Hired to Kill (The Nathan McBride Series Book 7)

by Andrew Peterson

  Harv sounded slightly amused. “I doubt they’ve seen R. Lee Ermey’s performance.”

  Nathan shrugged. “Okay, we can drop the sir part, but the rest stands. Let’s get right to it. Where are the gas grenades?”

  When El Lobo refused to say anything, Nathan backhanded him hard enough to split his lip. “The grenades—where are they?”

  El Lobo spat blood. “You still don’t have any idea who you’re screwing with here.”

  “You mean a two-bit coyote-for-hire?”

  “Oh, I’m much more than that.”

  “I’m sure you believe that, but you’ll soon discover you’re nothing but a miserable little cuss screaming in agony.”

  He turned to Harv. “Since our friend here seems unwilling to cooperate, let’s get a little rough. See if you can find an ice pick in one of the drawers. I’d settle for shish kebab skewers if they’re made of bamboo. I’ll need something to drive them in. Look for a meat tenderizer. Oh, and see if you can locate some ammonia to wake them up after they’ve passed out. While you’re at it, round up a flyswatter. I’m curious to see how well our friends can handle several hundred smacks to their rosy red cheeks.”

  “You got it.”

  Nathan locked eyes and didn’t say anything as Harv began tossing the contents of the kitchen drawers on the floor.

  Tango two announced the sports car had a one-minute ETA, and Vince copied the transmission.

  El Lobo looked left and right.

  “You expecting someone?” asked Nathan. “Quattro? He’s dead.” It wasn’t true, but he wanted his captives to have zero hope.

  El Lobo didn’t say anything.

  “Sorry, there’s no one left. Here’s the deal. I’m going to duct-tape your mouth closed before we begin driving skewers into your flesh. You won’t be allowed to speak for fifteen minutes. The bleeding is minimal, so we’ll have plenty of time. After your first fifteen minutes have passed, I’ll remove the tape and ask you where the grenades are again. You’ll have five seconds to answer. If I think you’re stalling or giving me bullshit, the tape goes back on, and another fifteen-minute period will begin. Time will pass very slowly for you—”

  “I found the shish kebab sticks,” Harv called out. “There’s probably over a hundred of them.”

  “Are they bamboo?”

  “Indeed they are.”

  “Perfect. Did you find a meat tenderizer?”

  “No, but I found a cast-iron skillet. It should work well as a hammer. Do you want me to heat it up? It can cool back down in El Lobo’s lap.”

  “We’ll keep that option open. Bring the equipment in. Tango one, you don’t have to watch this, but please keep an eye on our six while we discuss the location of the grenades with these gentlemen.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” she said.

  Nathan nodded. “Now, where were we? We were talking about time passing slowly. You’ll be amazed how long a single minute can last. If you’d like to know the record, it’s thirteen. We once had a guy hold out for thirteen fifteen-minute periods. He was a drooling basket case by the time he caved, but we got what we wanted.”

  He looked at Harv. “Duct tape, please. We’re going to get started. Mr. Lobo, tell you what . . . Before we do, I think you should know what you’re in for. Maybe you’ll change your mind and tell us where the grenades are. Hand me one skewer and the skillet.”

  Harv stepped forward and extended both items.

  Nathan set the frying pan down and removed his bloodstained Predator knife. As if sharpening a pencil manually, he sculpted the tip of the bamboo to an ultra-fine point, then tested its sharpness with his forefinger. “Nice. Where should we start?” he asked Harv, indicating El Lobo.

  “How about his eyes?” Harv suggested.

  “That’s a good idea, but I want him to see what we’re doing.”

  “His ears?”

  “Then he won’t hear himself screaming. Let’s begin with his quadriceps. Sometimes the skewers break on the first impact, but once they’re an inch or so deep, they’re less likely to snap. I gotta tell you, though, it’s quite unpleasant.” Nathan looked at Alisio. “You’re next. You ready, Mr. Lobo?”

  “You’re crazy . . . ,” said the cartel boss.

  “Certifiable.”

  “Wait,” Alisio said, “I’m sure we can make some kind of deal. I have cash. American cash. Lots of it.”

  “And that cash is here, in the house?”

  “Yes, it’s in the basement. Five million.”

  “That’s a lot of money.” He looked at Harv. “Do we need any cash, partner? Is there something you’ve always wanted to spend five million dollars on?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Seriously? Nothing?”

  Harv shrugged.

  “Well, I guess we don’t need cash.” Nathan placed the tip of the skewer on top of El Lobo’s leg, grabbed the frying pan, and raised his eyebrows. “Well, what’s it going to be? Information or pain?”

  “I think he needs a demo,” Harv said. “I’ll bet he caves within—”

  Vince’s voice interrupted them. “The sports car’s a Porsche. It’s waiting for the electric gate to open. The second vehicle’s an SUV. Shit! The passenger in the SUV’s pointing at the power pole. They’ve spotted Tango one’s C4 charge. We’re blown. They’re racing toward the house. Tangos three and four, maintain perimeter. Don’t let anyone leave! Tango one, I need you out front!”

  “Go,” Nathan said to Sandra. “We’ve got this. Be ready to blow the power. Turn on the hall lights.”

  Without hesitation, she bolted from the room. A few seconds later, the main hallway became bright.

  Nathan continued. “Hotel three, Quattro might have the grenades.”

  “I’ll keep my rounds low.”

  Everyone heard the muffled roar of automatic M4 fire, followed by a smaller-caliber automatic weapon, likely a machine pistol.

  Alisio’s expression changed. “It seems things have taken a turn for the worse for you.”

  Nathan clocked him on the jaw and took a defensive position near the kitchen’s island. From here, he could see down the hall toward the bedroom where they’d confined the women, but he couldn’t see more than halfway down the hall in the other direction. He glanced at Harv. “Cover the hall leading to the front door.”

  Harv repositioned himself.

  Vince cut in again. “I nailed its tires, but the Porsche is still making a beeline for the garage. Tango one, ETA?”

  “Five seconds.”

  More deep-throated M4 gunfire came from out front, then the roar of an engine, followed by machine-pistol fire. Tires screeched briefly, then went quiet. A loud explosion boomed, and Nathan hoped it was Vince’s grenade launcher taking out the SUV.

  “I nailed the SUV with an HE round, but the Porsche made it into the garage. I couldn’t verify the driver’s Quattro.”

  The clatter of machine-pistol fire sounded again, followed by another burst from an M4.

  They heard Vince groan in pain and curse under his breath.

  “Hotel three . . . status?” Nathan asked, his voice low.

  Nothing.

  “Hotel three!”

  “I’m okay. It’s not too bad.”

  Not too bad? Nathan thought.

  What they heard next sounded like deep throaty booms from a large-caliber handgun.

  Three quick shots.

  Then two more handgun reports rang out from a smaller-caliber weapon. And something else: the shots had been fired inside the house, from the direction of the garage.

  “Hotel three, status?”

  “I’m okay. Keep Alisio and El Lobo secure. Tango one, where are you?”

  “I’m on the steps outside the front door. I don’t have eyes on you.”

  “I’m in the landscaping about twenty yards south of the pickup.”

  “Hotel three,” Harv asked, “who fired the large handgun shots?”

  “Unknown; they came from inside the garage. C
ould’ve been Quattro.”

  Nathan looked at their bound guests, who couldn’t hear the radio’s transmissions.

  Despite that, Alisio’s smile widened.

  Don’t worry, Mr. A, Nathan thought. You won’t be smiling for long.

  Vince’s voice sounded strained. “Stay alert in there. I fired an ankle-height salvo under the Porsche, but I have . . . no idea if I nailed Quattro. I need to check the SUV for survivors. Shit, I need a field dressing first. I’m leaking at a pretty good clip.”

  “Where are you hit?”

  “Left hip.”

  “Tango one, we’re good in here,” Nathan said. “Take care of Hotel three.”

  Vince said, “Tango one, divert to the right around the circular driveway and stay in the landscaping. I don’t want you going across open ground with Quattro loose in there.”

  “Copy, on my way. Hang in there, Commander.”

  The lighting in the hallway suddenly went dark.

  The effect was eerie. The only illumination now came from the pool area, which wasn’t much.

  Looking down the hallway, Nathan lowered his NV but didn’t yet see anyone.

  He sensed a presence.

  Malevolent and ugly.

  Time seemed to stretch as something chilling emanated from the hall, a repeating clomp-slide sound of someone limping with a useless leg.

  “Nate, we’ve got company.”

  “I see him.”

  What they saw belonged in a horror movie.

  Shuffling like the undead, a bloody mess materialized in the hall.

  Quattro.

  The man’s right hand held a pistol.

  And his left hand held—

  A gas grenade.

  Nathan focused on the device. Both its safety pins were pulled and looped around Quattro’s trigger finger.

  “Hold your fire,” Nathan whispered to Harv. “The pins are pulled.”

  “Yeah, I’m seeing that, and he’s only got one grenade. We need the others.”

  Quattro kept coming, his right leg nearly useless.

  With a look of pure insanity on his face, the man limped into the living room.

  In full color, he looked even ghastlier.

  The lower half of his body looked like it had been dipped in a vat of red paint. His muscular arms and shaved head were covered with expensive blood-smeared tattoos. Nathan felt it. Evil, in its purest form.

  “Drop your weapons and untie them,” he said in a raspy voice. “We’re leaving.”

  “Or what?” Nathan asked.

  Quattro switched his aim over to Harv, then back.

  “If you shoot one of us,” Harv said, taking a step forward, “the other’s going to drop you where you stand. You’ll be spared a chemical weapon death, but you’ll still be dead.”

  “Don’t come any closer. I’ll drop it. I swear I will!”

  El Lobo smiled and licked his lips. “Well, well, well, Mr. G.I. Joe, what’s it going to be?”

  “Nobody’s leaving,” Nathan said.

  “Then we all die together,” Alisio said. “One big happy family, no?”

  Nathan kept his eyes on Quattro. “Do you honestly think we’re going to let you three just walk out of here? Seriously?”

  Alisio half laughed. “You don’t seem to understand the situation. If you don’t let us go, we all die. Right here, right now.”

  “And that scares you?” Nathan asked.

  Alisio hesitated but recovered quickly. “We’d rather die than go to prison.”

  “Drop your guns and get on the ground!” Quattro yelled.

  “Then what? You shoot us?” Nathan put some pressure on the trigger. “That’s not happening.”

  He wondered if they’d have time to bolt out of the room before being affected by the grenade’s toxin. From what Cantrell had described, there was virtually no chance of that. As soon as the safety handle flew free, the gas spewed immediately. They’d be exposed, no way around it. Even if they held their breaths and tried to run, the microdroplets would nail them.

  “I’ll do it,” Quattro said, his wounded body swaying.

  “If you let go of that grenade, your usefulness is over,” Nathan said. “Guess what happens next: I drive a bullet through that corn mush you call a brain.”

  El Lobo leaned his head back, laughed, and looked at Harv. “And what do you have to say?”

  “Me? I’m just wondering why your sewer rat hasn’t already dropped it. Maybe he doesn’t have the balls.”

  “Don’t make me do it!”

  “He’s full of shit,” Harv said. “Call his bluff.”

  Nathan took a step forward. “No one’s leaving.”

  “Don’t come any closer! I swear I’ll do it!”

  “I’d listen to Quattro if I were you,” Alisio said. “It’s very nasty. Death doesn’t happen quickly.”

  “We’ve seen the demo.”

  “Then you know what it does.”

  “Tell you what—if your sewer rat hands us the grenade and you tell us where the rest of them are, we can all live happily ever after. You three will be in prison, but you’ll be alive. The food’s bad, but I hear you get good dental.” Nathan made an inclusive gesture toward Harv. “At this point, we have nothing to lose. If we drop our weapons, we die. If we don’t drop our weapons, we die. Since death seems to be inevitable, I think we’ll take you two losers with us.”

  That seemed to cause some concern.

  Alisio’s expression changed. “Surely we can work out some kind of deal.”

  Nathan took another step, focusing on Quattro. “Hand me the grenade. I’m done talking.”

  “Easy, Quattro,” El Lobo said. “Calm down, okay? We can find a way out of this. Everyone has their price. We have to find how much these guys want.”

  Nathan frowned and looked at Harv. “Sorry, El Lobo, we’re not for sale.”

  “Last warning!” Quattro yelled. “Put your guns down or I’ll drop it!”

  “Easy, Quattro,” El Lobo said.

  Nathan tried to reason a way out of this and came up short.

  If they tried to run, he had no doubt Quattro would shoot. Maybe only one of them would take a bullet, but Nathan needed to be sure it would be him, not Harv.

  He looked at Harv, and in that instant, they both knew what the other was thinking. Neither of them wanted to survive this knowing the other hadn’t.

  No, they’d die together.

  In English, Nathan said, “Harv, you ready?”

  “I’m okay, Nate. I’m glad we’re going together. I’d always hoped we would.”

  “Me too. It’s been an honor.”

  “Wait!” Alisio shouted. “We can still make a—”

  Too late.

  Nathan pulled the trigger.

  CHAPTER 31

  The bullet slammed through Quattro’s nose. The result spoke for itself. The back of his skull erupted.

  Quattro’s mouth formed an O shape at the instant he crumpled to the wood floor.

  The grenade rolled out of his grasp.

  Nathan’s eyes focused on the safety handle as it cartwheeled through the air.

  “You dumb shit!” Alisio yelled. “You stupid dumb shit!” The cartel boss began thrashing against the tape in a futile effort to free himself.

  Hissing like a punctured can of soda, the grenade spun like a top, ejecting its deadly poison in every direction.

  Nathan covered his eyes, but he felt the micro droplets nail the back of his hand, lips, chin, and neck. Grasping at the weakest straw imaginable, he hoped the face paint would protect him but knew it was wishful thinking.

  Across the kitchen, Harv crouched, also covering his eyes.

  The canister continued its spastic pirouette, then went silent. A thin layer of frost now coated the device. Its discharge hadn’t lasted more than four or five seconds.

  Like honey combined with jasmine, a sweet odor dominated the room. Before he realized he was doing it, Nathan inhaled through his nose, samplin
g the fragrance. He wondered if the chemical engineers added the odor for just that purpose. It didn’t matter. There was no use in holding his breath at this point.

  He and Harv were infected . . . No way around it.

  El Lobo kept thrashing, but he couldn’t get the leverage needed to tear the tape.

  Nathan had the presence of mind to key his radio. “We’re exposed in here. We’re exposed. The toxin’s been released!”

  Vince’s frantic voice came back, “Shit, Nathan, confirm a grenade went off. Confirm. Confirm!”

  “Yes, the WMD’s loose. Get as far away as possible. Go north or south; then turn west into the wind.”

  “All fire teams, you heard him! The ranch house is hot. I repeat, it’s hot! I want a thousand yards between us and that place. We’re taking the truck. Sandra, you’re driving. Let’s move, move, move!”

  Nathan didn’t blame Vince for bugging out. There was nothing anyone could do at this point. He felt his face become flushed and hot.

  Incredible as it seemed, the creation of a twisted chemical engineer was going to kill Harv and him—badly. Their earthly journey ended here, but thousands of innocent lives would be saved, beautiful lives like Lauren’s. He felt some gratification knowing that, but he’d wanted to see Lauren get married and have a family—continue the McBride line. Now, he’d never have the chance.

  In anger, he swung his pistol at a wineglass and had the satisfaction of seeing it destroyed.

  “Nathan, it’s okay,” Harv said. “We did the right thing.”

  Only if the rest of the grenades are contained, he thought.

  Nathan pointed his Sig at Alisio’s face and began to put pressure on the trigger. The man who killed his father was going to die anyway, so why not?

  Why not indeed?

  Harv said something, but the voice seemed far away, like a distant echo.

  Two pounds.

  That’s all the pressure it would take to prompt the Sig’s hammer onto its firing pin, sending a bullet through Alisio’s brain. A fitting end to the murderous criminal secured in the chair.

  Or was it?

  And then everything became clear.

  Suddenly. Plainly. Totally.

  Maybe he’d never fully grasped the power of life and death, or worse, he’d misunderstood his role in it. This man’s life wasn’t in his hands. It was in God’s. Nathan was an instrument of good, not evil. The killing he’d done tonight—and all through his life—had served a purpose, and it hadn’t been to satiate his desire for revenge. Yes, he felt overwhelmed with feelings of hatred and retribution. Who wouldn’t? But if he killed Alisio, would he bask in righteousness? Savor the moral high ground by avenging his father’s murderer? Not likely. He’d regret it, even for the few seconds he had left. Had killing Alisio’s father, at the time it happened, been justified? Maybe, maybe not, but Nathan wasn’t going to repeat history.