by John O'Brien
Two men walk up the drive while the third stands by the hood of the vehicle. I shrink back to Maria in the kitchen.
“Men are coming,” I say, guiding her into the trap door room. “I’ll try to take care of them, but if you hear gunshots, move the boxes and flee down the tunnel.”
“Where to?”
I shrug, not really having much of an answer for her. If the cartel is here, they’ll soon be either at the other tunnel entrances if they’re not already there.
“I think your best bet is to drop your bag of cash here and head back through the tunnel to the mansion. Tell them you were kidnapped and forced to open the safe. They may believe you if the cash is recovered and not in your possession. Escape afterward.”
She says nothing nor betrays any emotional response. Thankfully—because I don’t have the time to provide any emotional comfort. Not that there’s much I could offer, besides. The reality is that we’re being hunted, or me in particular, and on the brink of being discovered.
I quickly go through the kitchen drawers, finding a long-bladed kitchen knife in one of them. The flimsy blade won’t hold up to much, but it’s better than the folding knife in my pocket. In the living room, I move the couch under the window closer to the entrance. Hiding the carbine, I holster the handgun and climb onto the back of the sofa. With knife in hand, I press against the wall near the front door.
With the third armed man remaining behind, I can’t risk the sound of gunshots. The goal is to both remove the threat and prevent radio or phone calls from going out. As I stand atop the couch with my back against the wall, my breathing forced into a steady rhythm, I contemplate why in the hell I signed that damned piece of paper. With an army of armed men scouring the city in search of me, some of whom are about to enter the house, retirement sounds like one hell of an idea.
If I can get away and out on the main streets, I could just become another tourist prowling the vacation wonderland. The guards know what Maria looks like, so with her in tow, that changes things. She’ll be easily identified. We need to escape and make it back to the secondary resort without being seen.
Shadows cross the curtained window, faint but unmistakably the top half of human forms. I hear the scuff of footsteps climbing concrete steps followed by voices speaking on the other side of the front door. It all comes down to this playing out well. The handle rustles and then turns; the door is pushed inward.
A long rectangle of sunshine brightens the entryway, the glare making the rest of the room darker by contrast. The shadow of a head intrudes upon the rectangle of light, then the shadow of a full body stretches large across the room, joined shortly by another. My free hand rests on the grip of the sidearm, ready to withdraw it if necessary. I want this to go down as quietly as possible, but I won’t hesitate to make noise if I need to.
The barrel of a carbine peeks into view through the door, making left and right movements as the owner surveils the room. Stepping further forward, the man comes into view, his head pivoting like the barrel of the weapon. He looks deeper into the house and sweeps the living room, completely glossing past my position next to him.
They never look up.
A T-shirt clad man in jeans steps fully into the room, his head and weapon barrel traversing left and right in small arcs. Another follows, hunched over and walking slowly. Jumping down from my position, I reach out with one hand to swing the door almost closed; enough to narrow the line of sight indoors. This whole thing will be moot should the third party resting outside witness everything. Hopefully he’ll think that the two inside decided to just close it a touch.
Landing behind the two men, I stab up into the armpit of the first man. His weapon drops from numb fingers as the nerves are severed, blood gushing down his arm and side. Before he can yelp in pain, I pull back on his thick shoulder-length dark mane of hair and thrust the carving knife into the side of his neck. The beginning of his cry of pain is cut short, becoming a gurgling sputter with blood spraying from his mouth. Thick red streams down his neck, some pulsing past the blade and into the air.
Quickly withdrawing the knife, I shoulder the man aside and kick the weapon lying on the floor out of the way. Stepping toward the second man. I catch him in midturn, one hand grabbing the top of the carbine rail to shove it aside. With the same movement, my thumb finds the selector switch and flicks it to safe. As a separate action, the red-slicked blade is already thrusting toward his throat. The point enters the flesh, then sinks through the gristle surrounding his trachea.
The stricken man stares at me with wide eyes, his hands feebly groping around his neck in an attempt to staunch the blood gushing from his wound. Within their depths is the knowledge that he’s a dead man, but his brain will fight that certainty to the bitter end. His eyes roll back into his head as he begins slumping, the knife coming free as his dead weight falls to the floor.
With a thump, the first man finally falls to the floor after staggering for a second or two, coming to rest on his chest with his face turned to the side. Cloudy eyes stare at something no one living can see. Blood soaks into the grimy carpet around his head. His body twitches a few times and then goes still. The second man has slumped down against the wall and toppled over.
This part is over. I don’t know how many times I’ve done similar things in the past, but it never gets easier. The only thing that has changed over the years is the emotional burden that won’t arrive until much later. I sometimes feel that I’ve become a robot fighting in a video game; go here, remove the threat, move on. It’s only in those dark hours of the night that I truly realize the lives I’ve taken. That’s when it all comes crashing into my consciousness and the true nightmares take hold. However, that’s then and this is now. I’m not out of this yet.
I peek past the edge of the door, a thin beam of light penetrating the gloom. From my vantage point, it doesn’t look like any of what happened could have been seen from the car. For that matter, it would have been difficult to see anything. The bright sunny day would have prevented anything clear from showing inside the dimly lit living room.
Quickly moving to the window to peer outside, I see the third man leaning against the front of the vehicle, his weapon dangling from his hand in a relaxed manner.
Good.
I don’t have much time, however, as he’s sure to either call or investigate should enough time pass without hearing something from his comrades. Grabbing my carbine, I head toward the back. Passing the spare room, I stick my head inside briefly. Maria startles at my appearance, staring wide-eyed as she crouches by the boxes over the trap door, the bag clutched tightly by her side.
“Be ready to move,” I say quickly before continuing down the hall and out the back door.
Moving outside, I’m hit with the brilliance of the sun and heat. I’m already sweating from my previous exertions in the hot, still air inside. But emerging into the direct sun feels like I’ve walked into a blast furnace.
Edging to the back corner of the house, I peek around it to look down the long concrete driveway. On one side is the house and on the other, a tall, weathered privacy fence. The car isn’t in sight, but it looks like if I try and cross the drive at this point, I’ll be visible.
Further back in the yard, I look through an empty knothole in the fence. If there was a dog next door, it would already be barking, but I check nonetheless. Time isn’t on my side, but being discovered before I’m ready to strike again will complicate things exponentially. With the neighboring yard clear, I vault over the fence and begin moving along its length toward the front.
Near the front end of the fencing, I look around the edge. The man is still standing near the front side, but his relaxed posture is gone. Instead, he’s standing fully upright with his weapon held more ready. It’s only a matter of a few seconds before he either radios or calls out. I could have taken him from the front door, but the distance would have been greater, allowing for errors. Plus, his attention was focused there and who knows what his reac
tion time might be.
Standing and bringing the M-4 to bear, I step around the fence. The red dot of the sight centers on his body as he turns toward the motion in his peripheral. I know this is going to make noise, but it can’t be helped. Neighbors may call in the gunshots and maybe other cartel members are searching nearby, but I plan on being far away from here by the time anyone else shows up.
The carbine kicks back into my shoulder as the loud retort echoes down the street. The man stumbles backward as the first shot hits his upper chest, the follow-on bullets stitching upward. Dancing like a marionette with faulty strings, the man crashes against the car and slides down its side. A final bullet smacks into the side of his head, jerking it violently.
With my carbine still trained on his body, I rush toward him. He’s obviously dead, but I remove his weapons anyway and dash back into the house.
“We have to go,” I call out.
Maria appears at the door, gasping as she sees the bodies, their necks a gruesome mess. Shaking her head, she gathers herself and steps over them, her eyes wide. Racing to the car, I’m happy to see keys dangling in the ignition.
“I drive, you navigate,” I say, running around the front of the car.
I would like to have searched the bodies for a radio, but there’s no time. Law enforcement or other guards will make their presence known soon. At the moment, it’s time to get some distance. Throwing my carbine inside, I slide behind the wheel and start up the vehicle. Tearing away from the house, I ask Maria for directions to the beachfront resorts.
Chapter Five
The car we used is now sitting in a mall parking lot several blocks away, the wiped-down weapons stashed in the trunk. I would have parked it farther away, but I wanted to limit our time on foot, especially now, being unarmed. As we enter the resort lobby, goose bumps tighten my skin, the chill of the interior an abrupt change from the furnace outside. Footsteps ring from the open lobby’s tiled flooring; voices murmur in the vast space.
We’re standing along the edges amid a myriad of couches and comfortable chairs, appearing like refugees—Maria with her oversized bag filled with cash and me looking like I lost a fight with a bus.
“Go wait by the pool. I’ll find you,” I whisper.
Maria looks up with doubt in her eyes, like this is it and I’m going to leave her stranded.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be back. You fulfilled your part of the bargain. Let me go see how I’m going to satisfy mine,” I say.
I would ask her if she has a passport, but I’m pretty sure I didn’t see her stuff one in her bag. Besides, she’d have to use her name and that could be flagged at the airport. With another glance, doubt still in her eyes, she turns and saunters across the lobby toward the back. Staring after her for a moment, I start for the elevators with a sigh of relief. Although I’m not completely out of the situation, I’m at least free from the immediate ordeal and ready to hook up with Red Team…provided they’re still in country. It’s entirely possible Lynn insisted they continue with the planned exfil.
Minutes later, I knock on the door Greg and I were to share. I don’t hear a thing on the other side, but shortly after I see a shadow cross over the peephole. The door swings wide, Greg’s bulk filling the doorway.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in.”
“The only true statement I’ve ever heard you make,” I respond, entering.
Coming fully into the room, I hear Gonzalez talking to herself, I’m sure reporting the discovery of a stray dog to Lynn. There’s a moment of welcome, hands shaken, backs slapped—which doesn’t feel the greatest—and a hug or two before I sit on the bed. After carrying all that tension with every moment for such an extended period of time, I’m left feeling absolutely exhausted.
“Whose clothes are those?” McCafferty asks.
“Oh,” I say, looking down at the grimy, blood-stained shirt and pants. “These were a donation.”
“So, what in the hell happened?” Greg inquires.
“They had a third team we didn’t account for. I’m guessing they arrived late or were there to sweep up. I’m not really sure; the conversation never really drifted around to it. The bottom line is I made a rookie mistake and didn’t check my six,” I answer, telling more of the details.
“So, what you’re saying is that there’s a pissed off beehive of cartel members out there?”
“Pretty much. And, why are you guys still here? You should be long gone.”
“The weather here is so nice: the blue waters, friendly people, long moonlit strolls on the beach. Why would we leave?” Greg comments.
“Well, even though you shouldn’t have, thank you for staying,” I respond.
Everyone is silent for a brief moment, obviously listening over their radios, probably to Lynn.
“I assume you all heard that. We shouldn’t loiter much longer,” Gonzalez says.
“I didn’t hear a thing,” I reply, pointing to the bruised spot behind my ear. “Broken.”
“Oh, I was wondering why you didn’t just call and arrange a pickup. We assumed you were taken underground. She said welcome back and that we should be going pronto.”
“Yeah, about that. Tell her I have news she isn’t going to like,” I state.
Gonzalez relays the information, followed shortly after by several chuckles. I can only imagine her answer.
“She says, ‘whenever has he delivered any news I liked’…or something to that effect.”
I rise and go to the window, searching the pool area until I find Maria lying back in a lounge chair, her big bag sitting next to her. I motion Denton to the window.
“See that woman in the black bikini?” I ask. “The one with the big bag next to her?”
He searches for several seconds before nodding.
“I want you to go down and bring her back here.”
“That’s a bit forward, don’t you think, sir?” McCafferty states.
“Not even the offer of a dinner and movie. I expected more from you,” Greg says.
I sigh, leaving the window to retrieve a satellite phone from my bag, which I assume the others picked up. “Good grief. It’s not like that. She helped me escape and now I have to fulfill a bargain.”
Turning to Denton heading toward the door, I add, “Her name is Maria.”
“You’re right. Lynn isn’t going to like this,” Gonzalez says, looking out of the window at the pool.
I stare at the phone in my hand for a moment, the door clicking as Denton leaves for his assignment. This whole mission has been fucked up from the get-go. Not only was our exfil messed up but now I have a civilian in tow. It wasn’t exactly a zero-footprint operation to start with, but we’ve stomped through the garden and uprooted plants. And, it’s not over yet. I’m hesitant as anything to dial Lynn. Hell, she won’t need a phone. I’ll be able to hear her shouting from her position miles offshore.
“Lynn says she’s waiting for the news,” Gonzalez reports. “I think she said with bated breath.”
I hesitate, staring at the sat phone in my hand. I set it on the desk. “Tell her I’m taking a shower and changing. I’ll call her when I’m finished.”
The shower is refreshing, but my body still hurts like hell. Every bruise and ache screams Jorge. I was smelling a bit ripe and the clean clothes are a godsend, even if they are tough to get into. Looking in the mirror, I hardly recognize myself. My swollen eye and bruised face look like the bad end of a bar fight. But none of that compares with what waits on the other end of the upcoming phone call.
Exiting the bathroom, I find the team standing around Maria. I can feel the awkwardness filling the room. We operate in secrecy, and the fact that a civilian is in our midst isn’t something we’re terribly accustomed to. I acknowledge her presence and pick up the sat phone, the call immediately answered.
“I’m glad you’re back, Jack. I hear there’s a civilian in the room. Care to explain that?” Lynn says.
“Yeah, sorry about that. We need to
get her out of the country. Possibly a passport and a ticket somewhere.”
I cover the phone, asking Gonzalez to snap a pic of Maria and send it to Lynn.
“We’re not in the business of doing favors. You know that.”
I can tell Lynn received the picture by her next response. “Just who in the hell is that?”
“That’s Maria. She helped me get out of that hellhole,” I state, giving a few additional details.
“Ditch her,” Lynn replies.
“Jealous much?” Gonzalez mouths with a smile.
“I can’t do that. I gave my word,” I respond.
There’s a long pause. “Jesus Christ, Jack! Fine! We’ll debrief later. Right now, we have to get you and your team out of the country—and before you start coming apart, yes, that woman as well.
“Right now, enforcement agencies and the cartel are on the lookout for you. I don’t have to tell you that isn’t leading anywhere good. Apparently, you all were caught on surveillance cameras. I’ll take care of that, but for now we’re running with Plan B for exfil. I’m sending the coordinates to Gonzalez. Do you have a vehicle?”
“We can acquire some,” I answer.
“Very well. I’d prefer a nighttime extraction, but the net is closing, according to radio traffic. It won’t be long until your position is discovered. There’s also a lot of other chatter on the airwaves, I’m presuming from your captors who are upset you left without saying goodbye. Let me know when you’re en route, and we’ll arrange a pickup time. You need to move quickly. No time for the scenic route.”