“Everything was to your satisfaction?” Dante asked.
Carter, a perfectionist, and exceptionally so when it came to marksmanship, wished he could have test-fired the Glocks and the MP5s, but he had no choice in the matter. “Everything’s fine.”
“How do you want to play it?”
“Our only objective is to confirm that Leila and Sophia are here.”
“What about Hector Mieles?”
“I think it’s fair to assume that if Hector’s here, the girls are here too, agreed?”
“Makes sense.”
“So I’ll head in the direction of the Black Tosca’s residence and drive around once. I’ll call you back once I’m done, and, depending on my findings, I’ll let you know what we’ll do.”
Carter brought the powerful binoculars to his eyes and focused on the Black Tosca’s residence half a mile away. The house—one of the biggest Carter had ever seen—was a custom-built fortress. It had the style of a Spanish colonial home and was perched high on a hilltop with spectacular views of the Sierra Madre mountains and the rolling countryside.
Carter wondered if the citizens of San Miguel de Allende knew—or cared—about the high number of criminal organizations whose bosses had elected to reside in the city Condé Nast Traveler magazine had named the best in the world. Carter had to admit that the small city exuded so much charm, history, and beauty that even though he was tracking the man who’d kidnapped Hunt’s daughter, he couldn’t help feeling he had been transported to another dimension. Towering churches, sunset-colored houses, and charming cobblestone streets added an indescribable something Carter would be hard pressed to explain to the guys back in Stafford. But he wasn’t here to relax, explore, or see the sights. His initial reconnaissance showed him a couple of good spots from where he had good views of the front gate and the east side of the third floor of the house. The tall walls surrounding the property and its sheer elevation from the street hindered Carter’s ability to see anything below the third floor.
He had been in his position for a little more than two hours when a pair of white Range Rovers came out the front gate at the end of the long asphalt driveway leading up to the Black Tosca’s residence. The side windows of both Range Rovers were heavily tinted, and the sunlight glinted off the windshield, but Carter, his eyes glued to his binoculars, was able to confirm that there were at least two occupants per vehicle. He quickly exchanged the binoculars for his Nikon P900 camera. Both Range Rovers made a right turn and accelerated toward his location. Carter brought the camera to his eye and snapped eight pictures. The vehicles were still a quarter of a mile away when Carter crouched behind the steering wheel and got as low as he could, his right hand drifting toward the passenger seat where his Glock 22 was hidden under a local guidebook. Not that the Glock would make much difference in a shoot-out with Hector’s men. In about fifteen seconds, he’d know if he’d been seen. He started to count in his head. At the count of seventeen, the Range Rovers drove slowly past his position. If they were going to hit him, it was going to happen right about now. Carter’s grip tensed around the Glock. He held his breath and strained his ears for a full minute and listened for signs of trouble. Nothing.
He risked a look in his side mirror. The Range Rovers were stopped at a red light five or six hundred feet behind his SUV.
That was close, Carter thought. He chuckled to himself, mostly from relief.
Carter looked at the Nikon’s display to analyze the pictures. The first five showed the first Range Rover and its occupants: two Latino males whose faces Carter didn’t recognize. The last three photos, though, made his heart jolt. With a lump in his throat, Carter dialed the number Hunt had given him.
“It’s me,” Carter said once he had his friend on the line.
“What did you learn?”
“Hector Mieles is in San Miguel, Pierce. Get your ass over here.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Miami, Florida
It took Hunt less than fifteen minutes to get to Jasmine’s house from Tony Garcia’s house. He rang the doorbell twice. Jasmine opened the door wearing only a light-blue terry cloth robe with a matching towel on her head. She looked tired, worn out. The lines on her face were too pronounced for someone her age. Her eyes, which had been so vibrant in the past, were now dull. He wondered if his eyes looked the same way. Clearly, Leila’s kidnapping had hit his ex-wife very hard. Jasmine probably thought he was bearing bad news because her legs buckled, and before Hunt could catch her, she collapsed to her knees. Hunt knelt next to her.
“I think Leila’s still alive,” he said into her ear. “But I need Chris’s help.”
She shook her head in what Hunt could only assume was disbelief.
“Oh my God,” she managed to say. “I . . . I thought you were here because—”
“Not at all, but I need to hurry up. Can we talk inside?”
Jasmine nodded, and Hunt helped her up.
Chris was jogging down the hallway. “You okay, Jasmine?”
Jasmine removed the towel she had on her head and used it to wipe her tears away. “Pierce thinks Leila’s alive.”
Hunt saw a look of genuine relief wash over Moon’s face. The quarterback actually closed his eyes and crossed himself.
“Where is she?” he asked.
“In Mexico.”
“Mexico? What’s she doing in Mexico? How did she get there? How—” Jasmine unleashed, but Hunt interrupted her.
“Valid questions, all of them. And I promise I’ll explain everything, but not now. Okay?”
“Is there anything I can do?” Moon asked. “I told you before, Pierce, I know I’m not her dad, but I love her very much.”
Hunt placed a hand on Moon’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “I know, and that’s why I’m here.”
“Shoot. What do you need?”
“I need you to charter a jet for me.”
Moon didn’t even blink at the request. “When do you want to fly, and where do you want to go?”
“I’m needed in San Miguel de Allende,” Hunt said. “It’s a small town—”
“I know exactly where it is. Jasmine and I spent a long weekend there last year.”
“You think Leila’s in San Miguel?” Jasmine asked.
“I do,” he replied. “And I need to go now.”
Moon was typing furiously on his smartphone. He said, “We can leave from Miami International in fifty minutes or from Fort Lauderdale in ninety. What do you prefer?”
“The sooner the better, Chris, but what did you mean by ‘we’?”
“I’m coming with you. And since I’m paying, my request isn’t negotiable.”
“Count me in too,” Jasmine said.
“No!” Hunt and Moon shouted at the same time. “Listen, Jasmine,” Hunt said, taking one of her hands in both of his. “If anything happens to me downrange, I want our daughter to have a mother. I know it sounds clichéd, but it’s too dangerous. Trust me on this.”
Jasmine sighed but nodded reluctantly. “Be careful. Both of you.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
Del Bajío Airport, Guanajuato, Mexico
Hunt caught up on his sleep while Egan and Moon talked football. Anna spent the whole flight studying the intelligence Carter and the two other DEA special agents had sent their way prior to takeoff. Due to favorable winds and their request that the pilot push the throttles a touch more than usual, the flight to Del Bajío airport took just over three hours.
The plane landed smoothly on the runway, and the engines roared in reverse to slow it down. They taxied to the private aviation hangar, where Dante stood next to his Land Cruiser, talking to an immigration officer. Through his window, Hunt saw the men shake hands. A moment later, the immigration officer disappeared inside his four-door sedan and drove away.
Hunt unbuckled his seat belt and sat in the empty seat next to Moon.
“I’ll call you every hour on the dot to let you know we’re okay,” Hunt told him. “If I miss a t
iming, I’ll call ten minutes past the hour. If I miss that too, I’ll call at the half hour. If you haven’t heard from me or Cole by then, I want you and Anna to return to Miami and call this man.”
Hunt gave him McMaster’s business card. Moon frowned as he read the name. “Isn’t he your father-in-law?” he asked, his eyes on Egan.
“Yep,” Egan confirmed with a smile.
Hunt wondered how much of his personal life Egan had shared with Moon. Not that it was any of his business. Anna was seated behind him, and Hunt felt her gaze burning into his back. He stood up to face her.
“I know this isn’t what you wanted, Anna, but I’d appreciate you staying in the plane.”
“If it’s what you need,” she replied without much enthusiasm. Then she added, her voice a shade warmer than usual, “Be careful, okay?”
“Okay.”
“I mean this.”
“Okay,” he repeated, unsure of her meaning. “I will.”
“Go get our girls, Pierce,” Anna said, touching him gently on the arm. “I’m counting on you.”
He took a deep breath and remained silent. He had so much on his mind, but he had a hard time staying indifferent and calm when Anna’s simple touch sent his heart into overdrive and his blood pounding in his ears. Hunt realized right there and then that he still wanted her. Would she want him, though? Would she take him back despite everything that had happened between them? Despite everything she’d endured because of him? Would she forget the emotional pain he’d caused her? The betrayal?
And don’t forget, Pierce, you’re a DEA agent, Hunt reminded himself. And wouldn’t he be betraying his brother’s memory by being with Anna? It was her kind of people who had killed Jake. But before he could dwell on that further, he needed to get his daughter and Sophia back. That was what he needed to focus on. Nothing else.
So shut this useless internal debate off, Hunt thought.
“I’ll bring them back,” he assured her. She gave him a quick hug and then took a step back.
Hunt told her, “Remember that if the shit hits the fan, you’ll be our last line of defense. We’re counting on you too.”
Anna’s job was to take care of the logistics in case they had to ditch the plane. Hunt had asked her to reserve rental cars and to find accommodation between San Miguel de Allende and Mexico City. She was also to book numerous flights from Mexico City to Miami and Fort Lauderdale.
“Ready?” Hunt asked Egan.
“I’ve been standing here for the last three minutes, haven’t I?”
Dante met him outside the vehicle. Dante offered his hand, but Hunt embraced him instead.
“Thanks for everything, Dante.”
“Don’t thank me yet. We still have plenty to do.”
Hunt nodded and introduced Egan to Dante. “Cole and I served together in the Seventy-Fifth,” he said, then added for Egan’s benefit, “Dante was a Black Hawk pilot in the army. A real pro.”
Egan and Dante shook hands. “A real pleasure, Dante. I’ve always been jealous of anyone who can fly.”
Dante laughed out loud. “Weird. I’m jealous of anyone who can shoot straight.”
They all climbed into the Land Cruiser with Dante behind the wheel and Hunt in the passenger seat. In the back, Egan had already found the cooler with the Gatorade. He passed a bottle to Hunt, who drank half of it down before he took a breath.
“Thirsty?” Dante asked.
“Nervous.”
For the next forty minutes, Dante went over the intelligence they had gathered so far and the equipment they had available. Finally, they brainstormed ideas about how to gain access to the Black Tosca’s residence.
“We haven’t come up with anything solid yet, Pierce,” Dante confessed. “Her defense is airtight. With four shooters and Abigail in reserve, I wasn’t able to figure out a way to get in, rescue your daughter and her friend, and make a clean exit.”
“Can’t you guys call the DEA offices in Guadalajara and Mexico City and ask for support?”
“Not happening,” Dante said. “Too many hoops to jump through. Too many regulations.”
“What if we forced her to come out instead?” Hunt offered.
“How?” Egan asked. “She has her own water supply, two or three power generators, and probably enough food and wine to last a year. I’m pretty sure she also has tunnels under her residence that lead to different houses in the neighborhood.”
“Cole’s right, Pierce. She’d never come out through the front gate.”
“Then we’ll have to figure out something else, and fast.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
San Miguel de Allende, Mexico
They arrived at the Airbnb apartment rental five minutes later.
Dante showed him where the weapons were. Hunt selected one of the MP5s and a Glock 22 with a silencer. From a duffel bag, he picked two flashbangs, a hip holster for the Glock, and seven magazines of ammunition—five for the MP5 and two for the Glock. Dante handed him a bulletproof vest from another duffel bag. Hunt adjusted it so that it wouldn’t interfere with the rest of his equipment.
He picked up the magazines and placed them into the magazine pouches on his stomach. To expedite any magazine changes, he inserted the magazines with the bullets down and facing to the right. He checked the MP5 to make sure the weapon was clear and did the same with the Glock. Hunt inserted a magazine into the pistol and pulled the slide back, allowing the first bullet to feed into the chamber. He then released the magazine, holstered his pistol, and inserted another round into the magazine to top it off. He pulled the Glock out from its holster once again and reinserted the full magazine before holstering the pistol. He followed pretty much the same routine with the MP5, his hands working fast and expertly.
To clear his head, Hunt took a deep breath and then slowly exhaled. He repeated the process three times.
Hunt was in his element. He was ready.
Then Carter called. Leila was on the move.
The time to move cautiously had passed. They needed to speed things up. Hunt’s conversation with Carter had been short but to the point. Abigail, who had taken Carter’s position close to the front gate, had spotted the same two white Range Rovers that Carter had seen earlier in the day. Using her own Nikon, she was able to get two good shots of the inside of the first SUV. She had sent the pictures to Carter, who had immediately confirmed that the girl seated in the second row of the SUV was Leila. No word on Sophia, though, so that complicated things. Hunt had hoped that the two girls would still be together. That would have allowed them to maximize their efficiency by not having to split up.
Hunt had just placed his hourly call to Moon when Carter phoned him.
“Where are you?” Carter asked.
“We’re leaving Centro now. What’s up?”
“Abigail and I followed the two Range Rovers to a neighborhood called Candelaria. You need me to spell it?”
“Negative, Simon. I know where it is,” jumped in Dante, making a U-turn. “We’re less than ten minutes away.”
Carter gave them the address. “Hurry up. I have a feeling we might have a play here.”
Carter and Abigail had no choice but to give the Range Rovers considerable leeway in order not to be spotted. The fact that Abigail and Carter each had their own vehicle was great, but they really needed six cars to pull off this kind of surveillance operation. That wasn’t going to happen, so they had to tread carefully.
The neighborhood of Candelaria consisted of very large and very private estates. There wasn’t a lot of traffic, so Carter had to play it safe. The last thing he wanted was to spook Hector. Carter had allowed four cars to pull in front of him as a buffer between his vehicle and the last Range Rover. Abigail hung back two cars behind. Up ahead, the Range Rovers made a right turn into private property.
Carter called Abigail to let her know.
“I’m not turning into the driveway,” Carter told her. “I’ll try to get an address and see what we can find o
ut.”
As he drove by, Carter marked the address on his GPS. The house was a big bungalow—at least eight or nine thousand square feet by Carter’s estimate—and the owner had set it back far enough from the road to not be disturbed by passing cars but close enough to flaunt his wealth. Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, Carter texted the address to Hunt.
His phone vibrated in his hand. It was Abigail.
“I’ll pull over at the next intersection and run the address against our database,” she said. “I’ll let you know what I learn, if anything.”
“I’ll find a spot from where I can keep my eyes on target.”
He made a left at the next intersection and twisted in his seat to see if he still had a visual on the house. He didn’t. If he couldn’t see the house, they couldn’t see him either. He stopped on the narrow gravel shoulder and turned off the engine. He climbed out of his compact SUV and opened the trunk, from which he removed a DJI Matrice 100 quadcopter drone. Since the drone was made of waterproof aluminum and plastic, its weight—without the camera—was only slightly over six pounds, which made it incredibly light and easy to carry around. But what really sold this unit to Carter was that it could be controlled from a distance of one and a half miles without a problem. It was the same model he had used on many occasions with the RRT.
Within thirty seconds, the drone was in the air. Carter reacquainted himself with the controls by circling the drone a couple of times overhead. Two minutes later, the drone was hovering a quarter mile away from the Range Rovers at an altitude of one hundred feet. Carter zoomed in on the house just in time to see Leila being carried inside by Hector Mieles.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
San Miguel de Allende, Mexico
Hector popped a couple of Dexedrine capsules in his mouth and washed them down with four huge gulps of water. As his adrenaline rush from all the events of the past thirty-six hours finally crashed, Hector realized he was seriously tired. He was running on empty. His age, even though he had just touched forty, and the years of abuse he had subjected his body to since his days in the army were taking their toll. He still had a few good years in front of him, but at some point he would have to stop.
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