Bolan had what it took, both physically and mentally, to wait out his prey.
And long minutes later, he saw his chance.
His ears picked up on the stealthy tread of a man off to his right. Bolan shifted imperceptibly toward the sound just as the man broke out of a dense tangle of dripping foliage into a shaft of sunlight. The Mexican was edging forward, his face glistening with sweat. He paused, glancing around, apparently unsure which way to go next.
Bolan’s AK-74 was already at his shoulder. His finger rested lightly on the trigger as the cartel soldier came into focus. Bolan held his breath and kept his aim steady, aware that the target might move again and break the shot. The Executioner squeezed the trigger, feeling the cold steel against his flesh. The weapon exploded loudly in the stillness of the forest. Birds erupted from the trees, wings flapping in panic as they rose.
The Mexican’s head snapped back as the bullet slammed into his forehead. He went down, a mist of blood fanning out from his shattered skull.
A sustained burst of automatic fire erupted from farther to Bolan’s right. He flattened himself on the ground as the shots tore up the area around him. The fire ceased abruptly—likely an empty magazine—and Bolan took the brief respite to break position while the shooter reloaded.
When he moved, the enemy moved, too. He stepped out of cover, left hand snapping in the fresh magazine. The guy was fast with his reload, the barrel rising even as he completed the mag insertion. But his action, smooth as it was, lagged behind his opponent’s response. Bolan fired his own AK before his opponent had a finger on the trigger. This time, The Executioner couldn’t afford to wait for the perfect shot. He aimed directly at the target and punched out a rapid quartet of 5.45 slugs, which burrowed into the Mexican’s chest. The force tossed the guy back and off his feet. He landed hard on the muddy ground, weapon flying out of his fingers.
For now, the odds were back in Bolan’s favor. One-nothing.
13
Mariposa led the way out to where the helicopter was warming up. Candy followed, relieved that something was happening. Despite the comfort of Mariposa’s home, Candy had found it hard to relax. Up to this point, nothing had been going right. Candy didn’t enjoy failure and that was what this exercise was proving to be.
He had spoken to Jessup, bringing him up to date. Jessup had been close to losing it when Candy told him the bad news about Mariposa’s fallen men.
“Nothing I can do, Seb,” Candy had said. “Soon as that whirlybird’s warmed up we’re goin’ after Escobedo and that cop—or whatever he is.”
“What about the second crew Ramon sent out?”
“Mariposa’s people keep trying, but they can’t get through.”
“This is going from shit to hell in a handbasket,” Jessup yelled. “Hell, Candy, what am I payin’ you for?”
“Ain’t the way I was expecting it to go, Seb. I hold up my hands. This came at me blind. But the game ain’t over yet.”
“Just think on it, Candy. If we don’t hit a home run by the last quarter, this game ends with me screwed and in a cell. I won’t take kindly to that. You hear what I’m saying?”
“I hear, Seb. Loud and clear.”
“So get ’er done, boy.”
Jessup hung up, and Candy stared at the silent cell phone. Jessup’s words left him with a moment of unease. The man had a reputation for never forgiving or forgetting failure. And Seb Jessup always made good on his threats—explicit or implied.
Son of a bitch, Candy thought, that old boy will have my skin for a book cover if I don’t deliver.
“Hey, Candy, you ready to go?”
He snapped back to the moment, aware that Mariposa was watching him closely.
“Yeah, ready,” he said.
“Everything okay with Seb?”
Candy forced a grin. “Nothing to worry about,” he said. He didn’t even fool himself.
He followed Mariposa across to where the Sikorsky sat idling, the spinning rotors sucking up dust. Six of Mariposa’s crew members were already seated in the rear of the cabin. Every man was fully armed. Mariposa took the seat beside the pilot and Candy climbed in behind them. They each donned their headsets as the helicopter took off.
“Should take us a couple of hours to reach Ascensión,” Mariposa said.
“It’s going to be night by then,” Candy pointed out.
Mariposa laughed. “Hey, amigo, you afraid of the dark?”
“No. I just like to be able to see who might be shooting at me.”
“Day or night, my friend, they say you never see the one that gets you.”
The chopper rose with the beat of the rotors before making a sharp turn and speeding over the barren landscape. Candy pressed his spine against the seat. He kept it to himself, but in truth he didn’t like helicopters. He could face a man under gunfire, take out an adversary with a knife in his hand, but put him in one of these spinning tops and Candy was as close to panicking as he was ever likely to be. But here he was, fulfilling the terms of his contract with Jessup. Phobia or not, Candy would see it through—he smiled at his next thought—even if it killed him.
Mariposa spent a good chunk of the flight on his sat phone, dealing with A La Muerte business. Nothing would come between him and his operation. The man was a Mexican version of Seb Jessup. Business came above anything else. Candy couldn’t fault them for their dedication.
In the rear of the chopper, Mariposa’s armed crew sat quietly. Some dozed; others simply checked and rechecked their weapons.
Through the side window, Candy could see the landscape flashing by. Open, mostly flat terrain. Almost uniformly dun colored, with occasional islands of greenery. It was dry, dusty country that reminded Candy of the Texas landscape. It could be harsh. Unforgiving.
Candy’s headphones clicked and he heard Mariposa’s voice.
“You okay, hombre?”
“Yeah.”
“You do not enjoy helicopters?”
“Not my favorite method of transport, if I have to be honest.”
“You’re safe here. Rico is a good pilot. Did you see how well he got us into the air?”
“Getting up here isn’t worrying me. It’s staying there I have the problem with.”
Rain pattered against the helicopter, making a low drumming noise. After a minute, the pilot activated the wipers and made some adjustments to the flight pattern.
“We okay?” Candy asked.
Rico nodded. “I’ll fly around the storm. It’s moving away from us anyhow. We’re just catching the tail end.”
“Tail end? That’s okay, then,” Candy said, which drew a chuckle from Mariposa.
Candy tried to relax, even closed his eyes. Nothing worked.
Rico kept the helicopter on course, flying with a sure hand. After an hour, the rain let up. “See, we’re out of the storm now,” he announced. “They come and go. When they arrive, it can be very fierce, but they usually blow over quickly.”
Candy couldn’t raise a cheer at the news. He was thinking about the American. The guy was proving to be a resourceful mother. A pain in the ass for sure, but he was staying ahead at the moment. The more he thought about the man, the more Candy had to admire his ability to stay on his game.
He was a loner, which would be unusual if he was a lawman. They preferred to work in teams. Still, there had to be someone he reported back to. A person he could update on his progress. These guys didn’t work in a vacuum. Along the way, he would communicate with a superior. The man, or department, that controlled him. The more Candy thought about it, the more frustrated he became.
Who the hell was this guy?
It was early evening when the helicopter swung in over Ascensión. In the glare of the chopper’s lights they were able to make out the scattered buildings, including a church. And the pair of vehicles parked on the deserted street.
“So where are your boys?” Candy asked. “No welcome for El Jefe?”
“Put us down, Rico,” Mariposa sa
id.
The moment they were on the ground, the pilot cut the engine.
Mariposa was the first out, followed by Candy and the crew. Their weapons were drawn as they moved along the open street. Rico powered the helicopter’s lights so they focused in on the deserted vehicles. Once they got close enough, Candy saw how badly damaged both were. Shredded tires. Shattered windows. And the bullet holes. The smell of gasoline lingered over the scene.
But no bodies were visible.
Mariposa appeared to be at a loss. “Where are they?” he said. “Where are my men?”
A figure in a simple brown robe emerged onto the church steps. “If you are seeking your people, they are inside here.”
Mariposa confronted the priest. “In the church?”
He nodded. “It was the least I could do for them. Their profession aside, they are still God’s children.”
Mariposa glanced at Candy, who gave a slight shrug. The meaning was not lost on either of them.
“May I see them, Father…?”
“Xavier. Of course.”
Father Xavier stepped aside as Mariposa moved up the steps and through the door.
“There was a second vehicle?” Candy asked.
The priest nodded. “Yes. It came many hours ago. I was questioned by the men and then they drove on.”
“They were following the American?”
“Yes.”
“He went on foot?”
“There was much gunfire. His vehicle was also disabled, so the American, Cooper, continued without one.”
“Cooper?”
“Yes, he called himself Matt Cooper.”
“He came looking for Hermano Escobedo? And I’m guessing you offered him directions?”
“It would be foolish of me to deny it after all that has happened.”
“Father, it would be foolish for you not to offer us those same directions.”
“He told me to give them to you. As I did to the other people who came.”
“Believing it was better than dying?”
“Despite the certainty we will all die one day, I saw the wisdom in giving away that information. Your friends who followed had persuasive powers.”
Candy smiled. “Father, you play poker? Well, you sure as hell should, ’cause you know just how to work the cards.”
Mariposa exited the church and put a hand on the priest’s shoulder. “Father, I thank you for what you did for my men. To see them all laid out, washed and tidied up… It was a kindness I will long remember.”
“You are welcome, my son. Inside God’s house a man’s sins can be put aside at the moment of his death.”
“I would offer you money for the burials,” Mariposa said. “But I can see it would not be welcome. How I earn it cannot be justified in your eyes.”
“A debatable point,” Father Xavier said. “One we could no doubt discuss if the need arose.”
“The padre was just about to give me directions,” Candy interjected.
“True?” Mariposa looked to the priest.
“The American advised me to pass along the information. He seemed eager to meet you all.”
“I hope you follow his advice,” the drug lord said. “After all that has happened here, it would be regrettable if more killing was to follow in your village.”
Mariposa spoke quietly, without any threat in his voice, but the underlying suggestion was hard to avoid.
The priest smiled deferentially and offered the same directions he had already given out.
“We will leave you in peace, Father,” Mariposa said when he’d finished. “Our business is elsewhere.”
“I will bury your men and accord them the last rites. I would say to you ‘Go with God,’ but I feel that would be inappropriate.”
Mariposa held the priest’s stare. A faint smile played at the corners of the jefe’s mouth, then he turned on his heel and waved his men back toward the helicopter.
“A close moment, Father,” Candy said quietly.
“God was on my side,” Xavier said.
“With Mariposa, I wouldn’t have liked to bet on the difference,” Candy commented, before heading back to the Sikorsky.
14
It was a late-model Cadillac Escalade. A black, four-wheel-drive monster with all the trimmings. When Bolan checked out the SUV, he found it was fitted with every add-on in the book. He had taken his time approaching the vehicle in case it wasn’t as empty as it appeared. When he reached it, he found that it posed no threat. He set most of his equipment on one of the back seats, keeping his Beretta in hand as he inspected the luxurious interior, which included an extra fuel tank.
A La Muerte knew how to look after itself.
Bolan eased behind the wheel and hit the start button. The powerful V-8 engine purred to life. He inspected the trees in front of him. There was no chance he could cut through the dense forest, so he’d have to circle around the stand of timber until he was able to rejoin his original path. It would take up valuable time, but was still faster than moving on foot.
The heavy SUV handled easily, responding quickly to his touch. He drove at a steady speed over the uneven ground. The day had cleared and he could see the pale outline of low mountain peaks far ahead.
Bolan figured he had a couple hours before it got dark. He was in unknown country, and attempting to drive through the night was not a smart idea. He had no way of knowing what kind of terrain lay beyond this small forest, and as much as he needed to reach Hermano Escobedo, it wouldn’t do either of them any favors if he ran into trouble before he got there.
When the sun had set and it became clear that the moonlight wasn’t going to be much help, Bolan maneuvered the SUV into a shadowy curve in the hillside and cut the motor. He would wait out the night here, then move on at first light. He opened the food bag Father Xavier had given him, and pulled out a hunk of bread and some goat cheese. Bolan ate gratefully and drank from the one of the canteens. Then he settled down to rest. As always, he slept lightly, senses attuned for any suspicious sounds.
Before he allowed himself to sleep, he turned his thoughts to Hermano Escobedo, the reason he was here in the wilds of Mexico.
Bolan wondered how the man was doing, hiding away in his own country. A lone individual with the weight of Jessup’s organization ready to crush him, and now the added threat from the cartel. Bolan had yet to meet Escobedo, but knew he must be terrified, unable to trust anyone, isolated and directionless. His position was not enviable.
Bolan intended to change that. At dawn, he would make his final push to reach and extract Escobedo. He had already clashed with A La Muerte soldiers. It didn’t take a great stretch of imagination to realize his previous encounters wouldn’t be his last. Jessup and Mariposa were not going to let the matter rest. Sooner or later, Bolan was going need his cleansing firepower to clear the way. This knowledge didn’t deter him in the least. He would face what came and deal with it in the moment.
He’d never thought of himself as indestructible; a bullet in the right place could end his life as easily as anyone else’s. Dangerous as it was, he’d chosen this path because he’d seen how true evil could flourish, given the right conditions. His ongoing battle, his Everlasting War, was his attempt to redress the balance. Bolan understood he would never win his fight overall, but even the slightest of victories mattered. He could not ask for more. It motivated him to move on and confront the next challenge.
* * *
AS THE SKY BEGAN to lighten, Bolan woke and climbed out of the SUV. He took a few swallows from the canteen and glanced around. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he made a cursory check of the SUV’s tires in case they’d been damaged on the rough terrain he’d driven over the previous day.
Behind the wheel, Bolan started the engine and maneuvered the SUV out of its hiding place. He worked out his position and set himself back on course.
The big SUV took to the slopes easily. Bolan picked up the faint traces of a trail and drove at a steady pace, aler
t to anything that might suggest others were closing in on Hermano Escobedo, as well. Bolan wasn’t about to underestimate the opposition.
Midmorning, he saw his first signs of life—a few goats roaming loose on the hills ahead of him. He recalled Father Xavier mentioning there were several at the Escobedo farm.
Bolan braked and pulled out the binoculars the A La Muerte men had left in the SUV. The incline he was on ran down to a flat stretch of ground that held a small house and some outbuildings. Father Xavier had described it perfectly, even down to the small well in the yard. Movement caught Bolan’s attention; a thin drift of smoke was coming from the chimney. He spent some time studying the farm and the surrounding area. He saw nothing to suggest anyone besides Escobedo was here.
He drove down the slope to the house, and when he cut the motor, realized how quiet the place was. Bolan picked up his Uzi and silently exited the vehicle.
The whole farm showed a lack of attention. Fence rails down, equipment scattered around, grass and weeds sprouting up everywhere. A few chickens wandered back and forth.
Bolan was not convinced he was on his own. He walked around the SUV, then stood with his back to the vehicle as he inspected the house.
“Hermano Escobedo, step out so I can see you. I’m here to take you to safety. Back to the US, so you can present your evidence against Seb Jessup. My name is Matt Cooper.” He paused, waiting for any indication of Escobedo’s presence. Nothing.
“I understand your position,” Bolan continued. “If I was in your shoes, I’d feel the same. I’ve come on behalf of the Justice Department. We need to get out of here fast, because Jessup’s allies are on their way. Members of the A La Muerte cartel. Ramon Mariposa’s men. Your good friend Father Xavier helped me locate you…”
Bolan waited. Still nothing.
Why would Escobedo believe him?
Who could the poor man trust?
“Escobedo—Hermano—if I was with Jessup or Mariposa I would not be on my own. Those people are only strong when they work in groups. None of them have the courage to face anyone on their own.”
The Cartel Hit Page 9