Evan could not help but be shocked. He looked at Arturo and whistled. “How many of you are here?”
“Two hundred,” the man said. “We snuck in at night. Jorge does not know we are here. We even smuggled in those extra machine-gun things.”
“Oh, boy! Hey, Lucky! We are about to walk into a slaughter!”
“What?” Lucky asked. A shocked look moved across his face.
Evan walked over to the radio and held out his hand. There was no coverage inside the steel submarine, so they had to go low tech and use a radio that had an external antenna. Evan took the radio handset from Lucky and shook his head. He suddenly felt like he was in an old World War II movie, only they were fighting drug-crazed zombies with sombreros.
“Lucky, go see what you can on the external cameras. We gotta bolt in about twenty minutes!”
“Prisoners?” Lucky asked.
“They will be far safer here. Do not take the duct tape off that chick’s mouth!” Evan said—the first serious thing he had said all week.
Lucky laughed and walked away.
Bravo Squad was making last-minute adjustments and preparations. They all had their own ritual. No one spoke.
“Roger?”
Evan heard static and frowned. Then he heard an angry grumble.
“Aye, Evan. They let you play with the radio?”
“Yes.”
“What’s up?” Roger asked.
Evan smiled. “OK, listen. We just got intel from a Mario triggerman that the purpose of those gun trucks and their whole freaking army is to kill the Scorpions. And everyone else. A jealousy love triangle. I…I don’t get it, but that’s it.” Evan shook his head and felt confused, and then he finished. “Anyway, we are about to walk into a mini–Tiananmen Square. They also have orders to kill and loot, rape and pillage. Scorpions are the main course!” Evan listened to silence for a second.
“What? If this is true, it doesn’t remotely make sense! Mario is celebrating his son’s life and having his birthday. Turf war? Mario likes Jorge. I don’t believe it.”
“It makes perfect sense, Roger, if there is a coup!”
Roger sounded confused when said, “You lost me.”
“Roger, the Scorpions are the target, and then rape, pillage, and burn. Mario is not behind this; his other son is!”
Tanya had been listening and walked over and stood next to Evan. She snapped her fingers and grabbed the handset from Evan.
“Roger! Hi, honey, this is me. I know Jorge has been planning something, but it’s possible that Mario or Little Mario, as they call him, has been too. None of the brothers like Jorge. I think this is revenge. I don’t think he has a clue of Jorge’s bigger ambitions. This is a hunch.”
“OK. This sucks. We have to move fast and end this. Only the navy can handle this!” Roger said.
“Use the chaos!” Evan blurted.
No one spoke for a moment.
Roger spoke before anyone else could. “OK, look, we stick to the plan. I am with Alpha and Bravo Teams right now on the yacht. We have taken out some guards. We are planting C-4 as we speak. Charlie Squad is waiting to cover your egress from the submarine. You got no cover, so ye better haul ass to the yacht!”
Roger paused.
“Where is Green Team Two Alpha and Charlie?” Evan asked.
“En route. Oscar says they had to take down some guests who got too close. Alpha is moving to you right now from the north. Got it?” Roger said.
“Called the navy yet?”
“Aye. You got Mario?”
“No. But tell the navy we do, in case they bail. Let’s go on your signal like we planned, Roger. If the crap hits the fan, we all pile around the Mermaid!”
Evan spoke rapidly and toyed with his UMP.40 as it hung on his sling. He and the members of Dark Cloud now truly looked like a tactical team of some sort. Every man had a tactical vest crammed full of magazines, grenades, and personal weapons or blades of choice. Cargo pants, shorts, some even wore jeans. Almost everyone had on a pair of knee pads and shin guards. The team members wore jackets of their own choosing, black or brown, and even a few different patterns of camouflage. No one could not mistake them for an army, but it would take careful observation to peg them as the same army.
Evan wore brown, tactical 5.11 cargo pants with a heavy web belt, on which hung a Leatherman tactical flashlight that could also serve as a concealable stun gun and his backup H&K handgun. He had shin pads on and kneepads around his ankles. His combat boots were fairly new, unfortunately. He wore a large bulletproof vest with a ceramic plate in the back. He cared less about standing out now than he did about surviving. His eye protection was on a strap that hung around his neck. And he wore a chewed-up olive-green baseball hat backward. Evan’s second-most important accessory, besides his extra rounds, was his last can of Skoal in his cargo pocket.
Roger spoke quickly to Evan. His voice was tense. “You just get out of the sub. Charlie Squad Team One starts taking out gun trucks once you are clear. By then Team Two should be in position!”
CHAPTER 36
Son of a Drug Dealer
Jorge Valdez had left the sub ten minutes earlier. He had walked with his security detail back on board the Happy Mermaid and down below to where he had been told Mario was waiting for him. Gerard had elected to stay outside and on the docks with a group of Scorpions. They wanted to keep an eye on Mario’s men and the guests without raising suspicion. Jorge had always had a little tension with Mario Jr. II and even more so with Mario’s regular triggermen. Jorge viewed this as the same sort of rivalry that was common among regular infantry, who, deep down inside, wished they could be special forces but in reality could not make the cut. Jorge’s men ran the training camps, the shooting ranges, and the kidnapping and surveillance classes that the regular triggermen attended. Jorge had seen waves of different types of killers over the years. The regular troops used to be respectful and look up to his more elite team. Years ago they used to strive to be like Scorpions or even join them, but now the new crop were just resentful punks. Many of them had spent time in prison in Mexico and in the States. They either had no education or very little. The new crop was just immature, sadistic, lazy, and all about pleasure and entitlement.
Jorge loathed them.
“Boss, can you share with me your barbecue secrets?” Marco walked next to Jorge. He loved to eat. Marco’s, main job was to launder money through a chain of restaurants in Juárez and southern Arizona.
“Slow and low, my friend. The rub that I use, it is a family secret, but the key is always low heat over a day. Just like life, my friend, patience produces more results, huh?”
Marco laughed. “So true, boss. Just wanted to tell you, you are a great chef!”
“Thank you!”
Jorge and his five-man detail talked about the weather, food, and sports as they were led by a slim girl of about nineteen down into the bottom of the yacht.
“So where are the rest of the men, Marco?” Jorge asked. “I want everyone a little more alert.”
“Almost everyone is at the garage or gym. I think Gerard told everyone to rally in the next hour. Dressed and ready to play.”
Jorge smiled, but on the inside he was nervous. He was severely outnumbered by Mario’s thugs, and this concerned him. They had lied about their numbers. Two boats showed up late last night, and each off-loaded about fifty more men and equipment.
Why do this in the cover of night? Jorge mused. He also knew that Mario was not behind it. Security was supposed to be Jorge’s realm.
The six men were led into the Happy Mermaid’s gymnasium at the bottom of the yacht. The area was not as large as the ship’s hold, which could hold a few cars, Jet Skis, and a number of inflatable boats. The gymnasium had a half-size basketball court, a glass-walled squash court, and a modest gym with some aerobics equipment. The free weights where his men regularly worked out were on the top deck.
Jorge smiled and thought about Tanya complaining to him about the
gym filling up whenever she used it and the men staring too much.
“I will tell them to use the gym below,” he had said.
“Jorge! How are you?”
Jorge paused and stared at Little Mario, who was perhaps the most fake person Jorge had ever known, and that included politicians. Little Mario had the nickname, from Jorge’s men, of the White Mexican. He had a different mother than the other two sons.
“Your foot, what happened, my friend?” Jorge smiled on the outside only and extended his hand. Little Mario had a wimpy, soft handshake. He was not a small man, however. His shoulders were broad, and he liked steroids.
“Oh, polo accident in Buenos Aires. I was doing so good this year!”
“Unfortunate.” Jorge looked at the plastic boot on his foot and the cane that he leaned heavily on. He was all alone and stood smiling at Jorge and his five killers.
“I have not been back to Mexico in a few months, and so much as changed!” Little Mario was the consummate playboy. He dabbled in marketing and making connections on the international scene for Mario’s business. His best talent was being rich and spending daddy’s money. Jorge did give him credit, however—he could charm and network, but without money he was an empty suit. Jorge regarded him as an amateur, a con man. Little Mario had solidified almost all of the European and Australian connections with Mario’s product. He had villas in Spain and Italy and graced the organization with his presence a few times a year to brag about how lavish he had it.
Jorge frowned and folded his arms. “Your father, where is he?”
“He is still in bed. I have never seen him this depressed!”
Jorge nodded and felt a bit of pity for Mario. He understood the pain of a broken heart. In hindsight, he wished that he had not had to kill the other brother.
“He has lost a wonderful son, and, well, it is like losing a part of yourself. You see, Mario, the death of a child, it is an indescribable pain. Your father, he will mourn in his way.”
“Well said, Jorge.”
“So how have you been?” Jorge asked.
Jorge sized up the room and began to feel awkward. He had been lied to or given false information. He was told that Boss Mario wanted to speak with him. Jorge looked at his watch. He had to end this whole thing and soon. First, he wanted to have lunch.
Jorge pretended to listen to Little Mario Jr. for ten minutes as he bragged about his international exploits and travels. The girls, the important people, and the fun—yes, the fun.
“So, Mario, I have noticed a very large presence of security. Why is this necessary? You know that I have traditionally taken care of security.”
“Oh, yes, yes. Well, I wanted more men here. I have some building projects, and, well, if they pose as security guards it makes us look more official. You know, some important people are here, and I—” Little Mario stopped speaking.
“Pardon, excuse me!” someone interrupted.
Jorge and Mario both paused. Jorge generally did not tolerate interruptions, but this was no ordinary day.
Jorge and his men turned around and froze.
A beautiful woman wearing a swimsuit leaned shyly against the door, half in the room. “I am sorry, honey, to interrupt, but I need some help moving some furniture. And with your foot—” She frowned and looked dejected for a moment. “I am interrupting, I can see that. No, no, sorry.”
“One moment, miss. You are a very pleasant interruption.” Jorge smiled and offered his hand.
The woman blushed for a moment and then walked into the basketball court. She carried her looks as a burden almost, as if she genuinely felt sorry for those who were normal.
“I have seen you on television, miss,” Jorge said.
She blushed and flicked her black hair over her shoulder.
“And I have heard how charming you are, Mr. Valdez. You are even more so in person.”
“You flatter an old man. Thank you.”
Jorge and his men, who suddenly were no longer slouching or looking bored, stood up straight.
“I know you have important things to discuss. I just need two dressers moved.”
She looked approvingly at the torsos of Mario’s bodyguards. “Can I borrow muscle?”
Jorge shrugged and waved his men after the TV actress.
“Should we go sit while we wait for my father? Can I offer you some coffee?” Little Mario asked.
“Sure.” Jorge followed Mario across the basketball court to a small oak desk that had drinks set out on a silver tray.
“So, Jorge, I have so many questions for you.”
“OK.” Jorge sat and poured a cup of coffee for himself.
Little Mario sat in his chair and put his cane across his knees. He began speaking. “As you know, my older half-brother, he handles, or handled, the procurement of items. Any big purchases. Boats, houses, submarines. I am more of a marketing guy. But I do have a degree in economics. My younger brother, he is the numbers guy: investments, banks stocks offshore, blah, blah.”
“Yes, I know all this.” Jorge sipped his coffee and let his right hand rest in his lap near his massive handgun.
“Well, I was coming back for the funeral, flying back from Venezuela. I go to withdraw money, and my account is closed. I talk to my younger brother. He tells me something crazy has happened. Can you imagine the number of bills a multibillion-dollar organization has to pay? Legitimate bills: rent, insurance, utilities on hundreds of properties, taxes! Not even touching personnel.”
“Staggering, I am sure.” Jorge inched his finger closer to his Smith & Wesson.
“Well, not as staggering as what my brother told me.”
“Yes?” Jorge asked.
Little Mario continued.“Over the last several months, he has been having trouble with banks. At first he thought it was a fluke, you know, outsourcing jobs, stupid bank workers. But no! It has become more frequent.”
Jorge sipped his coffee and looked concerned. “Yes?”
“Well, about the time that Mario my brother noticed this, he mentioned it to my other brother, Mario. God rest his soul.”
Jorge and Mario both set their cups down to cross themselves.
“We have been defaulting on bills, loans. Cash shipments have not been making it to places. I tried to pay for an Italian police boat that we destroyed—you know, pay them back for damages. No money!”
“What?” Jorge put his left hand on the table.
“Yes! My brothers and I put our heads together last week and compared notes. It has been as if over the last few months, someone has been slowly draining our money, but worse than that, this person has been leaving just enough to pay our bills. When there is a default, I will look the next day, and the money is back”—Mario snapped his fingers—“and then gone again.”
“Someone is skimming money?” Jorge looked puzzled. He did not need this additional headache.
“Funneling our money. Then this crazy submarine thing comes up.” Mario started drumming his fingers on the table and looked up at the ceiling pleading with his eyes. “Then! My brother dies.” He shook his head and looked at Jorge. “I…I—” Mario stopped as if he had a different train of thought.
“Then I heard about the new computers, that, oh…a girl named Tanya was installing? Tanya from Brazil. Tanya who has about ten different aliases, including Sophia Velazquez who formerly worked for the Brazilian Intelligence Agency! Ha-ha!”
Mario stood up and threw his head back in the air like a child who had just discovered someone had played a prank on him. “It all came together for me!”
Jorge felt pale and hot. He rested his hand on his weapon and felt his teeth begin to grind. Was this little shit trying to blame him?
“This is impossible!” Jorge whispered.
“No, it is not. All of—” Mario laughed as if he were in pain and slapped the desk. “No, you will love this part!”
“Speak, but speak carefully, son,” Jorge said flatly.
“OK. Um, how do I put this?�
�� Mario put one hand on his face and limped next to Jorge on his cane and then around the desk.
“Oh, oh, I will just say it: All of our freaking money is gone. The warehouses, everything, it is all gone, and you stole it to finance your overthrow of Mexico! Yes!” Mario Jr. II yelled at the top of his lungs. Then he got very quiet. “I know about the coup to consolidate all of the power.”
Jorge heard a burst of machine-gun fire next door. “Shit!” Jorge kicked back from the table and drew his Smith & Wesson. He tried to get two hands on it.
Boom!
Jorge tumbled back over in his chair and began to scream as loud as he ever had. His fingers disappeared in a cloud of mist and smoke, and his handgun clanged on the floor.
Little Mario, who was younger and had the reflexes of an athlete, had touched his cane to Jorge’s left hand. The cane was, in fact, not a cane but a hollow tube that held shotgun shells, triggered by a hidden squeeze.
“Ahhh!”
“Scream, Jorge, scream! Your men are all dead! The guests, they are all gonna die! Your coup, it is over! You will live long enough to see your house of cards crumble! I know everything, you fuck!”
Mario started kicking Jorge as hard as he could with his plastic boot. Jorge did his best to stop the bleeding. He cursed and folded his hand, or what was left of it, under his body. Jorge’s last thought before he passed out was that Mario did not have a broken foot.
Mario was in a frenzy. He flipped over the desk, threw the chair across the court, and jumped up and down. “Ahhhh!” he yelled.
His former-actress girlfriend walked into the room with two other girls and six men. She now wore a leather jacket over her one-piece bathing suit. She had blood splatter on her cheek, and on her it looked good.
“Darling, stop the yelling. It’s not good for your inner peace!” She walked across the court and comforted her boyfriend as he stood over Jorge and sobbed.
“Sweetie, it’s OK. I am here!”
Jocelyn handed her MP5 to one of the men who was with her and comforted Little Mario. She guided him from the room, soothing him like a child.
“Don’t stand there!” she snapped at the men as she paused near the door. She had her arms around the much-taller man and dug her fingers through his hair. “Get that piece of crap. Bring him up to the observation room, Mario’s father’s room. He can watch the fireworks from there!” Jocelyn continued to speak and soothe her boyfriend. “I want him to see everyone die!”
Silver Lead and Dead (Evan Hernandez series Book 1) Page 34