What Jessup and now Mariposa would need to know was that the man searching for Escobedo was beyond their influence. Nothing they could say or do would deter him.
The Executioner could not be intimidated.
He would seek his enemies and destroy them if they stood in his way.
No hesitation.
No mercy.
No second chance.
8
Chihuahua
The second the plane wheels stopped turning, Candy opened the side door, activated the steps and walked onto the strip. He saw Ramon Mariposa moving to meet him. Behind the Mexican was the black Hummer he always traveled in, and on his heels were two casually dressed, well-armed bodyguards. Over-the-top security like that always made Candy smile. He had come to Mexico alone, his only protection holstered on his hip. He supposed he could understand Mariposa’s caution, though. In the drug business, there was always someone plotting a coup. The vast wealth the industry generated created envy, greed and a lust for power. The law was just one hindrance to Mariposa. The bigger threat was from rivals. Those with eyes on his wealth and his operation.
Still, if someone wanted to take Mariposa down, he could do it from a safe distance with a good rifle. The armed escorts flanking Mariposa would have no way to prevent an attack coming out of left field. As good as they were, they couldn’t do a great deal to stop an assassin who made his play unannounced. Candy figured if someone was out to hit you and had a lick of sense, he would figure out a way. And Candy had decided long ago that he was big enough to look after himself. As long as he had his gun with him, he would do what needed to be done.
“Hey, amigo,” he said.
Mariposa nodded. It was easy to see he was not in a happy state of mind. Candy could understand that. Three of his men blown away before they had a chance to make any kind of headway. That would have hurt Mariposa as much as a bullet to the brain.
Ramon Mariposa cut an imposing figure. He was tall, broad in the shoulders, slim in the hips. In his midthirties, he had handsome features and his thick, dark hair shone with health, almost reaching the collar of his expensive suit. It was black, as was the open-neck silk shirt he wore under it. He favored hand-tooled, Western-style boots, the leather embossed with an intricate design. Mariposa enjoyed flaunting the wealth his narcotics business made for him. Candy knew the man carried a SIG-Sauer P226 in a snug holster on his right hip, hidden by his beautifully cut jacket.
The loss of his men was something he would have been reluctant to accept. In his way of thinking, A La Muerte was untouchable. Mariposa would not forget the challenge to his authority.
“This is not a good day,” the drug lord said. “We have both lost people to this American. Who is he, Candy? You owe me a full explanation.”
“Hell, Ramon, ain’t much more I know about him than what I already told you, and that’s the truth.”
They walked to the Hummer and climbed in the back together. Mariposa’s bodyguards got in the front, one of them taking the wheel. Candy sank onto the soft leather seat as the heavy vehicle moved off.
“I took a contract for Jessup,” Candy explained. “He wants this guy Escobedo put down hard. And he wants it done thorough. Dead and buried.”
“Because Escobedo can point a finger at him. Yes, I understand Jessup’s concern. No problem there. But I have to ask the question again. This hombre who killed your men and now mine—who is he?”
“We got no background on him so far. No way of telling what outfit he works for.”
“He handles himself well.”
“Don’t remind me. You located him yet?”
Mariposa nodded. “I had people out from late yesterday. They spotted the 4x4 an hour after dawn. He’s still moving south, in the same general direction.”
“I hope you told your people to stay well back this time. This guy is sharp enough to spot a tail. Like he did already.”
“Don’t worry, Candy. I put my best people on this. They know what happened to the others, so they will stay invisible.” The Mexican flashed a wide smile. “You will have to take my word. We will find your man and allow him to lead us to this Hermano Escobedo.”
“That little son of a bitch has caused Jessup a lot of problems.”
“I understand, and I will help all I can. Jessup is a good customer and a better friend. He opened the way for A La Muerte to gain access into the United States. I do not forget my friends.”
The drive lasted twenty minutes, terminating at the sprawling hacienda Mariposa owned, his home and his business headquarters. The high gates swung open to admit the Hummer, and they followed the curved drive up to the imposing two-story structure. It was not the first time Candy had been here, and as always, he was impressed by the place. Mariposa had lavished money on it, inside and out. Armed guards patrolled the area, watching the house and the grounds. Out back was a wide patio, a swimming pool, tennis courts and tended gardens.
The Hummer parked alongside a number of equally expensive vehicles. Candy walked with Mariposa toward the big house, his bodyguards following close behind. They went inside and crossed the wide hallway, entering a large, open room.
Mariposa gave orders and he and Candy were left alone.
“I won’t say I am pleased at what has happened,” Mariposa said. He sprawled in a pale leather armchair. “But I am sure neither you nor Jessup are happy, either.”
Candy took a seat, spreading his arms across the leather. “What can I say, Ramon. It’s a damned embarrassment. Between us, we’ve lost five men. Escobedo is still on the loose. Hell, none of this makes any of us look good.”
Soft footsteps sounded as a white-clad man appeared. He carried a large silver tray holding a coffeepot and mugs. He placed the tray on a low table and vanished as silently as he had appeared.
“Help yourself,” Mariposa said.
The hot coffee was rich and had a flavor Candy could appreciate.
“Tell me how this all started,” Mariposa said.
Candy explained what Jessup had told him about Escobedo filming two murders on his phone, then vanishing after they’d intercepted his rendezvous with the US Marshals.
“And you believe he crossed the border?” Mariposa asked.
“Yeah. Escobedo is a loner. He doesn’t have many friends around Broken Tree. Kind of guy who does his job and stays peaceful. Ain’t nowhere he has friends out of town. Doesn’t own a car. Seemed more than likely he’d choose to go home.”
“That would be my choice. Do we know where he came from?”
“Nope. We’re still looking.”
“Yet this American who took out your men in Escobedo’s apartment appears to have come up with a possible location. Otherwise he would not be traveling across Mexico and having a confrontation with my men.”
“What can I say, Ramon? This guy came out of nowhere and just pitched in.”
“Is he some kind of cop? Undercover? Maybe a government agent?”
“We can ask him when we catch up.”
“Just before he dies,” Mariposa said. “We both have scores to settle with this cabrón.”
He snatched up one of the phones in the room and began to speak in Spanish. Candy didn’t know the language well enough to follow, but he heard the angry tone in Mariposa’s voice. When he was finished the Mexican slammed the phone down.
“I wonder at times why I pay these fucking idiots.”
“Problems?”
“There is a helicopter sitting out back. It is supposed to be ready to be used at all times. Now they tell me it can’t be airborne for at least the rest of the day. It is being serviced and it’s disabled while they work on it.”
Mariposa vented his anger in an outburst of Spanish, his rage unsettling even to Candy, who knew the man well.
Candy decided not to say anything until Mariposa calmed down. He had heard about the drug lord’s propensity to fly into wild rages when things failed to go his way.
Candy refilled his coffee cup and stood quietly by
, waiting for his host to regain control. Meanwhile he heard his cell ring, and took it out of his pocket. The caller ID showed it was his man back in Texas.
“This better be good,” Candy said into the phone.
“Things not so rosy in Old Mexico?”
“Just tell me, Lorenzo.”
“I might have a line on where our runaway is heading.”
“I’m listening.”
“We know Escobedo is pretty much a loner. And he doesn’t own a car. No driver’s license. So I figured he might have taken a bus. He buys a ticket and he’s gone. I went to the depot here in Broken Tree. Buses run across the border all the time.”
“And that means a lot of Mexicans buy tickets.”
“Take a breath, Candy. Listen to your buddy Lorenzo. I talked to Jessup’s admin guy. You know, Hatton. He runs security for Jessup. Keeps tabs on anyone working the ranch house. Makes ’em all wear those ID tags around their necks. Name, photograph. He ran me off a copy so I could show it around. I took it to the bus depot and it paid off. Spoke to a pretty little gal who recalled our guy. Said he was acting a little nervous when he bought his bus ticket. One way, all the way. To a shit little village called Ascensión. A one-burro spot way out in the Chihuahua boonies.”
Candy was silent as he took in what Lorenzo was saying. He weighed the information. It sounded logical, Escobedo losing himself in some backwater Mexican town.
“That good enough?” Lorenzo said. “Makes sense to me.”
“Could be right, buddy. You done good. Run some background on this Ascensión. See if there’s any connection. Maybe friends. Even family.” Candy paused. “Could be that’s where our American is heading, looking for Escobedo. Hey, keep me in the loop.”
Candy repeated the conversation to Mariposa. The Mexican crossed to a large wall map and traced a line with his finger along the highway that ran from the border deep into Chihuahua. His finger stopped and he jabbed at the map.
“There,” he said.
Candy focused on the spot.
Just off the main route, a minor road led into a range of low hills.
And the village of Ascensión.
“Escobedo,” Candy said. “You can run, but you damn well can’t hide.”
* * *
RAMON MARIPOSA WAS STILL in a bad mood. With Candy on his heels, he crossed to where his maintenance crew were gathered around the Sikorsky S-76. The repair to the aircraft had been held up due a problem fitting a new engine part. The crew was aware of the cartel boss’s anger at the delay. If they had also known Mariposa’s temper was mainly fueled by the deaths of the team following the American, they would have worked even harder.
When Candy had asked for help, Mariposa had agreed out of professional courtesy. Seb Jessup was a reliable customer and also provided backup within the USA whenever Mariposa needed it. So it was good for client relations to help the man.
But there was another consideration: his own reputation. Something Ramon Mariposa held dear, because within the drug culture, saving face was paramount. He was the head of A La Muerte, a significant and—up to now—untouchable organization. If word got out that a lone American had invaded his territory it would become open season on his operation. Competitors were always ready to fall on a weaker cartel. Mariposa did not want to find himself in a local war, his territory under siege and his people attacked. He had seen it happen before; wholesale bloodletting could erupt quickly. So this damned American, whoever he was, had to be stopped before his exploits became common knowledge.
Beyond the residential area of his estate stood the hangar and outbuildings where Mariposa housed his helicopter, and next to it was a concrete landing pad for the aircraft. That was where Mariposa was making his way now, to find out just when the Sikorsky would be ready to fly.
The helicopter repair crew was currently the object of his anger. They all knew it and hastened their attempts to complete the work on the Sikorsky. An explanation existed, but every man understood Mariposa would have no interest in anything they had to say. He saw only that his aircraft was still grounded. He needed it. Now. The delay was their fault—there was no getting around that.
Luis Reynosa, the crew’s chief, moved to meet Mariposa. It would not be the first time the man had faced his anger.
“I take the blame,” he said directly. “The boys have been working hard to get everything right.”
Mariposa stared at him. “This could not have come at a worse time, Luis. Some of our men are already dead. I need to be with my people, but my helicopter is sitting here on the ground…and why?” The drug lord’s voice rose to a shout. “Tell. Me. Why!”
“Because I let you down, Jefe. I should have worked harder to repair the problem.”
For a moment, Mariposa considered hitting Reynosa. His hands were clenched into hard fists at his sides, veins swelling in his neck and face. His anger had him in its grip as he leaned in closer to Reynosa. Then he shrank back, away from the confrontation, and unclenched his fists.
“Get that machine ready, Luis. No more excuses. If it is not in the air very soon I will hold you responsible. And I will pull the trigger myself.”
Reynosa nodded slowly, not saying a word. Sweat beaded across his brow and a dark circle formed around his collar. The frightened man turned to face his crew, simply nodding to them.
The drug lord had given them a final chance. Any more delays and he would make his threat come true.
* * *
FOLLOWING IN MARIPOSA’S SHADOW, Candy could understand how the repair crew chief must be feeling. The boss would not go back on his threat. There was no getting away from the fact that Ramon Mariposa was one scary mother.
Mariposa on one side, Seb Jessup the other. Candy was in middle, doing his best to please them both. Definitely between a rock and a hard place.
“Eight million US dollars I paid for that thing,” Mariposa said. “Eight million and it can’t fly because of a broken part.”
As they neared the house he began to shout out orders in rapid Spanish that went over Candy’s head after the first few words. His message got across, however, and a number of the cartel shooters gathered their weapons and backup supplies, and piled into a pair of SUVs. The vehicles sped away, raising dust as they hit the side road leading to the highway. Candy watched them go, figuring Mariposa was sending out teams to head for Ascensión. One way or another, the cartel boss was determined to get his people to the area.
Mariposa watched the vehicles until they were out of sight.
“Rohas will cut cross-country, by a different route,” he said. “With luck, he may arrive in Ascensión first.”
“With luck?”
“Yes. The way he’s chosen is extremely difficult. No real trail. Bad terrain, but it could cut off many miles. Rohas believes he can make it.” Mariposa shrugged. “He may do it. We have little choice but to take these chances.” The drug lord’s words were still edged with disappointment that he couldn’t respond faster. “If that damn helicopter ever gets off the ground, it will cover the distance to Ascensión in a quarter of the time.”
He turned to Candy. “This damned yanqui of yours is causing me more problems than I’ve had in the last six months. Can your people not find out who this asshole is?”
“Ain’t for want of trying, Ramon. It’s like he just came out of thin air and started all this shit going.”
Mariposa said, “He doesn’t wear tights and a cape, by any chance?”
“Well, I ain’t set eyes on him myself, but he can’t be anything more than a man.”
Mariposa managed a smile. “Let us hope you are right, my friend, because if he is a man, then he can die just like any other.”
9
Ascensión, Chihuahua
Mack Bolan drove through the night, stopping only to top up the 4x4’s gas tank and buy a couple cups of coffee. According to his GPS, he would reach Ascensión by early afternoon.
The drive along the dusty, deserted road left him with plen
ty of time to air his thoughts. And uppermost was something that had begun as a thin irritation and quickly developed into something more tangible.
The appearance of the armed trio the previous day meant he had serious competition. Jessup, by whatever method, had worked out that Bolan was on Hermano Escobedo’s trail. Add the fact that Jessup had connections to the local drug cartel and Bolan had taken out three of its members, and that could spell trouble. Bolan didn’t like having the local drug dealers on the case. They had a better knowledge of the area than he did.
That shortened the odds.
Made it tougher on Escobedo.
Drug cartels had long arms. They would ask questions in a manner Bolan would never use. Money and violence were the main negotiating tools A La Muerte wielded. If they were unable to get what they wanted by threats, a brutal beating, even torture, might yield better results.
Bolan pushed down on the gas pedal, urging the 4x4 to the maximum. There was also the lingering possibility there might be A La Muerte hands reaching out to local law. It was a sad fact, not to be ignored, that the drug cartels used their vast wealth to buy certain favors. Bolan couldn’t justify his suspicions without tangible proof; he was simply going on past experience of the undeniable power the cartels wielded.
Within the next hour, he saw some traffic—a couple dusty trucks and an old station wagon, complete with weathered wood trim. They were all traveling in the opposite direction. He kept a check on the surrounding landscape. There was not a lot to see. The terrain was reasonably flat, semi-arid, dotted with shrubs and the occasional stunted tree. Way off to the west, Bolan could see a sweep of low mountains. It was harsh country.
The satnav display showed the turnoff a half mile ahead. From there it was no more than a couple miles to Ascensión. Bolan slowed the vehicle and watched for the side road. It was unpaved, an uneven, dusty strip that curved up a gentle slope.
He saw the church first, rising above the roofs of the town’s other structures. Its slightly crooked bell tower stood white against the sky. As Bolan drove closer, he could see the weathered adobe buildings that made up Ascensión. When the 4x4 rolled onto the main street, the first thing Bolan noticed was the absence of any other vehicles.
The Cartel Hit Page 6