Retribution

by Brent Towns

  Salazar tensed, and his eyes flicked to the rear vision mirror as he watched it start to recede into the distance. It kept going. Fifty yards, a hundred, one-fifty, two-hundred, then the brake-lights came on, and it did a U-turn.

  “Mierda!” he spat caustically. “Shit!”

  The green glow on the sicario’s face changed to red and blue when the cruiser’s rooftop light bar started to flash, the reflection from the mirror beaming it onto his skin.

  Salazar’s mind began to work overtime as he tried to figure out what to do. Then he saw an alley up ahead on the right and turned into it. He parked far enough along so the trooper would pull his car in behind and be out of sight from the street.

  The sicario reached inside his jacket and took out a silenced FN Five-Seven handgun and lay it by his thigh. Then he waited.

  The car pulled in behind Salazar and did exactly as he hoped. The glare of the headlights filled the mirror, and he could just make out the trooper who got out of his vehicle.

  The officer rested his hand on his holstered sidearm and approached the driver’s side door with cautious steps.

  Salazar rolled down his window and looked up at the mustachioed man who stared down at him. He gave him his best smile and said, “Evening, officer. Did I do something wrong?”

  The trooper eyed him suspiciously. Maybe because Salazar was a Mexican driving around the streets of Retribution in the dark, or maybe because of the recent trouble with the cartels. The trooper shook his head. “Nope, just routine, can I see your driver’s license, please?”

  “Sure.”

  Salazar reached slowly into his pocket and withdrew the fake license. He passed it over, and the officer held it up to the light provided by his own vehicle’s headlights. The trooper muttered something and reached down to get his small light to shine it on the license.

  He examined it, and then shone the light on Salazar’s face. “What brings you to Redemption, Mr. Gonzalez?”

  “I am passing through to Tucson, officer. I have a seminar on irrigation systems.”

  Behind the glaring light, the trooper raised his eyebrows. “In the desert.”

  “Where else would you need water if not the desert?”

  The trooper handed the license back. “You’ve got a point there. Have a safe trip, sir. Remember, when traveling at night, if you get tired, pull over and have a rest.”

  Salazar smiled. “I’ll do that.”

  That was it. The trooper turned and went back to his car.

  Salazar watched him go all the way back and climb into the car. It then reversed and disappeared.

  The sicario placed the Five-Seven on the passenger seat and slipped the SUV into reverse. He backed all the way to the mouth of the alley and out onto the street. He reached down to place the vehicle into drive when a gun came in through the still open window and its hard barrel pressed against his head. A voice hissed, “Turn the engine off, asshole, and get the fuck out of the car!”

  The cell in Ferrero’s pocket buzzed, and he cursed at it. He reached down without taking his eyes from the live feed before him and pulled the accursed culprit from his pocket. He felt for the answer button with his thumb and raised it to his ear. “Ferrero.”

  Still, his eyes never left the live feed, but they changed, grew harder, his jaw set firm. Then, “Thanks.”

  Ferrero dumped his headset on the desk where he stood, turned away from the monitor and swore, “Shit! Fuck!”

  “What is it?” Horton asked.

  Ferrero had already started towards the door when he said, “Take over, Rich. A young trooper just pulled Salazar over in an SUV not far from here. They want us to take a look. Apparently, he’s on routine patrol, and he’s the only cop in town. They haven’t manned the sheriff’s office yet. All this shit going on in Retribution, and the dumb bastards only have one trooper holding down the fort.”

  “Wait, Luis. You’re needed here. Let me go. I can take care of it.”

  Ferrero stopped, thought about it, and then nodded. “OK. All yours.”

  Horton singled out his men and snapped, “You three, on me.”

  “Zero? Reaper One. Am about to breach. Out,” the voice was hushed.

  Ferrero hurried back to the desk, replaced the headset and said, “Copy, Reaper One.”

  “I said get out of the fucking car!”

  “Easy, officer,” Salazar cautioned him. “I don’t know who you think I am, but I can assure you, I’m not him.”

  “Bullshit! You’re Cesar Salazar. I know who you are.”

  The sicario thought about reaching for the Five-Seven and decided against it. This Americano policeman was just nervous enough to pull the trigger for no reason. “OK, officer, I’m getting out. You won’t shoot me, no?”

  “I’ll fucking shoot you if you don’t get out.”

  Salazar eased the door open and slid from the seat. The weapon in the trooper’s hand shook. Whether due to nerves or exuberance, the sicario wasn’t sure.

  “Move to the front of the vehicle and place your hands on the hood,” the trooper barked.

  Salazar did as directed, and his hands rested on the hood of the SUV.

  “Spread your legs.”

  He complied.

  “Now, don’t move or I’ll shoot you.”

  “I can –”

  The gun was pressed hard against the back of the sicario’s head. “Shut the fuck up.”

  Mistake!

  With movements akin to lightning, Salazar stepped to the right and whirled around. Caught off-guard, the trooper froze and gave the sicario the precious heartbeats he required to commit a maneuver so graceful it was almost pretty to watch. Salazar seemed to spin around the trooper’s immobile body and once behind him, placed one hand firmly on his chin, while the other wrapped around the back of his head. Then with one violent movement, the head was twisted, and an audible crack sounded.

  The trooper’s legs turned gelatinous, and he dropped to the street, dead. Salazar looked about to see if there had been any witnesses to the killing. When he saw no one around, his next thought was about what to do, as he was almost certain that it had been called in.

  What he needed was time. He heard the screech of tires from somewhere along the road and knew he didn’t have much of it.

  When Horton and the others arrived, they found the trooper standing over a prone form on the street. He leaped from the almost stopped vehicle and swore, “Damn it! I’m DEA Administrator Rich Horton, what in Christ’s name happened?”

  The trooper never turned around. “The fucker tried to kill me, so I had to take him down.”

  “Shit! No great loss, son,” Horton assured him. “He was a bad son of a bitch. Probably got what he deserved.”

  The trooper nodded.

  One of the other DEA agents knelt beside the body to check for any sign of life. His fingers touched the neck to feel for a pulse. He then used a small flashlight to shine on the face.

  The gasp was audible, and his head snapped up. His mouth opened. “It’s not –”

  The silenced Five-Seven appeared in Salazar’s hand and coughed twice. The crouched DEA agent was slapped back, his words cut short. Salazar twisted and fired twice more. The second and third agents died without a sound.

  The only man left was Horton, who reached into his coat to pull his personal weapon. He never even managed to get it halfway out before the Five-Seven snapped into line with his face.

  “If you do not wish to end up like your compañeros, señor, I would think very carefully about drawing your weapon,” Salazar warned him.

  Horton left the gun where it was and raised both hands. His face screwed up in anger. “Fucking murdering son of a bitch.”

  A mirthless smile split the sicario’s face. “I would like to stand here and swap insults with you, DEA man, but unfortunately for you, we will be leaving.”

  “The hell we are. I ain’t going anywhere with you.”

  Salazar didn’t bother to argue. He just stepped in
close and brought the butt of his gun down hard on Horton’s head.

  Horton collapsed as though poleaxed. “I disagree, gringo.”

  A short time later Horton was bound, loaded into the back of the SUV, and on his way to Sonora.

  Sonora

  “Zero? Reaper One. Am about to breach. Out,” Kane’s voice was hushed.

  “Copy, Reaper One.”

  Kane came out of the desert on the far side of the improvised runway and hurried across the open space. He stopped on the other side, short of the first building, and while he scanned the area through his NVGs, raised his left hand to wave Cara across.

  Once she was by his side, he waved to Hawk and then used hand signals to direct Cara to move to the first adobe building.

  Bent low, Cara advanced, her silenced HK at her right shoulder. When she reached the building, she moved along the wall to the large opening in it. She peered around the corner and saw nothing. There was no sign that it had ever been used for anything.

  Cara toggled her radio and whispered, “Reaper one? Reaper two. First building clear. Moving to the second, out.”

  “Copy.”

  There were around ten meters between the two buildings, and Cara moved like a wraith across the ground towards the second. When she reached it, as before, she eased along the wall until she made the opening. This one was larger than the first.

  She peered around the side of the doorway, everything before her bathed in the green hue of her NVGs. She swept her gaze from left to right and then saw him. A lone man in the far corner of the room.

  But he wasn’t the only thing to catch Cara’s eye. From the edge of the opening, a large portion of the building’s floor sloped downward at a steady angle and continued until it reached a doorway, albeit closed, the same size as the one where she stood.

  Cara edged back from her position and toggled her radio. “Reaper One? Reaper Two. I’ve got one Tango in the second building, Over.”

  “Take care of him, Cara.”

  “Copy.”

  She edged back to the doorway and looked again. The man hadn’t moved. She was about to bring her HK up to shoot him when something else caught her eye. “Shit!”

  Cara backed away and toggled the radio once more. “Reaper? We’ve got cameras.”

  “Copy. Wait one.”

  Thirty seconds ticked by, and Kane was there by her side. It felt like thirty minutes. “What have we got?”

  “There is a Tango in the right far corner, and a camera above him.”

  “Any others?”

  “Not that I saw.”

  “OK.”

  Kane eased past her to look in on the interior of the structure. Then he edged back. “I only saw the one camera. It doesn’t mean that there aren’t more.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “You take the Tango, and I’ll take the camera. Once they’re both down, we enter and check the corners either side of the door. You go right, and I’ll take left.”

  Cara nodded. “Copy.”

  “Reaper Four, hold and watch our backs.”

  “Reaper Four, copy.”

  Kane and Cara edged up to the opening once more. “On my mark, Cara.”

  “Copy.”

  Kane took a deep breath and whispered, “Three, two, one, mark.”

  They both appeared in the doorway, silenced HKs up to their shoulders. The laser from Cara’s weapon settled on the guard, and she squeezed the trigger twice. The cartel man jerked under the impact of the NATO rounds, and he dropped to the floor. “Tango down.”

  Certain he wouldn’t get back up, she stepped into the room and pivoted to her right. Through her NVGs, she saw another camera and fired twice more. The first of the two bullets smashed it. The second knocked it from the wall.

  Kane’s first shot had disabled the corner camera. He stepped into the room and swept his weapon up to the left and found the wall bare. He heard Cara say, “Tango down,” and then he heard her gun fire twice. He swung back to see the camera fall to the floor.

  Kane pressed the toggle and said, “Reaper Four? Reaper One. Room clear. Come to us, over.”

  “Reaper Four, Copy. Coming to you.”

  Kane swept the room and saw the way the floor sloped down to the secondary doorway. “Jackpot.”

  Chapter 17

  Team Reaper

  Sonora

  “Zero? Reaper One. We have one Tango down and security cameras. Also, there is a closed door I need to know what’s behind. Are you able to get me a look? Over.”

  “Copy, Reaper One. You have a closed door. Wait one. Over.”

  “Don’t be too long, Zero. If they see that their cameras are down, we’re in trouble. If you can’t, we’ll breach. Over.”

  A few moments later and, “Reaper One? Zero. Bravo Two says we might be able to get a look in there. Wait. Out.”

  “Come on, hurry the fuck up,” Hawk growled in a low voice.

  Kane remained silent, after all, Hawk had only vocalized what they were all feeling.

  Retribution

  “Damn it, Swift, can we do it or not?” Ferrero’s impatience had surfaced quickly.

  “I’m working on it. All I’m saying is I might be able to do something.”

  His fingers danced across the keyboard, the frantic pace making it vibrate as he tried to work it out.

  “Ask them what kind of cameras they are?” Swift said.

  “Reaper One? Zero. Copy? Over.”

  “Copy, Zero.”

  “Bravo Two wants to know what kind of cameras you have there? Over.”

  “Tell him they’re dead ones, Zero. Over.”

  “Did you get that?”

  “Yeah,” Swift groaned. “OK. I think we have a signal … and … we’re in. Holy shit!”

  Ferrero hurried across to where Swift sat. “What is it?”

  “Get a load of this shit.”

  Ferrero squinted at the grainy screen. “Damn it, put it on the big screen.”

  The bigger monitor on the wall switched from the FLIR picture from the drone, to that of a camera inside what turned out to be a bunker.

  “Is that what I think it is?” Ferrero asked.

  “Yes. A cocaine lab of some kind. My guess is possibly the last stop for finishing it before distribution to be cut and sold.”

  Ferrero nodded. “Reaper One? Zero, over.”

  “Go ahead, Zero.”

  “Looks like you just won the lottery. Cocaine lab for sure.”

  “Copy. What are we looking at on the other side of the door? Over.”

  Ferrero glanced at Swift. “Well?”

  The screen began to flicker as numerous other cameras came online. After a quick calculation in his head, Swift said, “Reaper One? Bravo Two. Maybe six armed men and ten or so others. Unsure if they will be hostile or not. The possibility of more Tangos due to numerous blind-spots. A vacant, well-lit hallway on the other side of the door. Over.”

  “Is there time to find the power and cut it?” Hawk asked.

  Kane shook his head. “I wish there was, but if someone comes out here, we’ll lose the element of surprise.”

  He toggled his radio. “Zero? Reaper One. We’re going in hot. Over.”

  “Copy, Reaper.”

  Kane said, “Bravo Two, you’re our eyes. If you see anything that’s not right, call it. Copy?”

  “Copy, Reaper.”

  “All right. Let’s do this. Reaper One, out.”

  There was a long, drawn-out silence as the Bravo team watched them enter through the unlocked door. They were walking stealthily along the hallway when the bunker suddenly erupted with the sound of gunfire from an unknown source.

  Over the loudspeaker, Ferrero heard Kane’s raised voice call out, “Contact left! Contact left!”

  Team Reaper

  Sonora

  The bullets slapped into the concrete wall all around Kane as the cartel soldier with the AK-47 emerged from an opening in the wall to his left. The snarling, tattooed
-face man screeched as he held the trigger all the way back.

  A hammer-like blow slammed Kane in the chest, forcing him into the wall directly behind. The air was forced from his lungs, and he couldn’t breathe. Stunned, he slid down the hard gray surface. In his ear, he could hear Cara’s automatic call of, “Man down!”.

  His vision blurred and came back in time to see two rounds from Cara’s HK416 slam into the cartel soldier’s chest.

  “Cover me, Hawk!” she snapped.

  “Roger.”

  She knelt beside Kane. “Hey! Reaper? Hey! Are you OK?”

  Kane groaned. “Get me the fuck up.”

  She grabbed his hand and dragged him to his feet. “Are you OK?”

  “That hurt.”

  “Do we continue?”

  “Damn straight.”

  “Zero? Reaper Two. Reaper One still in the fight, continuing mission. Out.”

  “Copy.”

  Hawk fired his weapon from up ahead where the passage turned to the right. His shots were answered by a spray of automatic fire that bit chips of concrete from the walls.

  Kane saw him lean back around and fire another burst, ducking back to the safety of cover before more rounds cracked through the air.

  “How you feeling?” Hawk asked him when he moved to his side.

  “Like I been kicked by a mule. What do we have?”

  “It opens out into a –”

  More gunfire peppered the wall.

  “It opens out into a large room where they appear to be doing whatever it is they’re doing.”

  “Break out a flash-bang.”

  Hawk pulled the pin on an M84 and tossed it around the corner. The explosion brought forth cries of pain and bewilderment which carried to Kane’s position.

  “Move!” he snapped, and he and Hawk turned the corner. Kane to the left and slightly behind. A man staggered about ahead of them, disoriented from the blast. Hawk dropped him with a burst that ripped into his chest.