Suicide Mission

by William W. Johnstone

  “And with satellite tracking we could follow those chips anywhere,” Megan added. “I don’t see any reason it wouldn’t work.”

  “Other than the fact that no one is going to mistake any of us for Mexican farmers,” Dixon said. “Also, how would you know which bus the cartel was going to hit?”

  “They’re creatures of habit,” Megan said. “Nearly all of the hijackings have occurred on the highway between the towns of Dos Caballos and Villa Guajardo. And it’s been a couple of weeks since the last incident took place, so there’s a good chance that they’re running low on . . . practice victims.”

  She paled a little as she said it. Her background as a thief had been a nonviolent one, other than knocking out a guard now and then, and although she was plenty tough, she had never been exposed to the same levels of carnage that the rest of them had.

  “So if we could get a couple of men on that bus in the next few days, there’s at least a chance the cartel might stop it,” Bill mused.

  “Unless they strike again before that,” Megan said. “I can be monitoring my sources for any news about that.”

  Dixon said, “You still haven’t said who’s going to be the bait.”

  “Me, for one,” Bill said without hesitation. “I can pass for Hispanic, I think, and my Tex-Mex is pretty dang fluent.”

  “You can’t go in by yourself,” Dixon protested.

  “Stillman’s out. Too blond. Bailey might do.”

  Megan said, “He doesn’t really look like a Mexican to me.”

  “There are gringos in Mexico, too, you know.”

  Megan leaned back on the sofa where she was sitting and frowned in thought.

  “You know, it would help sell the whole thing if you had an actual Mexican citizen with you. A woman, maybe.”

  Bill’s forehead creased as he glared at her.

  “You’re talkin’ about Catalina Ramos,” he said.

  Megan shrugged. “The rumor is that she badgered Clark into bringing her out here so she could ask you if she can come along on the mission. Maybe that would actually be helpful.”

  “How well do you know Catalina?” Bill asked.

  “We just met for a moment,” Megan said coolly. “I don’t think she liked me much.”

  Bill had a hunch the feeling was mutual. It was a cliché to think that a couple of beautiful women would instinctively dislike each other, but like most clichés, it might have a grain of truth to it.

  “You know she’s not a professional,” Bill said.

  “I suppose that depends on what line of work you’re talking about.”

  Bill ignored that comment and went on, “She’s got no business bein’ right in the middle of a covert op.”

  “And yet that’s exactly where she was not long ago. Tell me, how many men did she kill when she was getting that flash drive out of Mexico and into our hands?”

  “That’s not the same thing,” Bill insisted. “She didn’t go lookin’ for that trouble. It found her.”

  “But she survived it,” Megan said. “If it wasn’t for her, you wouldn’t have been able to stop Maleef from carrying out that New Sun business.”

  Bill couldn’t argue with that.

  “She can fight, obviously,” Megan went on. “And you’d have a few days to train her. Call it a crash course in being an operator.”

  “That’s something you can’t learn overnight.”

  “But if you have an aptitude for it to start with, you might learn enough to stay alive.” She paused. “At least until the mission is done. And that’s all any of us are really hoping for, isn’t it?”

  She was right about that, too . . . damn it.

  Dixon spoke up, saying, “I don’t work with amateurs. Never have and never will.”

  “If we go along with what Megan is sayin’, you wouldn’t have to work directly with Catalina,” Bill said. “In fact, you probably won’t be workin’ directly with any of us.”

  “Even so, I don’t like the idea of somebody like that being involved. Amateurs are unpredictable. You can’t really prepare for what they might do.”

  “That’s true. And we’d be askin’ Catalina to risk bein’ kidnapped and forced to do Lord knows what.”

  Megan said, “I think she’s well past the point of worrying about a fate worse than death.”

  “That’s a mighty cold thing to say,” Bill told her.

  “I prefer to think of it as pragmatic. Anyway, she wants to go. She knows the risks. And sure, there are risks to the rest of us in letting her come along. She might do something crazy that endangers all of us. But I keep coming back to the fact that having her with you on that bus might help you get to Barranca de la Serpiente.”

  Bill sighed and nodded.

  “I don’t like it, but I think you’re right. I guess I’d better call her over here and tell her that she’s goin’ along with us after all. If she still wants to when she hears this new angle, that is. This is still a volunteer mission. That’s the way it’s got to be.”

  He wasn’t going to send anybody to their death who wasn’t willing to go. Not convicted murderers, and for sure not a gal like Catalina Ramos.

  Bill had a pretty strong hunch how she was going to react, though.

  CHAPTER 32

  “Are you kidding?” Catalina asked as a smile broke out on her face. “I’m in. You’d better believe I’m in!”

  It was the next morning. Bill had changed his mind about asking her immediately and decided to sleep on it instead, but when he got up nothing had changed. Megan’s suggestion still made sense. If there was anything that might increase the chances of the mission being successful, they had to do it.

  “It’s gonna be damn dangerous,” Bill warned her as they stood in the shade of one of the hangars beside the landing strip. Bill was waiting for the chopper that would deliver the final two members of the team.

  “More dangerous than having Estancia’s mad-dog killers after me, like they were back in Cuidad Acuña and Del Rio?”

  “There’ll be more of ’em,” Bill said, “and plenty of terrorists smuggled in from the Middle East, too. They’re even worse because they hate all Americans. The cartel just wants to make a profit off of us.”

  Catalina said, “Well, it’s lucky for me, then, that I’m a Mexican and not an American, right?”

  “They’re not gonna care that much. If you get in their way, they’ll kill you, no matter where you’re from.”

  “I’ll take that chance. I want to do something to stop those people, Bill.” She paused. “Marty wanted to stop them, too, but he can’t do anything anymore. He’s dead, and they’re to blame.”

  “You were mighty fond of him, weren’t you?”

  She shrugged and said, “He was a loser in most ways. I hate to say it, but he was. But he really loved me, I think, and that buys him some revenge.”

  “All right,” Bill said. “We’ve only got a few days to get you ready, though. They’re gonna be rough ones.”

  “Bring them on,” she said with a grin. “I’ll do whatever I need to.”

  Bill found himself believing her, too. Before he could say any more, though, he heard the distant whup-whup-whup of a helicopter’s rotors.

  The chopper came into view against the cloud-dotted blue sky. This was one of the bigger jobs, probably because a lot of guards were needed for the two passengers it was carrying. Bill had half a dozen men armed with riot shotguns on hand himself, including John Bailey and Wade Stillman, just in case.

  Dust flew as the helicopter settled down to a landing. Bill turned to Catalina and said, “You can go on back to your quarters now. I’ll come see you in a little while and we’ll get started on your training.”

  “If you think I’m going to leave now, you’re loco,” she said. “I’ve heard the rumors about these two. I want to get a look at them for myself.”

  Bill debated making his suggestion an order instead, then decided it wasn’t worth making an issue over it. Besides, he saw other peo
ple walking toward the landing strip, including Megan, Henry Dixon, Nick Hatcher, Braden Cole, and Jackie Thornton.

  It appeared that everybody on the base had heard about Madigan and Watson and wanted to get a look at them.

  Several guards climbed out of the helicopter first and set up in a half-circle with their automatic weapons pointing back toward the aircraft. One of them spoke into a radio microphone clipped to his shoulder.

  A moment later a massive figure appeared in the doorway and hopped down to the tarmac, landing with a lithe grace and ease that was unusual in such a big man. Bill had seen photos of Ellis “Bronco” Madigan, so he had no trouble recognizing the man. Even in dark blue prison trousers and a faded blue shirt, Madigan was an impressive, unforgettable figure.

  So was the man who followed Madigan from the helicopter. He was a black version of Bronco Madigan. Calvin Watson would probably take offense if anyone phrased it that way in his presence, but it was true nonetheless.

  Both men wore old-fashioned shackles. Most law enforcement agencies had long since made the change to plastic restraints, but in some cases, steel was just better. Plastic would hold normal human beings, but not Neanderthals like Madigan and Watson.

  More gun-toting guards descended from the chopper behind them, so the two convicts were completely surrounded. One of the guards snapped an order, and the whole group started toward the hangar where Bill and the others waited.

  “They don’t look so tough,” Bailey said under his breath.

  Bill recognized the tone of competitiveness in the big noncom’s voice. He said, “As long as we’re all on the same side, John, we won’t have to worry about who’s the toughest.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way, sir,” Bailey said quickly, even though Bill knew good and well that he had.

  Nick Hatcher stood in a casual pose with his hands tucked into the hip pockets of his jeans. He said, “They look plenty tough to me.”

  “Me, too,” Jackie Thornton agreed. “I sure wouldn’t want to tangle with them.” He looked nervous, as if he knew that either of the newcomers could break him in two with their bare hands. Thornton’s normal expression was always a little nervous, though, Bill reminded himself.

  Braden Cole’s face was expressionless. That was normal, too. The explosives expert had about as much personality as a snake.

  The guards fanned out a little as they approached so that Bill could confront Madigan and Watson. When the group had come to a stop, he nodded to the two prisoners and said, “You fellas and I haven’t met before, but you talked to an associate of mine.”

  Clark had handled the negotiations with Madigan and Watson, since it was easier for him to get into the high-security federal facility where they were being held. Bill had been busy making arrangements for their staging area to be located here at the old abandoned Air Force base.

  Madigan rumbled, “You talkin’ about a fella looks like he ought to be an insurance salesman?”

  “We killed and ate him,” Watson added.

  Bill’s eyes narrowed. He said, “They told me you two were a couple of badasses who hated each other’s guts. Come to find out you’re a comedy team.”

  “You let us worry about who we hate, mister,” Madigan said. “Right now I’d say you’re on the list.”

  “Damn straight,” Watson said.

  “You’re gonna hate me even more,” Bill said. “I’m your new boss.”

  Madigan let loose with an obscene tirade that would have scorched the paint off a Sherman tank. When he finished, Watson took the profanity baton and carried on. The cussing started off being directed at Bill, but eventually it came around to Megan and Catalina and what the two convicts would like to do to them.

  Bailey had listened with a tight jaw at first, but when the newcomers started verbally assaulting the two women, he stepped forward and snapped, “Shut your filthy mouths.”

  “Hey!” Catalina objected. “We can defend ourselves, thank you very much.”

  “Are you kidding?” Megan said. “I’m all for equality and I’ve taken care of myself for years, but those two are humongous. No way I’m tangling with them. Bailey, you go right ahead and be chivalrous.”

  Bill stepped forward, moving between Bailey and the two convicts.

  “Let ’em spout their filth,” he said. “They’re just blowin’ off steam because they know we’ve got the upper hand.”

  “Upper hand, hell,” Madigan repeated with a sneer. “You can’t make us do anything we don’t want to do.”

  “That’s right. If you don’t want to cooperate and be part of this, you can climb back in that chopper and it’ll take you back where you came from. But you can kiss that deal you agreed to good-bye. No new lives for you fellas.”

  Watson said, “I don’t believe it anyway. That’s just one more empty promise from the government.”

  “Most of the time I’d agree with you. The government’s word’s not worth a hill of beans, at least not with the people who’re runnin’ it now. Lyin’ comes as natural to them as breathin’.”

  “Then why do you care what happens?” Madigan asked.

  “Because it’s not about those worthless sacks o’ left-wing shit in Washington,” Bill said. “It’s about the millions of good people who still live in this country, the ones who try to do something worthwhile with their lives and make the world a better place instead of sittin’ around with their hands out for whatever some empty suit promises to give ’em. The deck is already stacked against honest folks like that, stacked by the very people who are supposed to be representin’ them. They got enough problems here at home without havin’ to worry about a bunch of bloodthirsty relics from the Middle Ages who want to murder ’em in their beds and some slick criminals who want to squeeze every drop of blood and profit out of ’em. That’s why I care, Madigan.”

  Silence followed Bill’s words. Watson broke it by saying, “You been workin’ on that speech for a while, haven’t you, you old geezer?”

  “When you call me that . . . smile.”

  Bill figured it was safe to use the Owen Wister quote. Henry Dixon was the only other person on the base old enough to recognize it.

  The only response it got, though, was another flood of curses from both convicts. After a moment Bailey said to Bill, “Let me beat some decency into them. That’s the only thing they’re going to understand.”

  Madigan hooted with laughter and said, “Boy, you couldn’t beat your own—”

  “No, we’re not gonna go there,” Bill cut in. “They want to be turned loose to settle things man to man. They figure if they pull that trick, they can double-cross us, get their hands on some guns, and fight their way out of here. But this isn’t some cowboy movie, gentlemen. This isn’t Yuma Prison, and you sure as hell aren’t the good guys. You’re gonna stay under lock, key, and heavy guard until we get where we’re goin’. You don’t need any special training. All you need is an enemy, and I’m gonna give you one. And when we get there, then you get turned loose. I’m gonna point you in the right direction and say ‘Kill,’ and you’re gonna do it.”

  Watson sneered and said, “Maybe we’ll just cut a deal with that so-called enemy. Maybe we’d rather be on their side than yours.”

  “A deal goes two ways, and where we’re goin’, nobody will be interested in makin’ one with you boys. They’re just gonna try to kill you on sight, and they won’t stop to do any talkin’. So you’ll fight them or die. Simple as that.”

  Bill’s calm, steady words had an effect. He could tell that, even though Madigan and Watson tried to keep up their façade. They knew he was telling the truth.

  “Maybe we don’t want to do this anymore,” Madigan said.

  “Too late. You’re part of it. You’re goin’ along whether you want to or not.”

  He turned on his heel and walked away, adding over his shoulder an order for the guards to lock them up. The rest of the team followed him, leaving Madigan and Watson behind to shout curses after them.


  Now that he had met the two convicts, he was willing to make an exception to his all-volunteer policy. Facing such heavy odds, he needed a couple of killing machines like Bronco Madigan and Calvin Watson.

  With any luck, those two would be his own personal weapons of mass destruction.

  CHAPTER 33

  Chihuahua, Mexico, one week later

  The dust and the heat were stifling as Bill swayed slightly on the uncomfortable, thinly upholstered bench seat of the Mexican bus. The upholstery was torn in several places and patched with duct tape. The window beside him was lowered, but that didn’t really help much because the air outside was just as hot as that inside the bus.

  The breeze coming through the open window didn’t dispel the stink inside the bus, either. It just stirred up the various elements of it.

  Nor did the noise help matters, starting with the racket coming from the bus’s ancient and ineffective muffler. Adding to it was the loud cackling from several crates of chickens resting in the backseats of the vehicle and the strains of Tejano music coming from an old-fashioned boom box on the lap of one of the passengers.

  “Really?” Bailey had muttered as he, Bill, and Catalina had climbed on board the bus and found places to sit. “Chickens and mariachi music on a Mexican bus?”

  “At the next stop somebody will get on with a goat,” Catalina said. “You just wait and see. We Mexicans live to fulfill your gringo stereotypes. Anyway, that’s not mariachi music. It’s Tejano.”

  “I’m from Brooklyn. It all sounds the same to me.”

  “Again with the stereotypes!”

  Bill hadn’t told them to cut out the banter. That was a way of blowing off steam. Knowing what they might be headed into, they had to be a little nervous, especially Catalina. Despite the tough front she put up and the actual dangers she had faced in her life, she had never gone to war, like Bill and John Bailey had.

  And war was exactly what they were facing if they made it into Barranca de la Serpiente. A short and bloody conflict, but war nonetheless.

  They were about an hour out of the small town of Villa Guajardo, bound for Dos Caballos, which was another two hours away. The day before they had ridden from Dos Caballos to Villa Guajardo, and the trip had been uneventful except for the jolting Bill’s spine had gotten from the bus’s worn-out suspension. Tomorrow, if they had to, they would make the return trip from Dos Caballos.