“Emilio tells me that you’re here to help fight the Chaquetas,” Ramirez said once they were seated.
Bishop ate a mouthful of flauta and wiped his chin with a napkin. “Yes, they’ve murdered a number of farmers and taken their land. That’s the reason I’m here–”
“Why?”
Bishop looked confused.
“Why are you helping them? They’re not your people. It’s not your land. Why do you, an American, care what happens to a handful of ranchers?”
“Because I made a promise to someone that I’d help. Because sometimes doing the right thing is more important than anything else.”
Ramirez seemed to consider the answer. “This is true. That is why the Sinaloa cannot help you.”
Emilio thumped the table with his palm. “Why not? I thought you wanted to help the people.”
“We do. That is why we cannot start another war. We fight the Chaquetas and they will ask for help from the Juarez cartel. The peace is tenuous, and if it’s lost then many, many Mexicans will die.” He turned to Bishop. “You are a military man, yes? You understand that sometimes the good of the many outweighs the good of the few.”
He could not fault that logic.
“But this doesn’t mean I won’t help. Any damage you do to the Chaquetas will only strengthen my position. Do you need weapons?”
He shook his head. “No, what we need are experienced fighters. We are a handful, standing in front of an army.”
Ramirez shrugged. “I’m afraid that is the one thing I cannot give you. Explosives, weapons, information, these are things I can provide.”
Bishop spooned some slow-cooked pork onto his plate. “In that case, what can you tell me about the Chaquetas’ other ventures?”
“They are thugs. Guns for hire that other cartels use to do their dirty work. They have a base in Buenaventura, perhaps one hundred men, at the most. They’re not heavily involved in smuggling.”
“Nothing else, no recent ventures?”
Ramirez fixed Bishop with an intense glare. “Either you are very well informed or you’re good at guessing.”
“I just want to know my enemy.”
“I get information from a contact in the police. He told me the chaquetas have purchased a farm near Nueva Piedras. I think they’re going to try and grow their own marijuana.”
“That’s interesting.” He ate another spoonful of pork. “By the way, this is delicious.”
“My cook is one of the best. I’ll have her pack some for your men.” He pushed his chair back and rose. “I’m sorry to seem rude, but I promised my wife I’d spend time with the children tonight. Duty calls.” He shook Bishop’s hand and hugged Emilio. “If there is anything else you need, just ask.” He left them in the dining room.
Bishop finished his food and waited as the maid cleared the table. Emilio wore a heavy scowl. “The trip was for nothing.”
“No it wasn’t. We can use this information to hurt your enemies. And if we need more weapons, we know where to ask.”
The maid reappeared with a cardboard box laden with plastic food containers. Bishop thanked her and carried the food out to the truck. He managed to stow it on the back seat before the slobbering dogs reappeared. He pushed them off and climbed back into the cab. “So what’s the go, Emilio, you and Ramirez family or something?”
The rancher started the truck and drove them back to the guardhouse. “He’s my nephew. He was a good boy, and then he married the daughter of a Sinaloa Lieutenant. I have not spoken to him since.” He lowered his window and took Bishop’s Beretta from the guards.
“That piece of information might have been useful prior to the meeting,” Bishop said as he slipped the weapon back into its holster.
“You didn’t ask.” Emilio turned on the Bronco’s headlights, drove through the gate, and accelerated down the track.
Bishop pulled out his iPRIMAL and wrote a few notes. Tomorrow would be a big day. In between babysitting the farmers and working out how to deal with the police chief, he’d investigate the Chaquetas’ farming operation outside Nueva Piedras.
***
Pershing tossed his satellite phone on the car seat next to him and rubbed at his temples. It was long after sunset and Howard and his intel team were still no closer to identifying who was helping the Mexicans. The only good news from the fat bastard was the availability of a Predator. The drone would spend a few hours over the Veda ranch later tonight. Hopefully it would give him some insight into who was there. Not that it mattered. His army would crush them regardless.
His driver flicked on the indicator, and a moment later pulled the Chevy off the road into a gas station. They drove past the brightly lit service center and parked next to a silver SUV. Burro got out of the front passenger seat and walked around to the other car. A moment later he opened Pershing’s rear door and Felipe Guzman peered in.
“So now you whistle and I come running,” Chihuahua’s chief of police snapped.
“You’re the one who didn’t want to talk on the phone. Now, quit your squawking and get in.”
The senior police officer climbed in and pulled the door shut.
Pershing tossed an envelope into his lap.
“What’s this for?” He pocketed the cash.
“It’s for the SWAT team you’re going to lend me for the Veda ranch tomorrow morning.”
“SWAT? What the hell are you talking about? I’ve given you police officers already.”
“I need tactical operators not donut-munching dimwits. I need your SWAT team first thing in the morning. If you’ve got an armored car, they’re going to want that as well.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” He tossed the money back in Pershing’s lap and grabbed the door handle.
“I lost four of my boys at the ranch today,” Pershing said as he gripped the policeman’s arm. “These farmers are running a goddamn illegal militia on your turf. They’ve got mercenaries training them, and now they’ve got automatic weapons.”
Felipe shrugged. “I don’t give a fuck. The more criminals you get killed the better.”
“The guys we’re up against will close the mine. You know what that would mean.”
“What?”
“The gold dries up and there’s no more cash. My people aren’t gonna keep funding that fancy lifestyle of yours, Felipe.”
The chief slid back into the seat and held out his hand. Pershing handed him the envelope. “How many men do you need?”
“At least twenty.”
“They’ll be there. But…”
“But what?”
“I want a cut of whatever you’re doing out at Nueva Piedras.”
“Come again?”
“You’re not the only one with good intel. I don’t want to know what you’re doing, I just want a small cut. In return I’ll make sure my people stay well clear.”
“I just gave you fifty grand, Felipe.” He contemplated the offer. “I tell you what; your boys show up tomorrow and help me capture the mercs, then I’ll consider doubling it.”
“My men will be there. You just remember who runs this town,” the police chief said as he got out.
Pershing waited for him to drive off and Burro jumped back into the Chevy. They were ten minutes down the road when he finally asked the question he’d been pondering. “Burro, hypothetically speaking, how much would it cost to have that greedy son-of-a-bitch killed?”
The lieutenant grinned at him in the mirror. “I’d take care of him for free, Mr. Pershing. You want me to make it happen?”
He shook his head. “No, he’s still useful. For now.”
CHAPTER 28
Bishop’s eyes flashed open and he sniffed. The smell drifting into the living room was delightful. He unraveled himself from a blanket and stumbled to his feet. He groaned, every inch of his body seemed to ache. Glancing out through the windows he saw it was still dark. There was still a faint flicker from the smoldering dozer. He noticed Mitch and Mirza’s sleeping bags were al
ready rolled up. He walked into the kitchen.
Emilio was sitting at the table with a mug of coffee in his hands. Pablo was in front of the stove, stirring the pot that had to be the source of the amazing smell.
He pulled a chair out from the table. “What’s cooking?”
“Huevos a la Mexicana,” said Emilio.
“Eggs Mexican?” guessed Bishop.
“Very good.” Emilio poured him a mug of black coffee. “Your friends are outside.”
Pablo put a plate of food in front of him. Bishop guessed why they were called Mexicana. The green bell peppers, tomatoes, and eggs represented the colors of the national flag. “Have they eaten?” he asked.
Emilio nodded. “They didn’t want to wake you.”
“Any luck convincing our friend to leave?”
He shook his head. “He says you will defeat the narcos. His sons are outside practicing with their new AKs.”
“They’re going to come back in force, Emilio. We won’t be able to stop them, even with extra guns.”
The rancher nodded. “I know. But, we can try.”
Bishop quickly devoured the plate of food, strapped on his chest rig, and grabbed his Tavor assault rifle. He noticed three of the SMAW-D rockets they’d recovered from the cartel were gone. Mitch and Mirza would have taken them to their overwatch position. He placed the remaining launcher next to the door.
“Gracias,” he said to Pablo and stepped out into the darkness. He walked between the trucks, past a corral, and up a ridgeline. The moon was still above the horizon and it cast a silver light across the ground. As his eyes adjusted he moved faster, climbing quickly. When he arrived at the crest he stood silently, turning his head as he searched for the pair.
“Morning, Bish!”
He snapped his head in the direction of Mitch’s voice. It had come from only a few feet in front of him. He gave a grunt as he crouched next to where his two comrades were sitting. Their camouflage made them almost invisible. “You guys enjoying the view?”
“Just keeping an eye on things,” said Mirza.
“How long was the Pred on station?” Bishop asked Mitch as he took a seat.
“Two hours. Wouldn’t have seen much. Just the vehicles.”
“Good stuff, anything from the ground sensors?”
“No mate, all clear at the moment.”
“Mirza, how did the training go?”
“I took them through the rifles and the machine gun. They’re eager, but there’s only so much I can do in a few hours.”
“Yeah, thanks anyway.”
They sat enjoying the silence for a few minutes. There were still stars in the sky, but a faint glow on the horizon meant dawn was not far away.
Bishop broke the silence. “We need to be prepared to remove the farmer and his boys, by force if required.” He paused. “I really didn’t want it to come to this.”
“None of us did, Bish,” said Mirza.
There was a red flash from the tablet at Mitch’s feet and he picked it up.
“What is it?” asked Bishop.
“One of the sensors is going off its tits. I think it might be faulty.” His fingers danced over the screen. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding.” He passed the tablet across to Bishop. Mirza leaned over his shoulder.
The screen showed a still from the tiny infrared camera Mitch had strapped to a fence post three miles down the road. It was another bulldozer. Steel plate had been welded on all sides of the earthmover. Now it was a mobile pillbox.
“Faaaaark!” exclaimed Bishop. “We don’t have the firepower to take that down. The rockets we captured aren’t even going to dent it.” The SMAW-D rockets had thermobaric warheads designed for bunker-busting; they were not armor-piercing.
“It gets worse.” Mitch showed another photo, this time of an armored dump truck bristling with rifle barrels.
“We need to pull out,” said Bishop. “Send those images to my iPRIMAL. I’ll show them to Pablo.”
“Mitch and I’ll cover you,” Mirza said. “If we can’t stop them we’ll withdraw back to the farm.” He cupped a hand to his ear. “You hear that?”
In the distance they heard the clanking of the dozer.
“We’ve got twenty minutes till dawn,” said Mirza.
“We’ll be gone in ten.” Bishop skidded down the slope back to the farmhouse.
***
Pershing had his driver pull over in the cover of a small ridge, two thousand yards from the farm. He was not going to make the same mistake twice. When his blitzkrieg was underway he planned to walk up the rise and observe through a pair of binoculars. “Any of you gentlemen want a coffee?” he asked Burro and the police tactical commander.
The two men were eyeing each other off like a pair of junkyard dogs. It would have amused Pershing had he not needed them to work together to clear the ranch. He had his armored vehicles ready to go as well as the two police pickups jammed with SWAT operators. All he was waiting for were his buggies.
“Yeah, Mr. Pershing.” said Burro.
The police officer shook his head. “My boys can have this wrapped up in half an hour if you let us go now.”
“Patience.” He stamped coffee into the press and prepared an espresso for Burro. “You’re not dealing with dirt-poor autodefensa, these people have professional help.”
The officer adjusted his thigh holster. “How do you mean?”
Burro took his cup. “They’ve killed a fair few of my men, hombre.”
“That wouldn’t be very hard, would it?”
Pershing finished another pour and took a sip. “Gentlemen, gentlemen. We’re all friends here. All of you are getting paid. There’s plenty of money and plenty of killing to go around.” He savored the freshly brewed espresso shot. “There’s no change to the plan. Burro and his boys will punch in with the dozer and the dumper. They will draw fire and suppress. Then SWAT will move through from the flank and clean up whoever’s left. We’ll use the buggies to cut off any squirters.”
The policeman thumped his chest plate with his fist. “My men should go behind the dozer. We won’t need your fire support.”
“You may well not. But it’s better to be safe than sorry, and while I’m paying the bills, I get to make the plans.” He smiled. “That clear?” He turned to Burro. “Where the hell are those buggies, son?”
“They’ll be here soon. We should start without them, before it gets too light.”
Pershing considered the suggestion. The longer they waited the more likely the occupants of the farm would be ready and waiting. “OK, let’s go.”
Burro issued a command into his radio and the dozer started clanking forward. The armored dump truck filled with Black Jackets crunched though its gears as it followed. The police pickups waited for their commander then moved off to the flank.
Behind, Pershing heard the throaty roar of the V8 dune buggies. He smiled as he walked up the rise, his plan was coming together.
***
Bishop bolted down the hill. He leaped over rocks, skidded in the scree, and fell three times before reaching the bottom. Sprinting across the field to the house he burst in through the back door. The kitchen was empty. He pushed open the door to the living area. The farmer and his sons were crouched behind the smashed-out windows. The AKs taken from the dead cartel men were held ready.
“They are coming,” said Emilio. He was covering the other set of windows with Miguel and Gerardo.
“Yes, and this time we can’t stop them. We need to go.” He held up his iPRIMAL and showed them the photo of the armored bulldozer.
Emilio translated for the pig-headed rancher. Pablo looked at the screen, mumbled something, and shook his head. He aimed his AK back out the window.
“He will not leave. He says you can blow it up again.”
“Then Pablo is going to die here with his sons.”
The clanking of the dozer was audible now along with the roar of its powerful diesel engine. Bishop glanced out the window. Dawn was u
pon them, the sun rising directly behind the beast as it trundled closer. He thumbed the transmit button on the side of his rifle. “Hit them with everything you’ve got.”
The telltale thunk of a high-explosive round from Mitch’s PAW-20 echoed off the mountains. Pablo looked out the window eagerly and watched as the grenades slammed into the dozer, obscuring it in dust and flame. The men in the house cheered. But, the dust settled and the armored tractor still approached.
“Bish, we’re taking fire,” Mirza transmitted. There was a roar as one of the rockets they’d taken from the dead gunmen streaked down from the hillside and slammed into the dozer. Another two rockets streaked through the air, this time hitting the armored dump truck. The heavy beast shrugged off the blows and lumbered on. Mitch and Mirza had expended their entire HE arsenal without stopping either of the homemade tanks.
Bishop fought the urge to fire at the earthmover. He knew the bullets would be wasted. As he aimed, the dump truck moved out from behind it and accelerated forward. When it was a hundred yards away it turned broadside to the house. The side of the truck bristled with rifle barrels.
“Get down!” yelled Bishop as bullets smashed into the building, splintering wood, and shattering glass.
One of the farmer’s sons gave a grunt and fell to the floor. The others cowered as Bishop took a smoke grenade from his vest and flicked it through the open window. Ignoring the cracks of bullets around him, he grabbed the wounded teenager by the collar and dragged him into the kitchen.
“Bish, we’re taking heavy fire. Withdrawing to you,” transmitted Mirza.
“Roger, one of the lads has taken a hit to the chest. He’s in the kitchen. I need you to stabilize him and get everyone in the trucks. Bishop propped the boy against the stone wall. He felt around his back. There was a small exit wound. It was bleeding but not heavily. The kid was lucky; the 7.62mm full metal jacket round had punched clean through.
PRIMAL Reckoning (Book 1 in the Redemption Trilogy, the PRIMAL Series Book 5) Page 22