The Last Inferno

by Michael Cross

  Chapter Five

  True to my word, and against my better judgment, I’m back in Tucson at an out of the way motel. I made it mostly thanks to Nisha securing me a new Charger, minus the tracking device since Jafi’s old car got shot to shit by Vargas’ men. Temperance had me meet her in the room registered to a Janice West, but I’d bet my last dollar the name is fake. I enter, and she’s already there, sitting behind the desk sipping from a mug of coffee, staring at me over the rim. She sets her mug down and clears her throat.

  “I appreciate you coming, Echo.”

  “I’m only here because dealing with you now will be less irritating than what you’ll do if I don’t deal with you.”

  A small frown touches the corners of her mouth. She takes another drink of coffee and sets her mug down again as I take a seat. She lets a long breath and sits back in her chair, her eyes still on mine.

  “Where did things go so wrong between us?” she asks. “I thought we got off to a good start when we met.”

  “We did,” I respond.

  “What happened?”

  “You compromised my identity and lied to me.”

  She bristles in her seat. “I never lied to you.”

  I roll my eyes. “Don’t play semantics games with me, Temperance,” I hiss. “You deliberately kept me in the dark about your motives. I don’t like being lied to by omission any more than a straight-up lie to my face.”

  She blows a strand of hair that had fallen across her eyes away. “You want me to apologize? Fine. I’m sorry,” she says. “Feel better now?”

  “What do you want?” I grumble. “Why am I here?”

  “Because I need you to deal with Javier Vargas.”

  “Don’t you have other operators you can pester with this?”

  She shrugs. “I need this handled quietly,” she admits. “Discreetly. And since I know you have zero issues going off script, you were the natural choice.”

  I cock my head and look at her for a long moment. She stares back at me, but I can tell it’s taking some effort for her to hold my gaze. She’s being shifty. Shiftier than normal, anyway. And that’s when it hits me.

  “Your bosses at the Tower don’t know about any of this, do they?” I ask.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Do they know you took out McGregor to take control of the cartel?”

  “I’m not controlling the cartel.”

  I flash her a grin. “Maybe not in name,” I reply. “But the fact that you want me to eliminate Vargas tells me you’ve got somebody handpicked to assume leadership. Somebody you can control easily.”

  “It’s regime change,” she offers. “Nothing our country hasn’t been doing for decades.”

  “But what I want to know is whether or not you’re off-script yourself,” I press. “Do your bosses know what you’re up to out here?”

  “Of course they do.”

  I arch an eyebrow at her. She’s good, but even she’s got a tell. In her case, it’s a slight twitch at the corner of her eye. It’s very subtle. If you’ve never been trained to read micro-expressions or pick up on nervous tics, you would miss it. Luckily, I’ve been trained—and trained very well.

  “I told you I don’t like being lied to,” I say firmly.

  “What are you talking…”

  She looks down at the desk and lets her words trail off. She gnaws on her bottom lip nervously. It’s an expression I never thought I’d see on her face. Temperance is somebody who’s more self-assured and self-possessed than I am. I got the impression the woman truly believes she could walk on water if she put her mind to it. This sudden drop in her self-confidence is surprising. And a little gratifying, if I’m being totally honest.

  “Fine. I’m a little bit out of pocket here. Happy?” she grumbles. “And I would appreciate you handling this delicately.”

  “I’m not sure I’m going to be handling this at all,” I fire back. “I never agreed to help you clean up your mess. I just thought I’d come down here to humor you by listening to what you had to say.”

  Her face darkens with frustration. “You really are a massive pain in the ass.”

  “Or I’m just a guy who doesn’t like being jerked around,” I tell her. “So, you can read me into whatever it is you’re really up to, or I can walk.”

  She sits back in her seat and stares at me. I can see the indecision on her face and the debate raging within her. I think I’m starting to understand Temperance a little bit better and why we seem to butt heads so often. We’re a lot alike. It’s an amusing realization. One I probably should have picked up on sooner. Maybe if I had, we could have skipped a lot of the bullshit posturing and stupid games we’re playing.

  Temperance doesn’t trust many people. Maybe nobody except for her wife. And she doesn’t like being cornered or told what to do. She’s far too independent for that. She doesn’t like always coloring inside the lines and does what she feels she has to do to get the job done. She does it by any means necessary and doesn’t like being questioned or second-guessed by anybody.

  In that respect, she and I are the same.

  “What are you smirking at?” she asks.

  “Nothing.”

  She narrows her eyes at me, and I see her level of irritation growing. I pick up the mug of coffee she’d poured for me when I got here and take a drink.

  “I was just realizing why we could never work effectively as a team,” I finally tell her. “And why we’re always clashing.”

  “Please, enlighten me,” she says. “Dazzle me with your brilliant insight.”

  “We’re too much alike,” I say simply. “I just realized how similar our personalities are.”

  “That’s such crap.”

  Even with her dismissal, I can see her thinking. Turning it all over in her mind. Slowly, she looks over at me and purses her lips. But slowly, a gentle smile touches her lips as she realizes I’m right. We’re a lot alike. And she also realizes why she and I can’t be an effective team.

  “Think we can hold it together for this one job?” she asks.

  “Sure. If you tell me what’s really going on instead of trying to give me the edited to hell, PG-13 version.”

  She sighs and nods, her decision made. “Javier is unstable. I wasn’t lying when I said he’s become obsessed with you.”

  “And?”

  “And I’ve helped feed that obsession. The more unstable he gets, the better it is for me. It makes it more likely that I can flip one of his guys,” she goes on. “And after he shot half a dozen of his guys in the face last week, it wasn’t hard to find somebody willing to flip and play ball with me.”

  “So you get a bigger personal cut of the pie?”

  “So I can both better establish my cover identity and fund our operations.”

  “If you say so.”

  “More importantly, the next man up is stable. More logical, less emotional,” she says. “He’s more concerned with the business and economics of running the cartel. And, he’s not as violent.”

  “And I’m guessing he’s also easier to manipulate and control.”

  She chuckles softly. “He’s not as smart as Javier, that’s true,” she tells me. “But we’re also not going to find giant holes in the ground with a hundred bodies in them in a month. So I count that as a nice added win.”

  “Just so I have all this straight in my head, the Tower tasked you with taking out McGregor and assuming control here at the DEA to secure a revenue stream,” I start. “But you cut a side deal with Vargas to secure yourself a little extra personal cash as well. And now that Vargas is off his leash, you want me to take him out so you can install your preferred puppet because you played with fire and don’t want to get burned. That about right?”

  I already know that’s right—I just wanted to rub it in her face and show her that I know how unethical she’s being. And in a field where we destroy careers and assassinate people, that’s saying something. Temperance blows out a loud breath.r />
  “Yeah, that’s about the size of it,” she says. “Now, are you going to do the goddamn job for me or not?”

  “Yeah, I suppose so.”

  “Fabulous.”

  Chapter Six

  If I’m being honest, dealing with Vargas was always on my to-do list. Ever since our confrontation the day I took out McGregor, it was clear that he would continue to be a thorn in my paw until I finally decided to end him. I wasn’t planning on doing it this soon and had intended to see to my personal matters first, but whatever. I’ll do this job then be able to focus on avenging my family without any of these goddamn circus sideshow distractions.

  I still don’t know how I feel about Temperance, to be honest. Although figuring out the reason why we butt heads the way we do has allowed me to see her in a different light, it doesn’t necessarily mean I like or think I can work with the woman. Nor does it mean I can trust her the way I thought I could when we first met. She’s self-serving and will always do what’s in her own best interest first— which doesn’t make for a good relationship between a Case Officer and an operator.

  Part of me thinks she joined the Tower because they offered her a better deal, and she saw the chance for personal enrichment. To my mind, the side deal she cut with Vargas bears that out. I don’t think she joined out of love of country or because she genuinely believes in the mission of the Tower but joined for personal gain as well as perhaps for expediency. Maybe she has her sight set on a higher governmental position once the dust settles here. Who knows?

  All I do know is that Temperance looks out for Temperance first, and everybody else is a distant second. We’re alike in a lot of different ways, but we are so different in others. I, for one, don’t believe I act in self-interest first. My whole life, I’ve put the needs of others before my own. My entire career has been built upon that idea. But not Temperance. She saw the Golden Goose sitting before her and snatched it up.

  Sooner or later, her self-interest is going to conflict with the Tower’s objectives. And when it does, I have no trouble believing that she will put herself first, since that seems to be her default setting. I wonder if her superiors know this about her— or if she’s snowed them all into thinking she’s Team Tower to the bitter end. I wonder if her bosses know that when and if the Tower starts to sink that she’ll be one of the first to abandon ship. And I wonder if they have a plan in place for when they come to that particular fork in the road.

  To my way of thinking, Temperance will eventually need to be dealt with. She can’t be trusted. And if I was running things, I would make sure she gets as little sensitive intel as possible, lest she sell it to the highest bidder on her way out the door.

  She can wait, though. I don’t get the idea she’s an immediate threat. Not so long as her personal money train keeps arriving at the station. For now, I need to focus on taking out the biggest problem on my plate: Javier Vargas. With his money, connections, army of sicario’s, and the reach of his cartel, he can be a real problem for me. And the last thing I want is to catch a bullet in the back because I was laser-focused on my own goals and lost sight of the big picture.

  Which is why I’m sitting atop a rocky hill in Puerto Penasco, otherwise known as Rocky Point in Sonora, Mexico. I raise my binoculars and take a long look at the oceanfront estate belonging to Javier Vargas below me. It’s a large, three-story Spanish style mansion that’s easily ten thousand square feet. It has high walls all done in the same dust color as the house, steeply pitched roofs covered in red clay tiles, and large, rounded arch doorways.

  A long, narrow lap pool sits out back along with a jacuzzi that could easily seat ten. There’s a wooden deck with an outdoor grill and kitchen area and a large table set up for at least eight people. The grounds are landscaped with palm trees and other plants native to the area, and it backs straight up to the sand. Fifty yards and you’ll find yourself splashing around in the warm waters of the Gulf of California.

  It’s a gorgeous house, no question. I could see myself being very happy in a place like that when I eventually retire. Mandy and I used to talk about having a place like this to spend our golden years. Not so grand, obviously, since I don’t make cartel money. But something similar to this.

  The thought of Mandy and the life I could have had— the life I should have had— sends a sharp pain through my heart. It’s a life I’m never going to have. I push the thoughts and feelings away. Letting myself dwell on things isn’t going to help me right now. Right now, I need to focus and plan carefully. Vargas surrounds himself with dangerous men, and although they may not have had the training I have, they can put a bullet in my head as easily as anybody else if I let my focus slip.

  Given the fact that I see eight men with AR-15s near the front gates of the house, I’d say Vargas is home. Temperance’s intel was good. But it also means that there are a whole lot of bodies standing between me and my target. Although I see eight, I would imagine the real number is probably close to double that. Some of his bodyguards will undoubtedly be inside the house.

  Going through the front gate isn’t very feasible. I don’t really want to get into a protracted firefight. Not only would it up my odds of getting shot, getting bogged down in it would give Vargas time to escape. No, if I’m going to get him, I need to do this quickly and quietly.

  But the question is, how?

  As I scan the grounds, it occurs to me. If all of his outside security is focused on the front gate, the rear of the house could be vulnerable. I’m sure he’s got security in place covering the back of the estate too, but maybe not as much. Maybe he thinks an assault from the back isn’t as likely as from the front.

  Staring harder at the rear of the estate, I can see cameras mounted to poles and under the eaves of the house, but he doesn’t have anybody walking those grounds. I won’t bet my life savings on the idea that his guards never patrol the rear, but for whatever reason, the security seems more lax back there, which makes them vulnerable to an amphibious incursion.

  And then I see why. Two little girls, both in neon colored swimsuits, one pink, one blue, come rushing out of the house. I have the idea that he doesn’t want his little girls exposed to the horrors of his world. Doesn’t want those sweet, innocent kids surrounded by men with guns. I get the idea that in his way, he’s trying to be a good father to his children. Not that it makes him any less of a monster. But it’s a wrinkle to the man’s personality I didn’t expect.

  As I watch from a distance, I see them smiling, and though I’m too far away to hear, it looks like they’re laughing together as they jump into the pool. They couldn’t be more than seven or eight years old by the look of them, both with long, dark hair and dusty colored skin turned golden brown by the sun.

  A moment later, Javier Vargas himself comes out onto the deck and sits down with a drink in his hand. He’s sitting in a chair close to the edge of the pool like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He sits back and takes a long drink as the girls splash one another and swim back and forth.

  They’re cute kids. Seeing them jumping into the pool and playing about so free and happy sends that dagger of pain through my heart again. It reminds me of watching Ryan play in the pool in our backyard. I hear the echo of his innocent and joyous laughter ringing in my ears and feel my eyes stinging with fresh tears.

  I take a deep breath, angrily scrubbing them away, and stuff my binoculars back into my pack. I’ve seen enough. I have proof that he’s at his estate, and that’s all I need to put a plan together.

  Javier Vargas is going to die. Knowing he’s got kids in the house just means I’m going to need to be very careful about how I do it.

  Chapter Seven

  Though she answers the video chat request, Justice stares at me on the screen. Her eyes are narrowed, and her jaw is clenched. Then she raises her hand and takes a vicious bite of her Pop-Tart, looking more like a wolf ripping flesh from a fallen caribou than anything.

  “You’re still mad,” I note. A statement
, not a question.

  “How could you tell?”

  I grin. “You’re eating angry.”

  “I am not.”

  I let out a long breath, then take a drink of my coffee. I settle back in my chair and focus on the screen in front of me.

  “I said I was sorry,” I say.

  “A week after the fact.”

  “I was busy trying to recover,” I explain. “I did get shot, you know.”

  “Oh, you did? Who would have thought?” she says in a tone of faux surprise. “Oh wait, I did. I even told you that you were going to get yourself shot.”

  “Well technically, you said I’d get myself killed, and I only got shot,” I correct her. “Sitting here before you on this computer screen is proof that I didn’t actually get myself killed.”

  She huffs and takes another bite of her Pop-Tart, grumbling under her breath as she chews on it. She’s pissed at me because I was indisposed and unable to contact her for a few days after Vargas shot me out on that highway. When I was finally able to contact her, she lit me up like a Christmas tree— and she hasn’t let me live it down since. Not one minute.

  “Once again, I’m sorry, Justice,” I sigh. “I was in and out of consciousness, fighting an infection, and recovering from a gunshot wound, but I should have found a way to call you. I apologize from the bottom of my heart.”

  She crams the last half of her Pop-Tart into her mouth and chews noisily. Disturbing sounds that definitely remind me of animals ripping flesh off a bloody carcass filter through the speakers, making me chuckle at her. She washes her breakfast down with a long swallow of milk, then wipes her mouth and stares at me.

  “You really are a pain in the ass, you know,” she says.

  “Yeah, so I keep hearing,” I respond.

  “I was worried about you.”

  “I know. And I’m sorry,” I tell her sincerely. “If I had a way of contacting you, I would have. But I was pretty indisposed.”

  She sighs and sits back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. “Fine. Apology accepted.”