He slowed to a crawl, eyeing the few shops. One was a photographer’s studio shared with a barbershop. It crossed Bolan’s mind it could have been the establishment that had taken the shot of the village that had set him on the road to Ascensión in the first place.
The few people in view watched with curiosity as Bolan pulled up to the church steps. In a place like Ascensión, the church would be the place to ask questions. Bolan made sure his leather jacket was closed over the holstered Beretta as he climbed out of his vehicle.
The weathered doors were open, and he strolled inside. He felt the quiet calm fold around him. Religion did not have much of a place in Bolan’s universe. He had seen too much in his life to believe in deities that promised things they could not deliver. Bolan had also seen how people could twist religion and use it as an excuse to wage brutal war against nonbelievers.
“What is it you seek, my son?” someone asked in Spanish
Bolan glanced up and saw a robed figure standing a few feet from him. “My Spanish is a little rusty, Father,” he said.
“Then we will speak in English,” the priest replied. “I always enjoy an opportunity to practice. There are not many in Ascensión who do speak English.”
“Thank you for your tolerance. My name is Matt Cooper.”
The man’s face creased with pleasure as he extended a hand to draw Bolan farther into the church. “You are welcome, Senor Cooper. I am Father Xavier. I suspect you have not come to seek guidance on the expected harvest of corn this season. Or the yield of sheep or goats.”
“My need is not for spiritual information, Father. I’m looking for something more physical.”
Bolan followed the priest through the main part of the church and into the private quarters at the far end. They sat on simple wooden chairs, facing each other, and Father Xavier nodded to himself as if reaching a decision.
“I would venture a guess that you are seeking one of my flock who has only recently returned to Ascensión. Yes?”
“You understand me too well, Father.”
“Don’t assume I have unearthly powers, Senor Cooper. It is not often we receive visitors. Especially those who have traveled all the way from the other side of the border. I see there is no use in pretending I am ignorant as to why you are here.”
“I am looking for Hermano Escobedo. I have come to offer him my protection. His life is in danger from men who want him dead. To prevent him from speaking the truth about something he witnessed back in Texas.”
“Why would I take it on myself to believe you? A stranger who comes to Ascensión looking for Escobedo. Who tells me he wishes no harm to Hermano. I may only be a simple village priest, but I understand the ways of the world, and you may even be one of the men who wants to kill Hermano. Simply hiding your true intent behind clever words. As you hide your pistol beneath your coat.”
Father Xavier stood and crossed to the small stove, his lean hands quick and sure as he poured boiling water in cups to make coffee. He handed one to Bolan.
“Father, I can only tell what I know to be my truth. In Texas I found men searching Escobedo’s rooms. They were looking for evidence that would point them to the place he had gone. They were not good men and I was forced to deal with them.”
“Tell me. Did you kill them?”
Bolan looked the priest in the eyes. “Yes,” he said. “And when I drove into Mexico I was forced to kill again. Men belonging to the drug cartel A La Muerte are also looking for Escobedo.”
“A La Muerte?” the priest echoed, wringing his hands. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“The worst of the worst. They kill without thought. Destroy lives that threaten their vile business. If they come to Ascensión my people will not stand a chance against them.”
“The sooner I find Escobedo and take him away, the better for the village, Father. Help me. Has he been here?” Bolan drank the last of his coffee and pushed himself to his feet. “I wish it was otherwise, but he may have put Ascensión in danger by coming here.”
Father Xavier extended his hands in a gesture of acceptance. “I cannot allow that to happen,” he said.
“What I’ve told you, Father, is the truth. I have to find Escobedo. Get to him before these drug dealers find him. If they do, his life is over and the evidence he has against the men who are after him will be lost.”
A series of shouts reached their ears. As they returned to the main area of the church, a white-clad figure ran toward them. The man was speaking so fast Father Xavier had to ask him to repeat himself. Finally he grabbed the man and shook his shoulders, calming him. He fired questions that got him frantic answers.
“It would seem you are right, Senor Cooper. Men in a big utility vehicle are coming toward the village. And they are carrying guns.”
“Get him out of here,” Bolan said.
The priest urged the panicked man to leave, then followed Bolan out onto the church steps. The soldier spotted the stream of dust being kicked up by the wide tires of a jeep as it headed for the top of the slope leading into Ascensión.
Bolan stripped off his leather jacket, exposing the holstered Beretta. He opened the rear of the 4x4 and took out the Uzi. He had already loaded a fresh magazine following his earlier confrontation with the drug lord’s men. He slipped a second magazine under his belt.
“Por Dios,” Father Xavier whispered. “Has it come to this?”
“Father, you don’t face men like these with holy words and a prayer. They would shoot you down before you could make the sign of the cross.”
“Unfortunately, my son, you are probably right.”
“Get back inside and close the doors.” Bolan glanced at the priest. “Do it, Father, now.”
He nodded, deferring to Bolan’s hard tone of voice and cold expression. The priest turned and hurried inside, closing the timber door behind him.
Bolan remained on the steps, waiting to face the truck and whoever was inside it.
* * *
THE TRIP HAD been long and unpleasant. Although the jeep was equipped for traveling over rough terrain, no suspension was going to make such a journey comfortable. The landscape was undulating, the off-road travel primitive.
Rohas, in charge of the open-backed vehicle, found he was having to use the steering wheel as a way of remaining upright as much as guiding the truck toward Ascensión.
The men in the rear were forced to hang on to the steel support bars, and choked from the dust that the wheels threw up. Rohas drove as steadily as he could, taking the vehicle across as much smooth terrain as possible. He stopped a couple times to allow his crew to relax, climbing out from behind the wheel to stretch his own aching body.
“Hey, Rohas, it would be more comfortable to walk,” one of his men said.
“You think riding in the cab is easier?”
The man laughed. He took a long swallow of water from his canteen, rinsing out his mouth and spitting.
“Come and taste some of this dust we’re swallowing.”
Rohas checked their position, pointing at the low hills in the distance.
“Ascensión is over there,” he said. “Another few minutes and we should be able to join the road. Morales and his boys will be a couple hours behind us.”
“At least they’ll have a smooth ride.”
Rohas turned to climb back into the driver’s seat, ignoring the comment.
He had made an accurate estimation. Within a few minutes he eased the truck off the rough ground and onto the comparatively smooth narrow side road that led directly to Ascensión. With their destination only a few miles ahead the men in the back checked and readied their weapons. They were anticipating some action if they located the American.
Rohas leaned on the gas pedal as the jeep hit the final slope before the village. He thumped his fist on the back of the cab, telling his crew they were almost there.
As they crested the hill, Rohas saw the small community spread out in front of them. The white adob
e houses; the church; a dusty 4x4 near the steps.
And a tall figure turning to face them as they rolled toward him.
The man held a squat SMG in his hands, and it was trained on them.
Rohas needed no introduction. He knew he was looking at the man they had come to find.
The American.
The man they had come to kill.
10
Ascensión
Bolan made out one figure in the front of the jeep, and three more swaying with the motion of the speeding vehicle in the open back, gripping the roll bar. They were all armed with AK-74s. The driver spun the wheel as they pulled up to the church, the shooters in the rear swiveling around to confront Bolan through the cloud of dust churned up. He saw the muzzles of the AK-74s turn in his direction. No negotiations. Only the sudden threat from the trio of weapons.
The crackle of automatic fire broke the relative calm of the village.
Streams of 5.45 mm slugs hammered Bolan’s vehicle, tearing at the body and wheels, shattering glass. As he went to ground he caught a glimpse of the 4x4 rocking under the impact of the gunfire. Then one of the shooters turned his weapon in Bolan’s direction.
From destruction to death.
Bolan’s death.
The new arrivals had had their fun wrecking Bolan’s vehicle. It was their mistake. They should have faced him first
He brought the Uzi around and pulled the trigger. The 9 mm, set on full-auto, threw out a line of slugs, and the shooter’s body shuddered under the impact. He fell back across the truck, bloody holes in his torso, and toppled out of sight over the far side.
Bolan held the trigger back and aimed at the next guy, tearing up his abdomen as well, then gave the third man the same treatment. As the bloodied bodies dropped, Bolan rolled, coming up on one knee as he executed a swift magazine change. He worked the cocking slide, loading the first round into the breech, and fired through the side window of the cab as the passenger door started to swing open. Glass blew inward, showering the driver with shards and 9 mm slugs.
Bolan rose to his full height, closing in on the jeep. He blew the front and rear tires and laid more slugs into the engine compartment until smoke began to issue from under the hood and the motor died. Then he raked the cab again, until all movement ceased. Blood was smeared across the inside of the splintered windshield. The silence following the bursts of fire was pronounced.
Bolan moved around the truck, reloading the Uzi again, and checked the road. Nothing in sight. He considered his position in the aftermath of the gunfight. He didn’t need to inspect his 4x4 to know the concentrated hits had disabled it. He’d have to find an alternate means of transport, and from what he could see there didn’t appear to be any vehicles in the village. If that was the case, Bolan was on foot. It wouldn’t be the first time.
He heard a sound behind him, and turned to see Father Xavier emerging from the church. The priest’s face betrayed his shock as he came down the steps and stood a few feet from Bolan.
“Will others come?” he asked.
“I can only tell you these people are unlikely to give up their search for Escobedo.”
“There is little comfort in knowing that, my son.”
Bolan opened the rear door of the 4x4 and reached for his duffel bag. He refreshed the Uzi. He was down to his remaining two magazines. Without a word, he walked to the enemy’s vehicle and selected one of the AK-74s from the rear. He found a canvas bag that contained a number of 30-round magazines for the weapon. The cartel clearly maintained a robust supply of ammunition. He slung the canvas bag over his shoulder, checking the Kalashnikov as he walked back to his own vehicle.
“Father, I want this to end for Ascensión. I can do that by locating Hermano Escobedo and leaving the area as quickly as possible.”
Father Xavier held his tongue for a while. He was obviously having a problem with the situation. Bolan understood the priest’s dilemma. The moment he had returned to Ascensión, Escobedo had condemned the village to a visit by the men seeking him. Xavier had realized that, accepted it, yet now he was faced with a choice. Did he give up Escobedo so that the American could seek him out and take him away, hopefully freeing Ascensión from the violence of the drug gang? Or did he refuse to betray Escobedo’s trust, knowing full well the cartel would send more troops looking for the man?
The priest’s choices were difficult, Bolan would give him that.
“If I stay around too long and more A La Muerte men come, we could all end up losing,” Bolan said. “It’s the last thing I want, and I’m pretty certain you feel the same. When Escobedo was here, you promised to keep his presence secret. Am I right?”
“Sí. Hermano felt guilty for coming home. That in heading here he could bring his troubles on the village. I told him that made no difference. He had come home because there was nowhere else he could go. A natural thing to do. Asking my forgiveness was not needed.”
“Then give me the chance to move him from the area,” Bolan said. “To avoid bringing any more trouble to your village. A La Muerte will come here, and you can tell them the American has gone. That you are not shielding him or Escobedo. Let them come looking for me. If I get a head start, I can locate Escobedo and get him far away.” Bolan let his words sink in. “As much as we don’t want any of this, it is going to happen. So we need to limit the fallout as much as possible. It is a hard choice, Father Xavier. Hate me all you want for being the one who drew the drug gang here, but don’t allow it to cloud your judgment. Protect your village. Your people. Guide me to Escobedo and let me take him back across the border.”
Bolan noticed a few of the villagers standing in the distance, fearful of what had happened, but also curious.
“I was going to arrange for Escobedo to go and stay with a friend,” Father Xavier said eventually. “A priest who has a church on the coast near Culiacán. It is even farther from Texas, although I can see now that would hardly have saved him, any more than coming here to Ascensión.”
“Father Xavier, there is a way back from this. We’re both fighting evil forces in our own ways. Point me to Escobedo. Let me help him. I don’t expect your blessing, just your earthly assistance.”
Bolan began removing the outer layers of his civilian clothing and pulling on his black combat gear. He donned the harness that carried his weapons and ammunition, and strapped on the backpack holding his personal items. He distributed the magazines for his newly acquired AK-74 around the pouches of his harness. He recognized the need to leave the priest to his decision, to back off for the moment.
“When those men do not report in, the others will come looking for them,” Father Xavier said finally.
“And if they do, you will tell them what they want to hear. Tell them where Escobedo is hiding. Don’t give them an excuse to hurt you or the village.”
“If I tell them, they will come after you and Hermano.”
“Yes. I’ll be ready for them.”
The priest sighed. “And will that require more killing?”
“Father, offer me a solution that does not, and I’ll willingly take it on board,” Bolan said. “Think about who we are liable to be facing, and tell me the answer.”
The priest shook his head. “You will be facing A La Muerte. Drug dealers. Well-known for their lack of humanity, and prone to violence.”
Bolan placed his hand on the priest’s shoulder. “These people will have heard the word compromise, but I can assure you they will never practice it.”
“Escobedo’s family owned a small farm. They grew crops, had a few goats. Nothing very substantial, and they were always struggling. Which is nothing new for this area. It was the reason Escobedo chose to move to America. He hoped to get work so he could earn some money to send back. There were no other children, his mother died many years ago and he never knew his father, so Escobedo was the only one who could support his maternal grandparents. They were already ailing when he left, and they refused to let Escobedo know about the problems at
home while he was gone. If he had learned about their troubles, he would have returned and sacrificed his chances in America. The grandparents were old and have both since passed away. Hermano inherited the farm, though he didn’t intend to return, as far as I know. Until recently.”
Father Xavier gave Bolan the details he’d need to locate Escobedo’s farm. His directions were clear and precise, and the soldier estimated the trek would take him four or five hours on foot.
“Stay here a minute,” the priest said, after he’d finished giving the directions. He turned and went inside the church.
Bolan inspected the bullet-riddled 4x4 again. He wasn’t expecting a miracle, just harboring a thin hope the vehicle might be salvageable. Which it wasn’t. Checking inside, he saw that his opponents’ gunfire had torn apart the dashboard. Instruments were wrecked, wires torn, and now he noticed the strong smell of gasoline. He crouched and peered under the vehicle. The tank had been pierced, gasoline dripping from a number of ragged holes.
“Going to be a trick getting my deposit back,” he murmured to himself.
Father Xavier appeared. He was carrying a couple canteens and a small satchel. He handed them to Bolan.
“Water and a little food,” he said. “God provides.”
Bolan took the offering. “Gracias, Father.”
“De nada.” Xavier extended both hands in an encompassing gesture. “Even if you do not truly believe, God will watch over you.”
Bolan smiled as he took a folded ball cap from his pack and pulled it on. “You’re a good man, Father Xavier. I hope your faith in me will not be in vain.”
11
Chihuahua
The distant storm clouds moved closer. Bolan was aware of their presence. He figured he had maybe an hour before the storm centered over the area he was traversing. By that time, he would be in the tree-lined hills ahead, where the flat terrain gave way to timber and heavy foliage. The rise in the land was obvious now. Every step took him higher. Ascensión lay two hours behind him already, hidden from sight by the uneven landscape. He could see why Escobedo had chosen this place. It was isolated. But it left him on his own, with no protection. Hermano Escobedo had come to this lonely place to escape, but he was also exposed out here. If his enemies found him, he’d be backed into a corner.
The Cartel Hit Page 7