Off Guard: A clean action adventure book

by Glen Robins

As they ambled through the small town, Riptide informed Collin of the fate of those left in the safehouse of Villahermosa. Collin was in disbelief. “The lady who works with your German friend in Washington says she could see the black smoke from the satellite. No one made it out, except the Federales who torched it.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  “They’re working for the bad guys. If they think they’re going to scare us, they’re wrong. They only pissed us off. We’re more ready than ever for a fight.” The look on his face confirmed what he said.

  He abruptly changed subjects and told Collin to listen close and repeat everything he said. Collin did so faithfully, committing to memory the things he would need to know.

  Riptide was still rattling off the instructions when their gardening truck pulled into a Pemex gas station. Butch headed inside while Jorge prepared to pump gas. Collin clamored quickly out of the back of the truck while Riptide hurried him along. Wearing a hooded sweatshirt pulled down over his forehead, with his hands thrust deep into its pockets, Collin shuffled toward the bathroom. Given the chilly temperature, it was normal attire. Jorge came out of the store, turned a sharp right down the sidewalk, and continued toward a handled door near the end of the concrete building. As he approached the restroom door, a military jeep came barreling into the same gas station, headlamps blazing bright. It pulled up to a stop near the glass doors of the store entrance. Jorge glanced in their direction, but gave no indication that he was bothered by their sudden arrival.

  Two uniformed men jumped out of the vehicle. Two others remained where they were, positioned in the back of the jeep, standing. All four men scanned the area, their heads stopping as if to take note of each person, each vehicle, and every movement. The two from the front seats stomped importantly into the building.

  Collin felt his back straighten and his muscles tighten. He wondered if the soldiers in the jeep had seen him climb out of the back of the truck or not. Butch used a key attached to a loop of barbed wire to open the door. Collin stood outside the door and waited in the shadows. Trying not to act nervous as each second felt warped in a time stretching spool. He leaned against a wall next to the bathroom as casually as he could and kicked a couple of tiny rocks away as he stared at the ground. Something anyone would do when they were bored.

  Less than a minute later, Jorge exited, handing the barbed wire loop to Collin. When Collin emerged from the restroom, the gardener truck was gone. Another man, wearing a blue T-shirt with the words “Either Or” on the front put out his hand for the key, saying in Spanish, “Just what I needed.”

  Following the cue, Collin sauntered straight out the door toward a gold-colored Toyota Corolla that had to be at least fifteen or twenty years old. It was at the pump adjacent to the one vacated by the truck. Banged up and rusty, the hood was up as Collin approached. A man stuck his head out from under the hood and called to Collin, “Hey, hand me the oil. It’s in the front.”

  Collin opened the passenger door, picked up a quart of oil from the floorboard, and walked around the front of the car. On cue, the man under the hood utter the predetermined code in Spanish: “It’s useless. This stupid car eats this stuff like a cow eats grass.”

  Collin responded with the Spanish phrase he’d been told to utter, “We don’t get dream cars here. We get the leftovers.”

  With that, the man said, “Get in the car. We need to go. Now.”

  “What about my bags?”

  “Already loaded in the trunk. Let’s move.”

  As casually as he could, Collin climbed in the back seat. In the glow of the overhead lights, he could see there was another man back there. He was thick and muscular, with his arms folded across his chest. Collin was instantly intimidated, until the man smiled and tilted his head up slightly to greet their new passenger. Collin did likewise, saying nothing.

  The man with the blue shirt sat in the passenger’s seat and slammed the door. The man under the hood got in the driver’s seat and started the car.

  When they were a safe distance from the gas station, the driver spoke. This time in English. “How long they been following you?”

  “The past couple of hours, from what I hear. I didn’t see them because I was asleep in the back of the truck. But the guys told me they’ve just been using different vehicles and keeping a safe distance.”

  “That can’t be good. They’re up to something more than just protecting the local citizenry, that’s for sure.”

  “If you say so. I’ve never been to this part of Mexico, so I don’t know what’s normal and what’s not. I just know they’ve already pulled us over and searched the whole truck.”

  “Didn’t find you, eh?”

  “No. You guys have some clever hiding places.”

  “They’ve come in handy more than once, that’s for sure,” said the passenger in the front seat. Collin hadn’t noticed it as they exchanged the key, but he had sculpted arms that sported tattoos on the biceps. Like the others, he looked to be of Latin American descent and spoke flawless English and Spanish. “We use those all the time to get assets and special equipment in and out of the area.”

  Collin started to ask something, then thought better of it and shut his mouth again.

  “We better hope they don’t pull us over. We’ve got no place to hide you in this thing,” said the driver as he swept his hand in a semicircle around the interior of the car. “No place to hide.”

  As he drove, he checked his mirrors often. He pointed out several more military vehicles roaming the streets of the otherwise quiet town. Something was afoot, no doubt about it.

  The conversation ended and they drove in silence for over three hours, until the forests, farms, and pastures gave way to more structures. Collin spent most of that time asleep again. His weary body and mind took advantage of the downtime.

  The buildings started getting closer together and houses and apartments and gas stations began to appear more frequently. They all looked aged but cared for. These were the humble alpine hamlets that lay along the fringes of Mexico City, high in the mountains. A crescent moon hung overhead, casting its pale light over the little town and the towering mountains surrounding it. The driver pulled into a parking area in front of a low-lying building with a disheveled red-tile roof and cream-colored adobe walls. Unimpressive and poorly lit, this is where they stopped to get some rest. A shabby motel on a poorly maintained road on the outskirts of the small town of San Martin Texmelucan, Mexico. Collin shrugged. It was par for the course these days.

  Checking his watch, he was surprised that it was almost two in the morning. Three hours crammed in the back of a Corolla had gone by quicker than he expected.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  San Martin Texmelucan, Mexico

  June 18, 2:04 a.m. Local Time

  As the three men unloaded the items from the trunk of the Corolla, Collin’s phone started ringing. Only one person it could be. “Lukas, what’s up? You do realize what time it is, don’t you? What makes you think I’m not asleep?” Collin spoke in a low tone, just above a whisper.

  “Because I can see you moving. Listen, we’ve got a trace on the phone Penh used to call you when you were on the boat, thanks to the data on the satellite phone. I need you to do something right now. You ready?”

  Collin walked into the dimly lit motel room, trying not to wake up anyone in the adjacent rooms. “You bet. What do you need?”

  Lukas proceeded to walk Collin through the steps of installing an app on his phone, explaining that it was a tracking app. When the installation finished, a blinking red dot appeared on the screen, surrounded by a map showing names of streets and buildings. Most of them were very long names, but familiar. Collin adjusted his eyes. “Is that what I think it is? Is that Hawaii?”

  “Yeah, he just landed in Honolulu, presumably to refuel. He’s on his way to Mexico City. The rendezvous is happening, probably in the next twenty-four hours. Expect a call from him very soon.”

  “What do I tell
him? What do I do?”

  “He’ll have instructions for you, I’m sure. He needs you, so he’s not going to hurt you.”

  “Needs me? For what?”

  “I’m only guessing here, but I’d have to say he wants his thirty million dollars back,” Lukas said, mimicking Collin’s usual sarcasm.

  “Oh, yeah, right. Almost forgot about that. Seems he’s still upset that his insurance company had to pay a claim.”

  “I’d also guess that he’s running short on funds. From what my team and I have gathered over the past few days, he’s had to line a lot of pockets and buy a lot of influence lately. He’s got a substantial network of people working for him and his sources for stealing funds have run dry since the RBS thing. The banks have really beefed up their cybersecurity since then and the world’s governments have been snooping and hunting for him, blocking access to the accounts he is suspected of having set up. I’d say he’s getting desperate and will be coming for you and your money.”

  “That’s really great news. What other cheery updates have you got for me?”

  Lukas sighed. “You already know about the safe house in Villahermosa, I presume?”

  “Yeah, I heard. How many were there?”

  “Four.”

  “The pilot, too?”

  “I’m afraid so.” Lukas paused. “We have people and a plan in place to keep you safe, so don’t worry.”

  “How are you going to manage that? In Mexico?”

  “I’ve been working on this for quite some time. My whole team has. Trust me. By the time Penh lands, we’ll have the assets we need in place.”

  “Great, so he’ll come to Mexico to pick me up in his nifty little jet, run me down to Panama to get my money that he thinks is his, get me to use my fingerprint or retina scan to unlock the computer, then kill me?”

  “It’s more complex than that now. But . . . essentially you’re right. Once he gets the money and gets into the hard drive, he can figure out how to access data on the NSA network. That may be just as important to the people he has enlisted in his cause as the money. Don’t get me wrong. They’re all a bunch of greedy slime balls, but the people he’s working with want more than just money. Gaining access to our top-secret data, especially defense-related information, is even more important to them, I’m sure. But since he needs you to physically remove the money from the bank, we have leverage on him.”

  “So he’ll keep me around long enough for me to give him back the money, then he’ll dump my body in the ocean or something, right?”

  “We’re not going to let that happen, so don’t think that way.”

  “Why do I hear so much background noise, Lukas? How are you going to keep me safe if you’re not at your post doing what you do? I can’t do this stuff without your help.”

  “I’m at my post, just not in my office at the moment. I’ve got a few things I have to take care of. The game has changed now that they’ve killed our men. I have to play it differently.”

  Neither one said anything for a long moment. Collin, lost in thought, had no words. Lukas, as always, seemed to have multiple balls to juggle. Collin could hear a steady droning sound and key tapping in the background.

  “Collin, one more thing you should know, just so you don’t go in thinking the wrong thing. They’ve got Rob. He’s on his way to Mexico City, as well. They’re going to use him as leverage, so be prepared for that. You and the team are going to need to be extremely cautious.”

  Collin inhaled loudly and held it. A few seconds later, he let it go. “Oh, that’s just terrific. What am I supposed to do? They’ll kill him if I don’t give them what they want. If I do give it to them, they’ll kill us both. There’s no way to win here. No way . . .”

  “You’ll win. I’m working on the details of how, but you will win. You just need to stall as long as possible. Give our team enough time to set up the trap we’re working on.”

  “A trap?”

  “Yeah, I don’t have time to explain the details, but Penh expects this to go down a certain way and we’re going to catch him off guard and shock the hell out of him.”

  ****

  Collin ended the call. All eyes in the room were on him. “Seems things are happening very quickly around here. Pho Nam Penh is on his way to Mexico right now.” He scanned the faces of the other three men for understanding. All nodded knowingly, confidently.

  Before anyone could speak, the driver’s phone went off. He responded in short clipped phrases. When he was finished, he sat on the edge of one of the beds and explained that the call was from the leader of a team that had just arrived from Guadalajara. They would work together to coordinate security and protect the civilians involved, namely Collin and Rob. He looked Collin in the eye and said, “Things could get dicey. You ready?”

  ****

  Motel room on the outskirts of Mexico City

  June 18, 2:16 a.m. Local Time

  A knock came at the door. It was a forceful knock, the kind that authorities use when they mean business. Butch recognized the knock, as did the others. Riptide was the only one asleep before the knocking. He bolted straight up, instantly alert. Butch hunched over his computer at the little desk. Jorge sat on one of the beds, cleaning his firearm. They looked at each other, giving eye signals and hand gestures before moving into place quickly but noiselessly. By the time the second set of knocks came, each man stood or laid in position to do their part if things turned ugly. Weapons were hidden but accessible.

  Butch took one last glance around the cramped, dim motel room. He got thumbs-up from each. Riptide lay stretched out on the bed farthest from the door. Jorge sat at the edge of the bed, as if he’d been woken from a deep sleep.

  Butch opened the door hesitantly and peered through the crack. “Quién es?”

  In Spanish, the reply came: “It’s the Federal police. Please open the door.”

  Butch opened the door farther but remained cautious. “What is it? How can we help?”

  “We are searching for a man believed to be an enemy to the country. Open the door so we can inspect your room.”

  Butch unlatched the chain and let the four officers enter. Three of them quickly canvassed the room, checking the shower, the closet, and under the beds. The leader eyed Butch suspiciously. He ordered the one closest to the bathroom to check the window. The officer grunted as he tried to slide the window open. After several attempts, he was only able to open it a few inches before it jammed. Unable to even stick his head outside, it became obvious that no one had escaped through the window.

  The ranking officer then pulled out a photograph and held it in front of Butch. “Have you seen this man?”

  “No,” said Butch. “Who is he?”

  “An American that has entered our country illegally. He is wanted for a conspiracy to assassinate our president.”

  “A conspiracy? To kill the president? Let me have another look.” Butch examined the photo intensely, then passed it to his teammates. Each man studied the photo for a few seconds, shaking his head in turn. “We have not seen him, but if we do, we shall report it to the proper officials right away.”

  “No!” barked the commander. “You shall report him to me. I am responsible for his capture.” Sensing, perhaps, the alarm in his own voice, he softened his tone and added, “I must succeed at this task that has been given to me. Please, call me directly.” With a tight-lipped smile under his full mustache, the commander handed Butch a business card. He took a step back and clicked his heels. His men filed out the door and climbed into the truck.

  As the engine roared to life, the three Mexican-American operatives looked at each other in stunned silence. After the military truck pulled out of the parking lot, Butch dug his phone out of his pocket and tapped the screen to make a call. “The Federales were just here. They’re looking for him. Pretty intense about it, too.” He listened for a moment, then added, “They seem to be a hired hit squad. The commander was adamant that I call him and only him if I were to see o
ur guy there. My bet? You should expect a visit.” Another pause. “It may have been random, but I doubt it. It seemed more targeted, which tells me they’re following the signal from the two laptops. It’s possible they’ve been watching you guys since the gas station. It’s time for Plan B.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  San Martin Texmelucan, Mexico

  June 18, 2:18 p.m. Local Time

  The driver, whom the other two passengers in the car called “Jefe,” pressed the phone to his ear and turned toward the wall. He spoke too fast and too low for Collin to discern exactly what was said. But he knew there was something serious and that it was not good. The man pulled the phone away from his ear and tapped the screen.

  Snapping his fingers, he ordered everyone to listen. “We have a situation. The Federales just searched Butch’s room, looking for our man here. This is where Plan B kicks in. Freddie”—he pointed at the man who had been in the passenger’s seat— “get the kit ready. You”—he pointed at Collin— “grab your things. Do you have any camo?”

  Collin hesitated, shaking his head as he thought as fast as he could. “Uh, no,” he said after he realized how woefully ill-prepared he was for anything beyond a ride in the car. He had his college-student-style backpack that had two changes of clothes, three sets of colored contact lenses, a couple of baseball caps, sunglasses, regular glasses, and his toiletry bag. He also had a computer bag, with the laptop, the satellite phone, a GPS unit, a dozen passports, a set of prosthetic teeth, and a pair of sandals.

  Watching Collin’s eyes rake over his sparse belongings, he said, “Leave the laptop with me. They must be tracking you with it and tracking Butch with the cloned one. So leave it here and we’ll take care of it.”

  Freddie jumped up and headed out to the car. He pulled a knapsack out of the trunk and, stepping back through the doorway, threw it on the bed next to Collin. It was made of desert camouflage material. Sturdy but lightweight. Pulling items out one at a time, he described each in turn. “Listen up. You’ve got a nine millimeter, two mags ready to go, a standard-issue buck knife, binoculars, first aid kit complete with antivenom in case of a snake bite, six MREs, three liters of water, water filtration, personal hygiene pack, toilet paper and shovel, face paint, GPS, paper map, compass, flashlight with extra batteries, wool cap, GORE-TEX camo gloves, and desert camouflage fatigues—large.”