  “And illegal too,” Hunt added.

  Hunt was toying with him, so he said, “But is it honorable, and will it serve justice?”

  “I need your help getting my daughter back.”

  “I already knew that. I’m in.”

  “But this time it isn’t only to check stuff in the DEA database, Simon. I need a shooter.”

  If Pierce Hunt needed a shooter, that meant he had a target. “How many of us do you need? You know the guys will do anything for you, right?”

  “I do, and I appreciate that. But this operation will be black. No footprint whatsoever.”

  “So only you and me?” Carter asked.

  “And an old friend of mine from the Seventy-Fifth.”

  “You trust him, Pierce?”

  “Not as much as I trust you, brother. That’s why I need you.”

  “Tell me what you need, and consider it done.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  Coral Gables, Florida

  “Will Tony be okay?” Hunt asked Anna.

  “Don’t know,” she replied, her eyes moist with tears. “He’s still in surgery.” Hunt watched her take a long sip of vodka straight from the bottle.

  It had been six hours since Tony Garcia had been shot. The police were asking a lot of questions, and Hunt wouldn’t be surprised if, supposing Tony pulled through, they brought him in for questioning. Since the news that six Florida Highway Patrol officers had been butchered on an off-ramp of Highway 95 had hit the major outlets, every law enforcement officer in the region was looking for the perpetrators. Everybody was on edge. The slain officers were fathers, mothers, sisters, and brothers. They were pillars of their communities who had paid the ultimate price. Their brother cops wouldn’t hesitate to break a few bones to get to those who had killed so many of their own. They didn’t know the culprits were long gone, out of their reach.

  But not from my reach, Hunt thought.

  I’m gonna mess that fucking bitch up, he added, thinking about the Black Tosca. With only twelve hours left to the Black Tosca’s original deadline for Tony to deliver his own severed head, Hunt was anxious to hear back from Simon Carter. He checked his watch for the fifth time in ten minutes. Since Carter’s connecting flight from Houston to Querétaro, Mexico, was on time—Hunt had checked via the United Airlines application—he would land in about two hours. Upon landing, he would be met by DEA special agents, men who didn’t mind risking their careers to help Hunt. They wouldn’t participate in the actual takedown, but they would take care of all the logistics. They would provide Hunt and his team the necessary weapons and transportation options. They all knew Hunt could never repay them. What they also knew, though, was that if the roles were reversed, Hunt would be there for them.

  Simon Carter was Hunt’s reconnaissance element. There was no point in Hunt and Egan traveling all the way to Mexico only to find out that Leila and Sophia weren’t there. Carter’s mission was twofold. First, he was to confirm Leila and Sophia’s position or, at the very least, verify that Hector was there. Second, he needed to scout a location from where they could establish their base of operations.

  In the meantime, Hunt wanted updates from Daniel McMaster regarding the bystander he had accidentally shot during yesterday’s ambush—the cause of the warrant for his arrest.

  “You have a phone I can use?” he asked Anna.

  She got up from the sofa and disappeared from the living room. Tasis, though, was still there, standing in a corner and looking pissed off as usual.

  Egan leaned toward Hunt. “Thanks for keeping my involvement with you-know-who between us,” he said, his voice low.

  The truce Hunt had forged with the Garcia crime family was fragile. If Tasis, Anna, or any members of their family learned that Egan was a contractor for the Black Tosca, he’d never live to see another day. Thoughts of the Black Tosca reminded Hunt that if he couldn’t find his daughter within the next—he checked his watch again—eleven hours and thirty-two minutes, Leila would be burned alive, her execution live streamed.

  This is your fault, Vicente Garcia, you piece of shit. What were you thinking, burning a man in front of his young daughter? Now it’s your own granddaughter and my Leila who’ll pay the price for your stupidity.

  “Hey, Pierce, you okay?”

  Hunt looked up. Anna was inserting a SIM card into a prepaid cell phone. She handed him the phone. He mumbled his thanks and walked out to the terrace to place his call.

  McMaster didn’t pick up, so Hunt left a quick voice ma
il letting him know he’d call again in exactly five minutes. When he turned around, Tasis was there, his jaw locked so tight that Hunt could see a muscle twitching.

  “What do you want?” Hunt asked him.

  “What can I do to help?”

  Hunt cocked his head. This is unexpected. “I thought you wanted to kill me?”

  “A part of me still does. Your betrayal is my failure, I told you.”

  “But?”

  “Anna said you tried to save Tony’s life, so I’ll ask again: Can I help?”

  There was no way Hunt would let Tasis travel with him and Egan to Mexico to meet with Carter. As loyal and ruthless as Tasis was, he wasn’t a trained operator. He had no idea how to work within a team or employ the unconventional tactics used during a hostage rescue operation. Still, he could be useful here in Florida. But first, Hunt had a question for him.

  “What was Tony talking about earlier? Anna’s issue. What is it?”

  Tasis looked at the floor. “It’s not my place—”

  “Don’t fuck with me, Mauricio.”

  Tasis crossed his arms with a heavy sigh. “She killed a man,” he said, then quickly added, “but it was legitimate self-defense.”

  Hunt ought to have been surprised, but he wasn’t. He couldn’t say why, but deep down he had known, or at least suspected. Something in her demeanor, maybe?

  “In Miami,” Hunt said, remembering how shaken she’d been when she had picked him up in the Cherokee.

  “That’s right. A man attacked her. She killed him.”

  Hunt felt terrible for Anna. Killing someone—self-defense or not—placed a black mark on one’s soul. He didn’t know when it would come, but down the road she’d need someone to talk to. He would be there for her.

  “You know where my daughter lives?” Hunt asked, changing the subject.

  “Chris Moon’s residence, yes?”

  “If our op in Mexico fails, they’ll come for my ex-wife. She’s Moon’s wife now, but she’s Leila’s mother, and I still care for her.”

  “I don’t think you’ll fail, Mr. Hunt, but if you do, I’ll make sure she’s safe.”