White Lines

by Tom Fowler

  Tyler figured he’d run into Orlan again. Considering the recent losses in his organization, Héctor may have sent his trusted colossus to ensure this shipment went off without a hitch. Tyler baiting the man by mentioning Houston probably helped. If so, mission accomplished. The huge enforcer got the better of him twice now. Tyler thought about how their next meeting might go. He wanted to stay close to Orlan and take away his advantages in strength and reach. He practiced short punches and elbow strikes as he kept reviewing the attack plan in his mind.

  An hour after dusk settled, Tyler, Rollins, and Aguilar headed to the Iron Tower. The SUV was unbothered by rough terrain, so Rollins drove it off the road. He left it behind the hill across from the facility. The three men got out, geared up, and conducted a final weapons and comms check.

  A few minutes later, four Suburbans rolled up to the gate. They drove inside, and the foreboding iron barrier slid shut behind the last vehicle. They drove a narrow, poorly-lit path to the main doors. Tyler watched them through night-vision binoculars. Three men exited each SUV, including Orlan from the one in the front. "Looks like the cartel sent a few guys to help them process everything," Tyler said.

  "They might stick around," Aguilar said. "Not a lot of chatter about violence in Mexico right now."

  "We'll make up for it. There'll be plenty of it here."

  Two of the men removed M16s from the rearmost Suburban and stood watch over the operation. Orlan directed everyone else. One by one, they each carried bricks of drugs inside. The whole thing took about fifteen minutes. Tyler wondered how many kilos there were and what kind of street value it would translate to. It must have been tens of millions. "We're not going to get all this out of here," he said. With all the product inside, the two sentries walked the perimeter of the building.

  Aguilar shrugged. "Siphon gas from their SUVs and burn the rest."

  Tyler nodded. "I like the way you think." He glanced at Rollins. "Call your friend."

  Rollins did. "We're in position."

  "All right," C.T. said, and his voice came through their earpieces. "I've discovered something about maintenance mode on the system, by the way."

  "What is it?"

  "The cameras still record unless they're disabled locally. It's a good fail-safe. Probably designed as a countermeasure against this very weakness."

  "What are we going to do about it?" Tyler asked.

  “We are going to sample five minutes of footage," C.T. said. "I can feed it back to the central video controller. They might catch on if someone watches it all, but I doubt it would happen until you're out of there."

  "Do it," Rollins said. "We can spend a few minutes checking everything out, anyway."

  "All right. I'm going to put it in maintenance mode in a few seconds. You'll have two hours less five minutes to storm the castle."

  "Understood. Text me when we can go." Rollins hung up.

  Tyler used a pair of night-vision binoculars to check out the Iron Tower. The dearth of exterior lighting made things easier. The compound only provided enough illumination for two men to walk the perimeter. Even then, Tyler guessed half their steps were in what remained of the natural light. "Looks like it takes one guy about four minutes to make it around."

  Aguilar set up a tripod and his suppressed M4 carbine. "I'll be ready. The way they're staggering the patrol, you'll have two minutes until the second asshole sees the body. I think you should be in position at the gate when I drop the first one."

  "We will," Tyler said.

  Rollins' phone buzzed. "We're on," he said after reading the message. "He also sent me the admin codes for the gate and the front door."

  "One-stop shopping," Aguilar said as he took his position. "You guys go."

  Tyler slid his Sig out of its holster. "All right. Radio silence unless we need to talk. Good luck, guys. And . . . thanks."

  Rollins clapped him on the shoulder, and the two moved in a crouch. They dashed across the road and approached the gate. From Tyler’s right, a sentry walked around the far corner and moved toward the front of the building. Before he could worry about the man spotting them in another fifty yards, a muffled report sounded from behind them, and the guard fell over dead. Rollins entered the code he got from his friend, and the gate slid back. It made more noise than Tyler would have liked. No one inside would hear it, though, and the other guy on patrol would be in the back of the building. They ran through as soon as it was open wide enough.

  Rollins went first up the narrow road. Behind them, the black barrier slid shut. A large column stood on either side of the front door. Rollins hid behind one, and Tyler took up position behind the other. A minute later, the second man walked past them, oblivious to their presence. Tyler leaned out to watch him. He stopped a few feet later—probably when he spotted his partner’s body. Before he could raise an alarm, however, another quiet report came from across the way, and a single shot to the head dropped the fellow where he stood.

  The gate slid open and closed again as Aguilar joined them. Rollins entered a code into the keypad. The lock disengaged with a click. He pulled the door open, and the three men slipped inside the Iron Tower.

  33

  It wasn’t much brighter inside the building, but it definitely felt cooler. A small lobby greeted visitors. Past it, a single door led deeper into the Iron Tower. Tyler knew from photos they would encounter office spaces first. Those emptied into a pair of large packing and processing areas. The place would have been a nice setup for a warehouse or shipping company. Instead, Héctor and the cartel were the sole lessees.

  They moved on. “Let’s clear the offices,” Tyler whispered. “They’re likely to be empty, but we want to be sure.”

  “I’ll take the second level,” Rollins said as he headed for the stairs. Tyler pointed to himself and then the left. Aguilar nodded and went to the right. Tyler opened each door, his M11 leading the way. Most of the rooms didn’t even contain a desk. The owners didn’t even bother pretending anyone used the office space. Cartel money must have spent really well.

  When he’d finished clearing the rooms, Tyler moved on to the door leading to the rest of the building. Aguilar joined him in a moment, and Rollins came down the stairs a minute later. “All clear,” he said. “Most of them were totally empty.” A keypad restricted access. Rollins entered the same code as before. The red light flashed green. He pushed the door open just enough to pass inside. Aguilar, the last one through, held the door while it closed quietly.

  Rollins stayed low and went to the left. Aguilar followed him. Tyler hugged the right-hand wall. Factory machines dominated the floor. Most were off, but a few conveyor belts ran. It added to the noise, which only helped. Tyler didn’t see Orlan, but a bunch of guys clustered around the center of the room with kilos of cocaine. They all wore jackets against the constant cool of the air conditioning. A small alcove immediately ahead held a water fountain. Tyler ducked into it as a man broke from the pack and walked into the nearby restroom. No one followed him. Tyler slipped inside, holstered the Sig, and drew a serrated knife from a scabbard on his left hip.

  The man stood at a urinal focused on the task at hand. Tyler padded close behind him, put one hand over his mouth, and cut his throat from ear to ear. He let the body fall, and blood spurted and pooled on the bright linoleum floor. Tyler wiped his knife on the dead man’s shirt. He’d barely slid it back into its sheath when another man walked in. He gaped at the scene and stared at Tyler with wide eyes.

  Tyler sprang forward, punching the newcomer in the stomach and doubling him over. He drove an elbow into the man’s temple, then grabbed him by the hair and slammed his head into the sink. A bloody smear traced down the porcelain. The guy stirred. Tyler dragged him into a stall, propped him on the toilet, and also slit his throat. He cleaned his blade a second time before replacing it with his pistol.

  No one else came in. Someone would notice these two were missing before long. Tyler couldn’t see a way to lock the bathroom door from the outsi
de without a key. Hopefully, they’d thin the herd before anyone else decided to take a piss. Tyler stayed close to the wall as he moved farther down. Some of the workers opened the bricks of coke and mixed it with another white powder. Once the ratios were good, another group repackaged it. Tyler observed one brick turn into four once the contents were blended.

  He approached the end of the processing area. The smooth concrete passage continued to the left, and stairs led to a lower level. Tyler crouched and took a step to the left when someone grabbed him and pulled him toward the steps. He leaned forward and into a roll, coming up in a crouch. Orlan smiled at him. “I told you I’d see you again,” the giant said. “This time, I’ll kill you.”

  Tyler assumed a fighting stance and inched away from the stairs. They were bare metal, and he didn’t want to go down them the hard way. “You’ve had two chances. The third time won’t be the charm.”

  Orlan puffed his chest out and stood at his full height, about ten inches above the top of Tyler’s head. “I’m bigger, younger, faster, and stronger.” He grinned. “I almost like your American cowboy attitude. How do you think you’ll win?”

  “Experience and treachery,” Tyler said.

  “I’ll carve it on your tombstone . . . right after I finish pissing on your grave.” Orlan scoffed. He wore a bullet-resistant vest like Tyler. They were meant to blunt high-velocity projectiles, but they also afforded some protection against punches and kicks. In addition, he sported a pistol strapped to his hip. Tyler also spotted the grenade he’d seen in their first encounter. It peeked out from under his vest inside his windbreaker. At the time, Tyler thought the huge man to be a psychopath. He still believed this, but now he saw it as a potential vulnerability.

  Orlan threw a powerful right hook. Tyler stayed out of his range and stepped back from the blow. He needed to get inside the colossus’ reach to have much of a chance. Another hook and an uppercut kept him at bay. Orlan followed them with a left cross Tyler sidestepped and a side kick he blocked. The big man wasn’t even breathing hard despite his opening salvo. A lot of the massive opponents Tyler faced over the years wore themselves out in the first minute. Orlan had the stamina they lacked, and an extended fight favored him—a fact Tyler was certain his foe understood.

  Another long hook afforded Tyler the chance to duck and scamper closer. He launched a couple punches at Orlan’s sides below his armor. He shrugged off the blows and brought his hands closer. Tyler pressed the offense. He reached high to wallop the giant in the face. The punch turned his head but didn’t stagger him or knock him down. Tyler blocked a jab and clobbered the bigger man again. This time, a line of blood spiraled from his lip. He grunted and shoved Tyler away. “First blood.” Orlan wiped his mouth. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

  “I ran into some drug dealers in DC a few months ago,” Tyler said. “The boss there kept a big asshole like you on the payroll.”

  Orlan raised his fists again. “What happened?”

  “I beat him to death with a rolling pin in his jefe’s kitchen.”

  “You’re down to your fists here.” Orlan circled and fired a left cross. Tyler leaned away, but Orlan grabbed him around the neck with his right hand. He lifted Tyler off the ground and used his left to hoist him all the way up. Tyler knew what was coming—the giant planned to toss him down the stairs. He stuck his middle knuckle out and socked Orlan square in the eye. He staggered, and Tyler fell behind him. The impact rattled him. Thankfully, Orlan was slow to turn around, and he rubbed at his eye when he did.

  Tyler capitalized. He rose to one knee and punched Orlan in the groin. As he bent in half, Tyler stood. He elbowed Orlan in the head twice, then knocked him flat with a solid right. When he moved forward, Orlan recovered quickly with a kick to Tyler’s midsection. The vest soaked up some of the impact, but it still forced him to take a couple steps back. Orlan regained his feet and glowered. “Now, you die.” He spat at Tyler.

  “Get on with it, then,” Tyler said. Orlan stalked closer, breathing hard for the first time. Tyler blunted his first jab, which lacked a lot of power. The cross thundering behind it came in at full speed, and Tyler’s arm stung when he blocked it. Orlan went for a kick, and Tyler stepped to the side, then rushed in before the big man could get both feet under him again. He hammered some short punches into Orlan’s exposed midsection. The giant grunted as each found the mark. Tyler turned to the side, elbowed him directly in the navel, and reached under his adversary’s jacket. When Orlan leaned down, Tyler shot up, hitting the giant in the mouth with the crown of his head. With Orlan staggered, Tyler kicked him hard in the chest, sending him stumbling backwards and down the metal steps.

  He landed with a crash at the bottom. Despite the drubbing the stairs gave him, he rose to one knee right away. “I’ll enjoy beating you to death.”

  Tyler held up the grenade pin and shook it back and forth. Orlan’s eyes widened and he reached for his side in a panic. “Experience and treachery,” Tyler said.

  He turned his back. A wet explosion boomed behind him, and the force knocked Tyler down. He drew his M11 and stood. They’d lost the element of surprise now, but Orlan was dead, and Tyler still had two capable operatives on his team.

  He liked the odds.

  34

  Rollins stayed low and kept close to the wall. The lines of conveyor belts and other machinery would make him difficult to spot if he kept in a crouch. Aguilar went ahead. Rollins looked across the large room. A guy walked into the men’s room. Tyler followed him. Another went in maybe a minute later. Only Tyler walked back out.

  A smooth but narrow walkway encircled the production area, ending in stairs at the far end. The work space looked slightly larger than a hockey rink. Even four large SUVs worth of cocaine couldn’t put a dent in its capacity. With the cartel as its only client, Rollins wondered who built the Iron Tower and what they hoped to do with it. Maybe he would ask C.T. to look into it when this was all over.

  Near a large machine he couldn’t identify, Rollins ducked low and watched the workers. He could have taken out the three closest to him, but it would cost everyone the element of surprise. Better to wait and see what happened. Tyler preached patience on a mission, and Rollins was a believer. The first people to run off and do their own thing usually turned out to be the first casualties.

  The men turned a brick of pure cocaine into four which could be sold on the streets. He wondered how they planned to get it all out of here. Bringing the drugs in took a quartet of Suburbans. Were a dozen more on standby? Would they roll the product out in shifts? A man approached his position. Rollins wouldn’t get those answers anytime soon. He crept back a few steps. The guy sidled around the machine, grabbed a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket, then locked eyes with Rollins.

  The knife slipped between his ribs without a sound. Blood burbled on the dying man’s lips, but he made no noise as Rollins lowered him to the concrete. With the pair Tyler dispatched in the bathroom, they’d taken out three. The odds were getting better. Rollins’ phone vibrated. He looked at the text from C.T. on his watch. You have an hour and fifteen minutes.

  Rollins still hadn’t seen Orlan, and he wondered if the big man found Tyler. Considering how their previous two encounters went, he hoped Tyler possessed the good sense to shoot the giant on sight. Ahead, Aguilar caught Rollins’ eye. He held up five fingers and pointed into the work area. Rollins held up two. Aguilar checked the area again. This time, he held up his thumb and first two fingers. The middle dropped, then the index. When the thumb folded into his fist, Aguilar stood, and Rollins did, too. They both scampered toward the workers. Cries of surprise went up, and Rollins shot the two men closest to him before they could reach their weapons. With gunshots coming from farther down, also, the rest of the men scattered and took cover where they could.

  Rollins crouched near a conveyor belt. Four cartel workers bolted for the stairs on the left. Aguilar followed. “Dammit,” Rollins muttered, but he sprang to his feet and
gave chase. He’d almost made it down the stairs when a nearby explosion rocked him from his feet.

  After the grenade explosion killed Orlan—a fact Tyler confirmed by looking at the grisly scene below—many of the men above scattered. From his vantage point near the stairs, Tyler saw Aguilar and Rollins pursue a bunch down the other set of steps. Judging by the raised voices, a few remained on the main level. Considering how pear-shaped things turned out for them, they must have been considering cutting their losses.

  Which would mean leaving with the drugs.

  Tyler advanced. One man shouted in Spanish at three others. Tyler didn’t know what he said, but he pointed at the processed and unprocessed bricks of cocaine. Each man held an AK-47 in one hand. If they were going to carry anything, they’d need to set the guns down. Tyler hunkered down and waited. Sure enough, two of them dropped their rifles and gathered the coke into the boxes they used to bring it inside.

  Tyler stood and stepped out into the open. One of the men spotted him, and he managed to get a couple syllables out before a 9MM slug entered his head and killed him. The second was slow to react, and Tyler pumped two bullets into his center mass. He fell beside his mouthy friend. The other two scampered for cover. Tyler was outgunned, so he dashed for the end of the conveyor belt. The large control panel would give him at least as much cover as they enjoyed.

  Automatic weapons fire cut through the silence a few seconds later. The idiots were firing blind. Even if they happened to see where Tyler hid, he wasn’t exposed to them, and their bullets wouldn’t make it through a large steel electronics panel. Rounds thunked into metal and pinged off other surfaces. Tyler holstered his Sig and took the Kel-Tec KSG shotgun off his back. These two morons would eventually come to him. They’d either think their barrage proved successful, or their curiosity would overwhelm them. As usual, Tyler took the patient approach.