Tanya thought about standing naked in the snow, shivering next to other female inmates. The first one who shivered or fell over would be the night’s sport. The eyes of the leering guards were more like wolves’ than men’s. Gerard reminded her of the same sort of sadistic animal. Jorge was more like the Flying Rat’s game warden than boss. She wondered if Jorge could contain his men.
“I need to hack Jorge’s files. Is this a trap? Or is this an opportunity?”
Tanya had a sudden urge to run away. She needed some courage.
The tour of the sub went unexpectedly well. The power worked, and the engine and computer upgrades seemed to be online.
Evan and the crew had a quick meeting and decided to come clean about more of the sub’s faults than they had intended. Fortunately for Evan and his team, the Mexican navy did not own submarines; therefore, Miguel had never even been on one. Unfortunately, however, he seemed to know everything about electrical engineering and diesel engines.
The afternoon sun was directly overhead by the time they had ended their cruise in the sub and reboarded the salvage vessel. Miguel was allowed to photograph the sub and was given access to a satellite phone from which he could speak with his superiors.
Evan met with Roger and Tommy in the kitchen. “So glad I never joined the navy,” Evan began. He sipped water from a plastic bottle and sat on a wooden stool. “That freaking tin can makes me claustrophobic. It’s noisy and, well, just sucks.”
“Well, what’s the verdict?” Roger asked and groaned.
“It’s going to take about three days to get this beast up and running. We have to move it somewhere closer to Mexico and get some parts to finish up the repairs. Me and you and a few guys have to get up to Veracruz by tonight.”
Roger looked at his watch. “Not going to happen, lad. That’s a long haul.”
“We leave soon, we can make it. Tommy and I have to meet with Mario’s money guy. They have a crew flying in to pilot the sub once the deal is made.”
Roger looked concerned and said, “That’s not how we discussed the whole thing going down. If we lose control over the sub by turning it over to a crew, then we lose our opportunity to smuggle our team onto his yacht.”
Evan shrugged. “Then we change the plan.”
“Evan, we don’t have any support—just a team of about thirty men. If we start breaking this thing up, it could get ugly.”
Evan considered the original plan and conceded. Roger was right.
Tommy spoke up for the first time today, surprising both Roger and Evan. “You two talk like freaking cops.”
“Go ahead, Don Johnson. What’s your plan?”
Tommy ignored Evan’s smart comment. He nodded, ran his fingers through his hair, and adjusted his flowered silk Hawaiian T-shirt. Tommy was broad shouldered and bony.
“Drug dealers are, above all else, paranoid and always looking to pee on trees. They want to control the situation and keep people off their game.” Tommy picked up an apple, bit into it, and chewed loudly. “Mario has never done business with you. He is going to try and move the date up like it’s urgent and then change the location. If he gets his crew on the sub, you guys will lose a chance.”
“OK. Keep talking. You make sense when you’re sober,” Evan said flatly.
Roger said flatly with frustration, “Jeez, Evan, you always gotta say somthin’ smart.”
“Who said I was sober?” Tommy laughed. “No, you guys gotta change plans yourself, a minimum of three times, and then go back to your original plan.”
Roger and Evan looked at Tommy and stopped talking.
“Follow my lead. Let me talk to Miguel,” Tommy said. He acted in charge, so they went with it.
“We have to get the sub to shallow waters, regardless—hide it and work on it,” Evan said flatly.
“True,” Tommy admitted.
Evan spoke quickly with some stress in his voice. He was feeling the effects of sleeplessness. “The sub’s captain and chief engineer say they need about eight hours of work. They have a place with overhead cover, seclusion, and access to docks just south of Quintara Roo. There is also an island that they party at near Cozumel. This might be the place to meet for the sub hand off.”
Tommy said, “Let me do the talking. Trust me.”
Evan finished his water, stood up, snapped his fingers, and pointed at Tommy. “Fine, let’s chat with Miguel. You got the helm. Roger, turn course toward Veracruz. We can roll in by tonight. The sub can move out on its own to its concealed location.”
“Fine. I hope you two know what you’re doing. I’m gonna call Nathan, give him the plan, at least as it stands now.”
CHAPTER 17
Under the Wire
Tanya packed her duffel bag, careful to put her computers and other equipment in the proper zippers. The only positive thing that had come out of her time in prison was that now she was a neat freak. Every piece of clothing, every wire, every piece of paper had to be just right. Tanya, at one time, had been a slob, buried in piles of stuff. Now she was a minimalist packing nothing that she could not throw in a bag and run away with.
A knock at the door made her jump, and she cursed. “Hold on.”
Tanya took a small thumb drive and placed it securely in her bra. If she had the opportunity, she would infect Jorge’s computer or download anything interesting.
“Wait!” she yelled as the knocking got louder.
She looked at herself in the full-length mirror and adjusted her peach-colored tank top to be less revealing. Looking at her jeans, she frowned. No matter how much she ate, she seemed to keep losing weight; her pants were too loose.
“Hola.” She opened the door and froze. It was not Jorge as she had expected. “You,” she blurted out. She was glad she did not say, “flying rat.”
He looked her up and down and leaned against the door-frame as if he was exhausted. He was wearing a computer bag across his bare shoulders.
“What are you doing here? Where is Jorge?”
He stank of cigarette smoke. Tanya hated smokers.
“He told me to bring it. He’s got business to attend to.”
Tanya took the offered bag and walked to her desk.
Gerard stayed in his spot with the door open. “Tanya, can you do me a favor too?”
She shrugged and opened Jorge’s laptop and laid it flat on her desk. “Depends. Do you know if he turned it off and on?”
Blaise shrugged, uninterested. “He said some of the keys don’t work anymore. He tried drying it with a towel.”
Tanya removed a portable keyboard from her backpack and plugged it in via a USB port. “Tell him to use my spare keyboard for a day or so. Transfer his data if it does not get better.”
“Fine, fine,” Gerard said.
Tanya grabbed her hair dryer, turned it on low, and methodically used it on the laptop keys.
“Tanya, can you do anything with this?”
She ignored the flying rat until she was done using her hair dryer and had packed Jorge’s computer back into its case.
He had tapped his foot for five minutes.
“OK, now, what do you need?”
Gerard handed her a grainy photograph that looked as if it had been folded up in someone’s pocket.
“A print-out picture? Really, I need the digital file.” She handed him the case and studied the picture. She could not recall the last time she had seen an actual photo on paper.
“I can get it. This is from some contacts up in Juárez.” Gerard spoke slowly through his stiff jaw.
Tanya stared at the picture for a second and then almost gave herself away with a gasp. “What do you want me to do? This is a faraway picture of some idiot at a Walmart bus stop.” She bit her lip. To her it was unmistakably Evan, or Ivan, but fortunately the quality made it unclear.
“Are these two the same guys?” Gerard handed her a second picture from his pocket. The subject in this picture was wearing a ski mask and holding a shotgun.
“Can�
��t tell,” she lied and shrugged. “Looks like some big moron at a bus station, too far away to tell. And then what…A guy robbing a convenience store? Both men are large and wearing similar clothes.”
“This guy was involved in an ambush on my crew and me.”
“So? Send me the digital files, and I will see. Really though? Like can’t you find someone else in Mexico to do this?” Tanya began to speak rapidly as if she were annoyed and insulted. “I have tons of work to do!”
“Sorry. I just got it yesterday. Pictures were e-mailed to me. You are here. I was just figuring you could—”
Tanya paused and shook her head, exasperated.
“OK, forget it.” Gerard clutched the bag and turned to leave.
“Wait! E-mail it to me. I will work on the pictures when we have a connection. Currently, we are in a blackout—no signals, no coverage. Give me a second to write my e-mail.”
Evan listened intently as Tommy the professional smuggler submerged himself into his element. First he told Miguel that the deal was, with great regret, probably not going to happen; a buyer from South America wanted to buy the submarine and was willing to purchase it as is. Tommy threw up his hands, acted very sorry, and then left the deck. Evan stared at the waves and the sea gulls in disbelief for a full hour. Miguel made a few phone calls. He looked flushed.
What is this idiot doing? Evan thought.
Forty-five minutes later, Tommy had a humble yet heated conversation with someone on the satellite phone. Evan assumed this someone was Mario. Tommy used “Yes, sir,” and “No, sir,” many times before finally breaking into a broad smile.
“OK, OK,” Tommy agreed.
Tommy handed the phone back to Miguel, who looked confused, and then left the deck of the swaying salvage boat. Evan turned to follow Tommy when Miguel called his name.
“Ivan, wait, señor. My boss, he wants to have a word.”
Evan adjusted his sunglasses.
“Sure.” Evan took the phone and answered, “Hola?”
A deep voice in surprisingly courteous Spanish responded. “To whom am I speaking?”
“Ivan.”
“I am Jorge Valdez, Mario’s chief of security. Listen, Tommy just brought up a matter that I believe we can resolve.”
“Not sure what he told you, Mr. Valdez,” Evan said truthfully.
“The sub is in a bad state of disrepair and will take a few days to fix. My man Miguel confirmed this. How many days to make it functional?”
Evan paused for a long second. “About three days.”
“And Miguel said you are not willing to change the location of the exchange. May I ask why?” Jorge said.
Evan felt his pulse quicken and thought about what Tommy had said: these guys always changed their minds. They had to confirm that Mario and at least one of his sons would be there at the purchase. The entire flimsy plan depended on this.
“This sub cannot easily be hidden, and we were under the impression that a demonstration of sorts for your boss was part of the deal,” Evan stated.
“Once we purchase this sub, where are we to keep it?”
Evan shrugged. “I would build a covered dock somewhere remote, an island maybe?”
“And you have other buyers or potential buyers?”
“Yes.”
Evan listened to silence.
“Can you meet tonight at about eleven, Veracruz? The Happy Mermaid will be in port. It too is having mechanical problems. Join us for dinner. We may have a location for the exchange.”
“I don’t have any nice clothes, Mr. Valdez.”
“That’s fine. We will discuss the details. May I speak to Miguel?”
Evan handed the satellite phone back to Miguel, went inside the ship’s cabin, and climbed a ladder up to the observation deck.
Tommy looked at Evan and smiled. “This is the game we play, Ivan.”
“Is Mario going to be present?” Evan asked.
“Yes. This sub sale is the centerpiece for his birthday party. Everyone will be there!” Tommy said with great confidence.
“Hope you’re right,” Evan said.
Tommy nodded. “They will still have the advantage, Ivan, no matter where we meet. Then there are the ship’s guns.”
The salvage ship had changed course and was steaming full throttle back toward the direction of Mexico.
“I hope that piece-of-shit submarine makes it to Mexico before it sinks!” Tommy laughed.
Evan ignored him and left. He needed to find Roger and work out their game plan for the evening. They also needed all of Green Team One to meet them in Veracruz and set up several safe houses. Evan looked up at the sun for an answer.
“Another day with no sleep. I should have just stayed retired.”
CHAPTER 18
Battle of Chapultepec
Nathan sipped probably the strongest coffee he had ever had in his life. It was thick, full of resin, and had just a hint of cinnamon that burned his lips. He hoped the caffeine would jump-start his heart and perhaps mind into some sort of brilliant breakthrough.
He waited.
“You know, Nathan, this is the Chapultepec Castle. It is tied in with the Mexican-American War.” Reo cleared his throat and began pointing at the magnificent walls and courtyard just outside the castle.
“Amazing that men marched all the way from the coast to get here. Ugh! The elevation, the bugs. How did they endure? And yet no one remembers even why or how the whole thing began. I mean, who can really tell you? Men died, and for what? I mean to Mexicans, yes, the Americans were invading, but why?”
Nathan looked at his watch. He spat a fine coffee ground onto the cement and watched a group of pigeons congregate, mindlessly pecking at nothing.
Nathan’s security detail looked relaxed yet alert. They were professionals, and as such had no delusions that they were invincible, bulletproof, or safe.
“Reo, your man, he is late.”
“He is on Mexican Standard Time, my friend. Shall we go in and look around?”
“No, been here many times.”
“You know, the American generals Robert E. Lee and Ulysses S. Grant fought here. Ironic, yes? Of course they were not generals at the time. They marched up here with Major General Winfield Scott from Veracruz, where they landed back in 1847. Dawn, September twelfth, to be accurate, they began—”
“Reo! No offense, but really I am not in the mood for a history lesson. It’s over. I know the marine corps hymn came from this miserable place high up on this hill. We leave in five minutes.”
Reo frowned and suddenly reached in his pocket; his phone was buzzing. “Speak of the devil.” He looked at the screen. “He is here, traffic. Be patient.” Reo smiled like a schoolboy who had used his professor’s own words against him.
Nathan finished his coffee, dropped it in a wastebasket, and then waited for his contacts to arrive. He was not feeling optimistic. Nathan had been meeting with a representative named Roberto for nearly a year. Roberto was the liaison between the anonymous private-sector corporations and the small sect of Mexican officials who had originally hired Dark Cloud.
Jorge Valdez stood in the center of an oval, carpeted room in the bottom of the Happy Mermaid. The oval room served as Mario’s situation room. Jorge thought, with a twinge of guilt, that it was now the room where he was plotting Mario’s demise. Jorge had several situations coming together at once, and as a good battlefield commander he would use each one to his advantage. First of all Mario Jr., Jorge’s oldest son, an arrogant prick with an MBA from UCLA, was on his to approve of the purchase. He was the money man of Mario’s operation. Nothing major was purchased without his approval. Mario’s youngest son, also named Mario, went by the nick name of Little Mario. He was usually jet setting around Europe schmoozing and paying off police and high-ranking officials. He would also be at the sub deal and birthday party. Jorge knew that Mario Jr. was not a fan of the sub sale, but conceded that it would happen to please his father. Jorge needed the sub deal to suc
ceed as well—it would serve two purposes. One, it would further divide the Mario and anti-Mario loyalists. It was a decadent purchase that would only draw attention to their organization when seized by the police. Two, the location of the sub purchase would be the perfect backdrop for the annihilation of hundreds of enemies, Mario included. Again the guilt.
Jorge had decided weeks ago where the location of the sub purchase would be. It was even better now that Tommy had mentioned it. Jorge was familiar with the old smugglers game of “we have another buyer” or “we need to switch locations.” In the end, everything would workout in Jorge’s favor. His army was ready.
“Boss?” Gerard asked. He had been saying something that Jorge had missed.
Jorge focused on the present and sat down at the table and rearranged three satellite phones, a cell phone, and an iPad. He breathed deeply and looked up at Gerard. He was the only one who called Gerard by his real name.
“Gerard, the answer is this. Though I do appreciate your perseverance in investigating the ambush in Juárez, I need you to drop it. No doubt an informant or rival gang was involved. Those amateur kidnappers no doubt brought down unwanted attention.” Jorge looked regretful and waved his hand in the air. He did not want to crush Gerard’s spirit but had to be firm.
“You are my best man. I need you to help with this operation. If you can investigate and still be here mentally and physically, by all means do it. But this operation…” Jorge thumped the desk. “This operation will redefine Mexico!”
“Yessir.” Gerard seemed satisfied and sat on the table.
The sound of a helicopter made the glasses and table vibrate.
“Mario Jr. is here,” Jorge said.
Nathan, Reo, and an unattractive, heavyset woman named Carletta sat at a small, uncomfortable steel table in chairs that were equally uncomfortable. Nathan offered up his chair to the middle-aged woman when he realized her chair rocked as if one leg was too short. Birds surrounded them, the sun was lazy and low, and now two separate security details were pacing quietly in the distance. Nathan locked eyes with Carletta. She was weathered, cultured, and tough. Her eyes were shrewd and her hands firm as she laid them flatly on the table. Nathan heard a siren off in the distance, which was then muffled by a jumbo jet.
Silver Lead and Dead (Evan Hernandez series Book 1) Page 18