Off Guard: A clean action adventure book

by Glen Robins

  Collin took it all in. As he watched each item come out and get tossed to the side, he visualized its use. It was interesting to him that the guy just assumed he knew how to use that 9mm handgun. Oh, well. He’d figure it out if he really needed to. It looked easy enough on TV and in the movies.

  The kit was fairly complete for someone about to take a hike for several days. That thought intrigued him. Plan B was a hike, eh? Noticeably missing was footwear. Whoever put this kit together must have assumed the person who would be using it was smart enough to already be wearing, or at least own, sensible footwear for such a journey. A quick survey of the other men’s shoes revealed just such sensible footwear. Each wore some variation of boot, either military-style or rugged hiking boots. His feet, however, were clad in a pair of lightweight black nylon athletic shoes—not the ideal things to wear in the rugged mountain terrain that surrounded Mexico City, or anywhere other than the street or a well-groomed running path.

  “You look to be in decent shape, so we’re going to drop you off up the road a ways and you’re going to hike to the next meeting place while we and the other teams secure the perimeter,” said Jefe.

  Collin had no idea what exactly the man was saying. Where was the perimeter and how would they secure it? And, most importantly, where was this next meeting place? He began piecing Plan B together, even without an explicit explanation. It seemed that everyone assumed Collin was in on Plan B, so now it would be just a matter of executing that plan. Not wanting to seem like an idiot, Collin just listened closely and continued to build the visual in his head.

  Freddie unfolded the map and studied it for a moment. With a ballpoint pen, he circled a spot along Highway 150D to the southeast of Mexico City. “This is where we’ll drop you off, right here in Rio Frio de Juarez.” He drew another circle around an intersection of two small roads in the mountains northwest of that location. The map showed a mix of green and tan, indicating thinly forested, dry land. “Here’s where we’re going to pick you up at twenty-two hundred hours,” Freddie said, tapping the spot. That’s approximately thirty miles, so you won’t have much time to rest. We’re at almost ten thousand feet here. This mountain here, this peak is over thirteen thousand feet. You don’t need to go over the summit, but you’ll be up pretty high going over the shoulder—here,” he said as he pointed to another spot with his pen. “That elevation gain is going to slow you down, but remember, we have no time to lose, so you’re going to have to keep moving.”

  The big guy from the back seat of the car approached and started helping Freddie repack the contents they had just inventoried. “You good? Know where we’re going to rendezvous and when?”

  Collin nodded his head, trying to keep his eyes from growing too large or glassing over. He wanted these guys to know, or at least think, that he was just like one of them. Apparently, that was their understanding and he didn’t want to change that. “I’m good, but what happens at twenty-two hundred hours? Why can’t I have more time? I mean, that’s a long way to go. Why is it so tight?”

  The three men exchanged furtive glances. Jefe leaned in, looking at the map, then at Collin. “Our intel tells us that your man, Penh, will be meeting with some big dogs here,” he said, pointing at a spot in the northwest corner of the city, “at midnight. That will just barely give us enough time to get you prepped for the next phase.”

  “Right. And, I presume, that meeting includes me?” asked Collin.

  “That’s what we hear. They plan to launch some big cyberoffensive at midnight and expect you to be there with your computer to watch it happen,” said Jefe, again putting his finger at the spot on the map. “This is also where they will be taking your friend.”

  Collin’s eyebrows shot upward and he sucked in a breath. He held it for a moment while that information rattled around in his brain. “You know what that means? They’re going to set me up for this, right after they take everything I have and right before they kill me.” His eyes darted from one face to another as he spoke, confirming that they had the same understanding.

  “You’ve got no time to lose,” said Jefe, checking his watch. “Let’s load up and head out. Once we drop you off, you’ll want to make your way into the hills using your GPS unit. I’ve punched in your coordinates for the rendezvous point, so you should be good to go.”

  Again, Collin nodded his head. “Got it.”

  It had been years since he’d done any backpacking. Not since he was a Boy Scout in his midteens. He couldn’t remember the last time he was this high in the mountains and wondered if he’d be able to breathe.

  Already doing the math, he realized that he would have to average at least two miles per hour while he was in motion. That would give him very little time to rest—maybe a total of an hour or two. He sucked in another deep breath and nodded again.

  Grabbing the pack by the straps and hefting out the door, he said, “All right. Let’s get going.”

  “Drink up, first,” called the big guy who had occupied the back seat with him, pointing at the sink. “You’re going to need all the hydration you can get. Camel up now so you don’t have to use up your supply and spend time filtering on the trail.”

  “Good idea,” said Collin. Remembering what he had heard about the water in Mexico when he was younger, he turned and asked, “You sure the water’s OK?”

  “We drink it all the time.”

  Collin shrugged and filled the cheap plastic cup, drained it, filled it again, and drained it two more times.

  Collin and Jefe loaded his pack into the car and headed out. It was a thirty-minute drive to the riverside hamlet of Rio Frio de Juarez, where they exited the highway and took a succession of backstreets until they had climbed uphill on a dirt road at the edge of town, amid tall pine trees and large boulders.

  Without shutting off the engine, Jefe jumped out of the car and helped pull the pack out of the trunk. He gave Collin a few quick reminders about the timeline, about staying away from areas where cougars and bears might be active, and to stay hydrated.

  Collin hoisted the pack onto his back. It probably weighed about thirty-five pounds, not enough to slow him down, really. Keeping up the pretense of being fearless and completely prepared for this, Collin switched on his headlamp, gave two thumbs-up, and strode out into the forest, almost immediately meeting a steep incline.

  His mind was racing with the possibilities and ramifications. Knowing the Federales were hunting him was a scary proposition. Heading out into the mountains was a bit frightening, but not because he was a novice in the wilds. Certain that his training and experience as a youth would serve him well, he didn’t fear being outdoors. But this was an area he was completely unfamiliar with, and he hadn’t spent much time with a map and compass for at least a dozen years. Would he be able to navigate his way to the pick-up spot? What kind of weather would he encounter? Was there wildlife he needed to be afraid of? The snakebite kit packed away brought both terror and comfort. Things swirled around in his head, but he knew he had to focus and keep moving, so he decided not to think too much. Just keeping moving. With nineteen hours to cover thirty miles, that was his main strategy.

  Ten minutes in and he was already feeling the effects of the altitude, so he stopped and checked his GPS. A trail weaved its way up from the bottom of the gulley he was in and headed in the general direction he needed to travel. Blowing out, he huffed as a way to summon his courage. Putting aside his worries about wildlife, terrain, and other hazards, Collin quick-stepped along the dried creek bed and continued his ascent through the rocky, volcanic terrain.

  ****

  San Martin Texmelucan, Mexico

  June 18, 3:23 a.m. Local Time

  Jefe expected the knock on the door, though it came sooner than he and the team had anticipated. Having just returned from his high-speed drop-off of Collin in the mountains half an hour to the north, he didn’t feel as prepared as he would have liked to be. The three men had had enough time to review their lines, but only once. The F
ederales would be easy to handle. They just had to play it cool, like Butch and his team had done. Piece of cake. They knew nothing about the American’s whereabouts and could, therefore, reveal nothing to the police. Nothing to worry about.

  Jefe opened the door timidly after the unmistakable pounding. “Yes, sir, may I help you?” he said in perfect Spanish, widening his eyes and dropping his jaw in mock fear and surprise, pretending to have been woken from a deep slumber.

  The officer in charge puffed out his chest as he pronounced his demands. “You arrived here with a passenger who is wanted in connection with subversion against the government of Mexico. You will bring him to us immediately.”

  Jefe wagged his head and looked shocked. He stammered as he spoke, animating the fear and dismay. “What are talking about, officer? I don’t know anyone like that.”

  “My men saw your car at a gas station earlier tonight. There was a man there with a hooded sweatshirt. He climbed into your car at that gas station. We have surveillance video showing his image. It matches the description of the suspect we seek.”

  Jefe raised his eyebrows as high as he could and shrugged his shoulders in a gesture of innocence and naiveté. “He was a vagabond who only wanted a ride to the city. He offered us money, so we gave him a ride. As soon as we got here, he took off.”

  The officer narrowed his eyes, as if probing Jefe’s innermost soul through his eyes. “Open this door. We will search this room and your car.”

  Jefe cowered in a conciliatory stance. “Of course, officer, please come in. We have nothing to hide,” he said as he took a step back and opened the door wide. He stretched out one arm in a sweeping action. “Be my guest.”

  Freddie and the other passenger stood at quasi-attention, pretending to be frightened. The three military men stormed into the room and checked every square inch in less than thirty seconds. “Nothing,” they each said.

  “Show us the inside of your car, the gold Toyota there,” demanded the lieutenant. Jefe picked up the key from the dresser. He shot his team members a sideways glance that told them to be ready. The soldiers who had inspected the room signaled for them to follow him out to the car. Pinging sounds from the gold Toyota’s still-hot engine seemed to echo in the still night air. Pointing at the trunk, the officer in charge silently ordered Jefe to open it. As he did so, he could hear the sound of boots jogging across the dirt parking lot. He turned as he lifted the lid of the trunk to show its contents. At least a dozen soldiers now stood surrounding the cluster of men at the back of the car.

  Jefe showed the lieutenant the inside of the trunk. Nothing but a few rags, a deflated soccer ball, a pair of old shoes, and a tire iron. The lieutenant reached in and picked up the tire iron. “Show them the picture,” he ordered one of his soldiers.

  Jefe became aware of two men moving very close to him, one directly behind each shoulder. He also saw soldiers taking similar positions behind his team members.

  A young-looking man wearing a freshly pressed uniform stepped forward and displayed a photograph of Collin Cook.

  The lieutenant asked, “Is this the man you brought here?”

  “Yes,” said Jefe, allowing his eyes to give the tire iron a wary glance. In the next few seconds, he would have a decision to make: save the mission or save himself.

  “Where is he?”

  “I do not know, sir,” said Jefe, allowing his voice to express fear. “Like I told you, he took off right after we got here.”

  “Which way did he go?”

  “I think he went to the side of the road to hitchhike. He said he had to go to the city, but he didn’t say anything about where or why.”

  The tire iron came with blinding speed, faster and sooner than he expected, but he began leaning away from it and falling before it crashed into his skull, just above his left ear, reducing the blow to some degree. Everything inside his head exploded as if he’d been struck by thunder. The sound of bone crunching, a blinding flash of light, and intense pain expanded in waves through his skull. Then both sights and sounds turned fuzzy. He felt himself hit the ground, sending fresh waves of agony through his skull and shoulder. His cheek crashed into the dust and gravel. His eyes closed and he lay motionless. A surge of nausea rose and fell, while his body jerked and spasmed uncontrollably in the dirt.

  Above the ringing in his ears, Jefe could hear the scraping and crunching of footsteps and excited movement all around him and knew there was a struggle taking place, though it seemed to be off in the distance somewhere, too far away to reach. He was powerless to do anything to help. Instead, he followed his Special Forces training and fought back the pain and the spinning to focus on what was happening around him, trying to at least maintain situational awareness.

  There were more questions being asked, but he couldn’t comprehend the words. His mind was too cloudy. Loud commanding tones were being used. There was more movement and more demands. The answers coming from his teammates were unintelligible, but he knew from their brevity that his two brave friends had not and would not reveal Collin’s direction or destination.

  The yelling intensified, but the short answers continued. After a marked silence, Jefe heard two soft phht sounds and knew what they were. Shots from a handgun with a silencer on it. Those sounds were followed by the unmistakable thuds of two bodies collapsing to the ground, one after another. Boots crunched against the dirt. Then two more phht sounds and he knew why. First to kill, second to confirm. First shot in the head, second in the heart. Classic, efficient executions.

  Jefe expected to meet a similar fate as the boots approached him. But a squawk from the radio in the truck must have drawn away the men’s attention. Jefe opened his eyes without moving another muscle, just enough to make out what was happening. He watched two sets of boots step over him and pound their way to the open door of the truck.

  A conversation took place and the man in charge summoned his soldiers.

  Several other sets of boots scuffled and scurried in the dirt parking lot. Doors were opened, then slammed shut. There was a cacophony of the thuds from thick rubber soles as they landed on the metal bed of the truck. A powerful engine roared to life. Tires spun as the engine thrummed. Another roar, followed by a screech of tires on pavement and a shower of gritty dirt landing on his face and the open wound above his ear. The noise grew steadily quieter as the engine raced into the distance.

  A warm trickle ran behind his ear and down his neck. His face burned from the abrasions caused by the gravel. The world seemed to be spinning soundlessly all around him. Everything went dark, then came back into focus for a brief moment as he struggled to assess the situation, then it all turned black again.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  San Martin Texmelucan, Mexico

  June 18, 3:31 a.m. Local Time

  When Jefe came to, his only thought was to warn the others. The mission had to succeed because the consequences of failure were too dire. Numbness had replaced the oscillating waves of pain, though the hollow ringing in his ears persisted. Maybe he wasn’t as injured as he originally thought. While attempting to push himself up, the sudden movement caused a sharp shooting pain in his head so severe he almost passed out. Slowing himself down, he crawled on his belly to check on Freddie and the big fella. They were dead, as suspected, but the skin around their necks where he checked their pulses retained much of its normal warmth. A sign that not too much time had passed.

  Because moving his head brought on excruciating pain and nausea, Jefe used his elbows and dragged himself on his stomach, inch by inch, between the beat-up Corolla and an old Chevy pickup truck, both parked directly in front of their hotel room. The door was open and golden light spilled onto the cracked concrete walkway and the dirt parking lot. He dragged his body over the log that delineated the parking lot, across the broken walkway, and into his room. There, right where he’d left it, his phone lay hidden behind the TV. Getting it would require him to stand and he wasn’t sure he could. The chair at the desk served as
a halfway point and crutch. He pushed himself up slowly enough to avoid the wave of nausea, but quickly enough to cause his head to wobble.

  Stretching around the old, boxy, cathode ray tube television set perched on the chest-high dresser, Jefe was able to reach his phone just before the dizziness caused him to collapse in the chair. With the phone clutched in his hand, Jefe steadied himself and surveyed the room. The soldiers had taken everything—their duffle bags, weapons, ammo, and, most notably, Collin’s laptop. He closed his eyes as he fought off the pain and tried to focus. At length, he unlocked the phone’s screen, scrolled to find the last received call, and tapped the icon to place the call. Butch answered on the first ring, sounding almost out of breath. “What’s up?”

  In a ragged, gurgled voice, Jefe answered. “No time to tell you. They came. The Federales. They shot the other two. Took off.” His voice gave out and he had to catch himself on the desk.

  “Son of a bitch,” screamed Butch. “We’re coming to get you now.”

  “No. Call for backup,” mumbled Jefe, between gasping breaths. There were pauses between each word as he struggled to convey the message Butch needed to know. “They got the laptop. Cook will be at rendezvous point B at twenty-two hundred hours. Secure him and continue the mission with the Cabo team.” Jefe mustered the last of his strength to focus on this one mission-critical task. If the runaway American guy didn’t get picked up, it would be game over. Butch had to know that. He was the only hope this mission had for success. Jefe pulled up the map, made a screenshot, and forwarded it to Butch, just to be sure.