“Bastardo.”
The knife had a thick, heavy blade and it slowed the guy’s desperate slashes. Even so, Bolan kept his eye on the weaving length of steel. He was an experienced knife fighter, and even the clumsiest attacker only had to get lucky once.
Bolan avoided the first couple of uncoordinated thrusts, watching the blade as it completed its arc. In the moment it swung at him again, Bolan stepped in, caught the knife arm, turned his body into his opponent’s space and used his free arm to hammer the point of his elbow into the man’s face. The blow was delivered without hesitation and with crippling force. The knife man’s cry of pain was reduced to a choking gurgle as blood from his crushed nose and shattered teeth filled his mouth. When Bolan added pressure, the knife slipped from limp fingers. The soldier reached back and gripped a handful of the guy’s shirt. He yanked forward, bending so that his adversary was pulled over his shoulder. The man slammed onto the hard ground with a solid thud, with Bolan standing over him. He never saw the heavy swing of the Executioner’s boot. It connected with the back of his skull and slammed him into oblivion.
A warning yell from the dark-haired woman drew Bolan’s attention. He turned and saw the first guy reach for something tucked into his belt. He saw the dark outline of an autopistol rise. Stepping to the man’s blind side, Bolan delivered a brutal kick to his head. The hard impact drove him facedown on the dusty ground. Leaning over, the soldier picked up the pistol and jammed it beneath his own belt, under the black leather jacket he was wearing. He checked their pockets but found little except tight rolls of paper money. Bolan took them. Cash was sometimes a handy way of smoothing over complications.
Then he bent over the slim form of the woman, gently grasping a bare arm. She resisted, still dazed from the attack, but there was not a lot of fight left in her.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Bolan said. “Just want to get you away from here. ¿Entiendes?”
She looked up at him, brushing black hair away from her pale face. A thin line of blood seeped from the corner of her soft mouth.
“Yes, I understand English.”
“Good,” Bolan said, “because my Spanish isn’t always that clear.”
He helped her to her feet. She swayed a little, then steadied herself. She still clutched the bundle to her.
“Let’s go,” Bolan said.
She hesitated, her eyes wide and cautious.
“Go where?”
“Somewhere away from these people.”
She stared at him for long seconds, and Bolan sensed her mind was whirling with thoughts. He understood her suspicions.
“You were a friend of Don Manners?” A quick nod. “Then we’re on the same side. Now let’s get the hell out of here in case those two have backup.”
He took her slim hand in his and led her back toward the street, across to where his 4x4 was parked. Bolan saw her into the passenger seat, then climbed behind the wheel and fired up the engine. He eased along the street, heading for the center of town where there were more people, light and his motel.
The young woman had slumped back in the seat, her face turned away from view, hugging the bundle she carried. The way she held on to it was working on Bolan’s curiosity. He didn’t ask her about it. There was time for that once he had her off the street.
It was close to eleven p.m. The town’s main drag was crowded. The street was busy with traffic, so it took Bolan a while to reach the turn for the motel. He eased through the pedestrians, cleared the town. It was quieter here, the street almost deserted. The motel was a half mile along the strip of road. Bolan drove into the courtyard through the adobe arch, angling the truck to a stop outside his room. He cut the engine and stepped out, then circled the vehicle to open the passenger door.
“Best room in the house,” he said. “I promise.”
The woman climbed out. Bolan guided her to the door and unlocked it. He pushed the door open and stood back to let her go inside. She stood in the center of the room, staring at her surroundings. Bolan quietly closed and locked the door. He shuttered the window blind and put on the main light, leaving her alone while he went into the bathroom and ran warm water in the basin. He chose a small towel and soaked half of it in the water, squeezing out the excess. When he got back in the main room, the woman was sitting on the end of the bed.
“For your face,” Bolan said, holding out the towel.
She took it and held it against her mouth. Bolan noticed she had placed her mysterious package on the bed next to her. He ignored it, crossing to the armchair facing the bed. He sat, giving her time to tend to her injury. A bruise was forming on her lower cheek, discoloring her tawny complexion.
In the room light he could see she was attractive, her face dominated by large brown eyes and softly plump lips. Her shoulder-length black hair was thick and shiny. Beneath the soft cotton shirt and faded jeans, her figure was lithe and feminine.
“I’m Matt Cooper,” he said.
“You are a friend of Don?”
“We never met.”
“But you said…” Her eyes sought the door, her body tensing.
“I said I was on the same side. I came to find out what happened to him.”
“He was killed.”
“And why do you think that happened?”
“If you knew who he was, then you should know why Don was here.”
“He told you?”
“He told me many things.” Her face crumpled as she failed to hold in her feelings. “He was going to take me with him when he was finished here.”
“It was like that?”
She nodded, drew in a breath and regained control.
“We didn’t seek what happened. It just did….”
“Were you helping Don?”
“A little, sí.”
“Against Benito Rojas?”
“Sí. Against Rojas and Dembrow.”
“Tell me who you are.”
“Pilar Trujillo.”
“I told you I came here to find out how Don died. That’s only part of the reason. I’m also here to put a stop to Rojas’s business.” Bolan saw the sudden gleam in her eyes. “You understand that?”
“Yes. Rojas trades in drugs. And other things. But mainly in drugs. I know that is why Don was here. To gather information for the DEA. He had found out Rojas was waiting for an important cargo. Some new weapon he will use to fight the Americans. It was this information that got him killed. He made a slip, and it exposed who he was—an American DEA undercover agent.” Pilar fell silent. Her eyes mirrored the torment she was struggling to contain. She stared directly at Bolan. “Don was exposed and betrayed. That is why they did what they did to him. To show the Americans you cannot stand against the Rojas Cartel.”
“Pilar, do you know how it happened? Who betrayed Don?”
Pilar’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Sí, I know. It was one of Rojas’s lieutenants. His name is Tomas. Tomas Trujillo. He is my brother.”
2
“Your brother works for Rojas?”
“He works for the Rojas Cartel, which also includes Marshal Dembrow. It is something I am not proud of. If our parents were still alive, they would disown him. Tomas is now the head of the family.”
“What about the pair who attacked you?”
“They are Mexicans who are part of Dembrow’s crew. They have been following me for some days, watching me because they believed I had more information Don left behind. I think they were waiting to see if I went to get it. Tomas has gone back to Mexico, to Rojas’s ranch. Since Don’s death, Rojas is suspicious of everyone. Even Dembrow.”
Bolan filed that away. It was an interesting development, maybe something he could play on to give himself some leverage.
“So, do you?” he asked, picking up on Pilar’s earlier remark.
“What?”
“You said Dembrow’s men believed you had information Manners left behind.”
“Sí,” she said.
Bolan pointed at the bu
ndle on the bed. “In there?”
“No. That was simply a distraction. I hoped they would snatch it from me and run. Give me time to get away. Foolish, maybe, but it was all I could think of at the time.”
She unrolled the bundle and showed Bolan the contents, which were personal items from Manners’s room.
“This is what they should have been looking for,” Pilar said, sliding her hand from a pocket of her jeans and showing a much-used silver flint lighter.
Bolan took it from her. Turning it over in his hand he slid the outer casing from the lighter. The wad of absorbent material came free when he tugged at it. Bolan pulled it apart and found a thin, tight roll of clear plastic. He unrolled it and extracted a narrow strip of paper. The strip held a single line of neat writing—figures, and a name. The figures looked like a telephone number: a country code, followed by a local code and the number itself. The name on the paper was Calderon.
“Don told me if anything happened I was to get the lighter and pass it on to his people in El Paso. He had not been able to transmit this last piece of evidence.”
“No other information?”
“Nothing. Do you believe it will help?”
“Maybe.”
Bolan walked over to the other side of the room and took out his sat phone and hit the speed dial for his connection to Stony Man.
“I need a rundown on a possible phone number and a name,” he said when Barbara Price, Stony Man’s mission controller, picked up. He read off the number and the name. “Get back to me ASAP.”
“Will do. How’s it going?”
“Interesting,” Bolan said. And with that he ended the call.
Pilar was watching him closely as he put the phone away.
“I do not suppose it would do me any good to ask who you were talking to?”
Bolan smiled. “No good at all. But I have an idea. There’s a diner just along the road. How about we go get coffee and something to eat. I haven’t had a thing since breakfast.”
Pilar, realizing she was not about to gain any further knowledge, nodded. “Just let me use the bathroom,” she said. “I need to freshen up.”
Finally alone, Bolan checked out the handgun he had acquired. It was a 9 mm SIG-Sauer P-226, holding a 15-round magazine. His own ordnance was still in a carry-all, secured in the motel room’s closet. The P-226 would serve his needs for the present and conserve his own supply of ammunition. He slid out the clip and saw it was full. Replacing it, he worked the first round into the breech and put the pistol behind his belt, under his shirt.
“Hey, it’s only a diner we’re going to,” Pilar said, exiting the bathroom.
“Well, going by some diners I’ve visited, a gun might come in handy,” Bolan said lightly.
He saw her smile, albeit briefly.
They left the room and walked away from the motel. The diner, on the same side of the wide street, was a few hundred yards away. The place was empty of customers. Bolan chose a booth at the far end of the room that allowed them a clear view of the interior and the door.
Pilar watched Bolan’s actions, and it occurred to her that he was just like Manners—cautious and taking in everything around him, but maintaining an outward facade of calm. Whomever this man was, he struck her as being professional and capable of handling himself. She recalled the swift, efficient way he had dealt with Dembrow’s men. Watching him now, his easy way with the server, she might have been in the company of a totally different man.
“Coffee?” he asked, and it took a couple of seconds before she registered.
Pilar nodded and found herself responding without thinking. “Sí.”
Bolan had observed the way she had slumped against the seat, shoulders down, and he realized she was reacting to what had happened. The unprovoked attack had left its mark and now she was struggling to come to terms with it. He quietly ordered food for both of them. When they were alone again, he saw Pilar’s slim hands on the table. They were trembling visibly. Bolan reached out and placed his big hands over hers, squeezing gently, holding them until the trembling faded. “It’s been a tough night,” he said softly, his voice gentle. “Come morning, I’ll do my best to get you away from here.”
Her soft brown eyes sought his. She stared at him and looked hard into the startling blue and she saw that he meant what he had said. “Gracias. What about you? You must understand how terrible these people are,” she said.
“I know all about Marshal Dembrow and Benito Rojas. It’s why I came here. Believe me, Pilar, their time is coming.”
“For that alone I thank you.”
Their coffee arrived, and while they waited for the food to come Bolan picked up their conversation.
“Let’s talk about Dembrow. What’s the situation here? Does Dembrow have local influence?”
“That was why Don came. His orders were to get inside Dembrow’s organization and collect as much information as he could. He did. At first his mission appeared to be going well. He was very clever at making friends. While he did that he watched and listened, picking up things here and there. Even Dembrow began to like him. Don understood how men like Dembrow worked. With all the drug money coming in, Dembrow was able to buy protection beyond his own people.”
“Police? Border Patrol?”
Pilar nodded. “Don suspected some officials of being on Dembrow’s payroll, those who looked the other way when he ran an operation. It’s why the cartel is able to get their drugs across the border in such quantities.” She brushed stray hair back from her face as she collected her thoughts. “The Rojas Cartel is extremely powerful, but I suppose you know this already. The money they make has given them the ability to become so arrogant they believe they can ignore the law and do what they want. No one dare stand against them. Any who have in the past end up dead in ditches. Or have accidents. Rojas and Dembrow simply give the order, hand over the money and problems disappear. They are above the law.”
“It looks to me,” Bolan said, “that a change is in order.”
Food was brought to the table and placed in front of them. Bolan had ordered steaks with all the trimmings for both of them. Being Texas, the portions were huge.
“Are you hungry?” Bolan asked.
“Let us hope so,” Pilar said, then surprised Bolan by attacking the meal with enthusiasm.
“How did it happen between you and Don?”
“We met because of Tomas. He brought Don home one day. They had become quite close.” Pilar’s cheeks flushed at the memory. “Almost immediately there was a connection. Neither of us expected it, and Don was reluctant to let it happen because of his job. But people sometimes cannot fight these things. I believe Don saw how I hated what Tomas did for Dembrow. After our relationship became more than simple attraction…” She looked Bolan in the eye. “You understand?”
“I understand,” he said. “He was a lucky man, Pilar. I’m sorry it ended the way it did.”
“Don was a very honest person. He told me why he was here and what he was trying to do. He wanted to end our relationship because of Tomas, but I told him how I felt about Dembrow and his operation. That I wanted Tomas to break away. He said he would do what he could, but made no promises.”
“It must have been difficult for you both.”
“Yes. But by then it was too late for Don to simply walk away. He was too deeply involved. Both of us knew that if Dembrow found out he would order us both killed. Don told me he had a final piece of information to collect, then he would call in his people. He had to be careful with what he had found. It was becoming harder for him to pass on his findings to his people. Don suspected there was someone in the local department on Dembrow’s payroll. We had planned to move away after his assignment was over, but I believe Tomas found out about us at the same time he learned who Don really was. Two days after that Don vanished without a word. Tomas came to me and told me what he had done. He said that because we were family he had told Dembrow’s people to leave me alone. But he would be watching
in case I did anything foolish. I did not know what I should do.” She shook her head in despair. “My own brother. He has become so involved with the Rojas Cartel that nothing is sacred to him any longer. He has become poisoned by their evil. Now I would not be surprised by anything he does.”
3
“We spotted them,” Dante said into his cell phone. “The guy with her fits the description we got from Lucas when we spoke to him at the hospital. He’s the one who attacked him and Diaz. They’re going into the diner on Avalon. They came out of the motel up the street.”
“Okay. Wait for backup, then deal with them. That son of a bitch could be DEA, picking up where that other bastard left off. We’ll be with you in a couple of minutes. Send one guy around back to deal with the diner staff, then go in the front door and waste them both. I don’t want this fucking mess to get any bigger than it already is. Boss man is pissed enough because of that undercover agent. Right now we’ve got to close this down.”
“Another hit so soon? You don’t figure this will piss him off even more?”
“More than that fuckin’ Mex spilling her guts to a Fed? Wake up, Dante. This needs the door slammin’ on it before it ends up on the news.”
“I guess.”
“Don’t guess. I’ll drop the guys up the block from where you are. Pick them up and hit that diner now. I’ll tell Dembrow to make sure we’re all covered.”
“I’m not so sure I like that,” Dante said.
“What?”
“The thought where you figure we need covering.”
“Dante, just do it, or it’ll be your sorry ass in a sling.”
“JESUS,” DEMBROW YELLED. “I don’t want you going round shooting up the whole goddamn town. When I said find the girl and the guy with her, I meant bring them in alive so we can talk to them.”
Cartel Clash Page 2