The Cartel Hit

by Don Pendleton

  “Madre,” Escobedo said. “These people do not give up.”

  Bolan spun the wheel around. “And neither do I.”

  21

  The sporadic gunshots held Mariposa’s team back. No one else had been hit, but the drug lord had already paid a heavy price in his pursuit of Matt Cooper and Hermano Escobedo. Though he hadn’t expressed his feelings vocally, Candy had the impression the cartel boss was becoming disillusioned.

  The survivors of the group were waiting for a backup team to contact them. When the call finally came, Mariposa expressed his feelings in language that even Candy didn’t need translated.

  “The crew has split up,” Mariposa said in English for Candy’s benefit. “They are moving along the rim in each direction. Two have stayed by the vehicle.”

  Candy glanced upward. The afternoon was coming to an end and the light was no longer reaching parts of the ravine, so it would be harder to spot Cooper and Escobedo from above.

  “They can’t see us. We can’t see them,” Candy said. “This is what they call the enfrentamiento mexicano.”

  Mexican standoff.

  “You watch too many Western movies,” Mariposa said.

  Moments later, the first grenade detonated. It had landed some twelve feet from their position. The burst rattled back and forth across the ravine. Debris showered the area.

  The pilot, Rico, was closest to the explosion. He crouched, took a run back toward the others and was caught when the second grenade went off. His scream was lost in the burst as he was spun off his feet, coming down hard, his body twisting awkwardly as he landed. His left side and lower back were shredded, shrapnel tearing into his flesh and leaving it raw and bloodied, bone gleaming in the open wounds. Rico convulsed for a few moments before he became still.

  “Jesus,” Candy said, “this is becoming a fucking war zone.”

  “Keeping Jessup out of jail is becoming very expensive,” Mariposa said. “I hope it will be worth all this trouble.”

  The A La Muerte boss, one of his soldiers and Candy. They were the only ones left in the ravine.

  “How many up top?” Candy asked.

  “Five,” Mariposa said. He glanced at Rico’s body. Faint wisps of smoke hovered over the scorched clothing. “And now I will have to find another good pilot.”

  “Not the most moving eulogy I ever heard,” Candy said under his breath. “I’m sure the guy’s mother would be comforted at that benediction.”

  “Jefe, what do we do now?” the cartel soldier said.

  Mariposa managed a smile. “A good question, Alvarez.”

  “You think Cooper will be open to a bribe?” Candy asked lightly.

  “No,” Mariposa said, “I believe he just wants to kill us.”

  From above came the sound of gunfire. Then silence, followed by the rumble of an engine starting. The noise faded as the vehicle moved away.

  Candy said, “I think we’ve been abandoned, old buddy. Something tells me Elvis just left the building.”

  Trembling with controlled rage, Mariposa took out his sat phone and began to issue orders.

  “This is not over,” he said when he ended the call. “Those two still have to get across the border.”

  Candy took out his own phone and made contact. When Jessup came on the line Candy brought him up to date with the situation.

  “Am I hearing this right?” the Texan asked. “This Cooper yahoo has run rings around Mariposa and his army?”

  “Seb, he may be a yahoo, but he’s a smart one. We don’t know jack shit about his background, but the guy knows combat. He works tactics. And he doesn’t take prisoners.”

  “Well, give the man a round of applause. I don’t care if he has a Congressional Medal of Honor. I just want him dead, alongside that sneaky Mexican asshole.”

  “Ramon is callin’ in some more backup,” Candy related. “Soon as we have them we’ll move out.”

  “Looks like I’d better have some boys ready at this end. You know, just in case they slip by you hotshots.”

  The sarcasm wasn’t lost on Candy. Jessup cut the call without another word, leaving him staring at the dead phone.

  Maybe I should hang on to that down payment, Candy thought. Sounds like Jessup might want it back.

  He glanced down at Rico’s bloody corpse. Could be the pilot took the easy way out. Whatever lay ahead of them, Candy wasn’t exactly looking forward to it.

  He caught a glimpse of Mariposa. The cartel boss had a tense expression on his face. His eyes darted restlessly back and forth as he stared at the confining walls of the ravine. He was letting the situation get to him. This was not what was supposed to happen. The drug lord was used to being in control, dictating the action and making others pay for challenging it. The American, Cooper, had changed that. He had snatched away the man they were after, and had inflicted telling casualties on A La Muerte.

  Candy knew that Ramon Mariposa was committed now. He had no choice. The American had to die, alongside Escobedo. Nothing less would satisfy him. Nothing less would restore his challenged authority.

  22

  The day dimmed around them. Shadows lengthened. The landscape lost its definition as the night pushed in. Bolan drove steadily, negotiating the terrain with care. Beside him, Escobedo was fast asleep. In his weakened state he needed his rest, and Bolan made no demands on him. The man had already gone through enough.

  When darkness cloaked the land, Bolan rolled the vehicle to a stop. Driving with headlights in this empty landscape would be like painting a bull’s-eye on themselves, but continuing on with nothing to light their way would invite other risks. They couldn’t afford to lose another vehicle.

  Bolan sensed Escobedo stirring. He glanced over, to find the Mexican working something out of a side pocket of his pants. He offered a small, wrapped object to Bolan.

  “If anything happens to me, Cooper, this will back up my evidence.”

  Bolan took the package. “Hermano?”

  “It is the SIM card from my phone. It has the video of Jessup murdering those young Mexicans. The murders I witnessed.”

  “Nothing is going to happen to you, Hermano. I’m going to see you get to safety.”

  “Sí, I understand that. But just in case things don’t go as we plan, this will explain everything. Promise me you will see it gets to the right place.”

  Bolan slipped the package into one of his blacksuit’s zippered pockets.

  “You both go with me,” he said. “And you both get to be delivered.”

  Escobedo laughed. “You sound like the US Mail.”

  Bolan held the Uzi close as he leaned back in his seat. “Right now, we could use the express delivery service.”

  He took out his sat phone and contacted Stony Man. Barbara Price’s smooth tone filled his ear when she picked up.

  “Hey, Striker, been a while.”

  “It’s been a busy time down here.”

  “This a sit rep?”

  “I have our guy sitting next to me.”

  “But?”

  “But we could have non-friendly locals on our six. Can you get an eye on us?”

  “I’m on it. I’ll come back ASAP.”

  Bolan felt Escobedo watching him.

  “Was that help you were calling for?”

  “Could be”

  “I hope it was. Cooper, after everything that’s happened, tell me it is all going to be worth it.”

  “We’ll get to see Jessup locked up. The A La Muerte cartel will be minus one head piece of trash and down a number of soldiers. What’s not worth it about that?”

  “Whatever you say,” Escobedo said. “I am too tired to argue.”

  His words trailed off. He was too weak to stay awake, so Bolan let him sleep.

  23

  First light. Shadows retreated as the day dawned. Bolan drove the Mercedes in a half circle so he could scan the surrounding terrain. The satellite imagery Price had pulled up was now proving correct. Two vehicles were moving to inte
rcept him. They were coming fast, leaving thick dust streams in their wake, converging on his position with the intensity of ravenous sharks. They were coming in for the kill.

  Braking hard, Bolan shook Escobedo awake, barking at him to crouch in the foot well and stay down.

  Escobedo’s eyes shot open and he slid silently into cover.

  Bolan picked up the AK-74 and switched the selector to full-auto. He reached for the canvas bag holding the remaining grenades, then pushed open the door and slipped clear, crouching near the Mercedes’s front wheel.

  The closest of the approaching vehicles was already turning to confront him. The other held back, allowing the lead 4x4 to make the play. Bolan gauged distance. They were already within range of his rifle. The lead vehicle slowed, the windows opening as gun muzzles were pushed out. One AK-74 spat a tongue of flame and Bolan heard the bullet strike the hood of the Mercedes. The shot was followed by more, the offensive fire taking out the windshield.

  Bolan came up enough so he could lean on the side wing to steady his aim. He focused on the oncoming 4x4 and depressed the trigger. The AK-74 hammered out its full clip, pouring thirty 5.45 caliber slugs at the oncoming vehicle. The windshield blew in, showering the occupants in glass. Bolan saw shadowy figures inside jerking under the unrelenting stream of bullets. The 4x4 came to a shuddering halt, engine stalling, for the driver had been hit. By this time Bolan had dropped the empty magazine and slotted in a replacement. He raked the 4x4 again.

  One rear door opened and a bloodied figure tumbled free and dropped to his knees. Bolan sighted in and hit him with a short burst that put him down for good. Then he spotted someone exiting on the far side of the vehicle. The guy ran to the rear and moved to the corner closest to Bolan, poked his rifle around the vehicle and opened up on him. Slugs peppered the Mercedes. Bolan heard a tire go with a hiss of escaping air. The vehicle sank onto its rim.

  Out the corner of his eye, he saw the second vehicle pull back and sit waiting.

  The concealed shooter started firing again.

  Bolan put down the AK, took out one of the grenades and pulled the pin. He moved behind his vehicle, using its bulk for cover as he launched the grenade at the 4x4. He sent it toward one of the bullet-shattered windows. His aim was good and the device dropped inside.

  It blew out the side panels as it went off, the harsh crack of the detonation followed by flame and a cloud of smoke. There was a second blast as the fuel tank exploded. The ravaged vehicle was engulfed in flames. Metal fragments pattered to the scorched earth.

  The gunner concealed behind the 4x4 was thrown from his position like a human fireball. When he hit the ground, he thrashed about, slapping ineffectually at the flames consuming him, his shrill screams giving way to rapidly diminishing whimpers.

  Bolan pushed himself upright and circled the blazing wreck, the Uzi in his grip now. The thick smoke covered his movements. He heard the growl of the other vehicle as it nosed closer, and heard raised voices as the A La Muerte crew took in the scene of destruction.

  Bolan peered through the haze and made out moving figures ahead.

  He counted four of them.

  * * *

  “THIS TIME HE does not walk away,” Mariposa said.

  He followed his two soldiers out of the 4x4.

  They fanned out, their forward vision hampered by the fierce flame and smoke from the wrecked vehicle.

  “A bonus to the man who brings me the heads of Escobedo and that damned American.”

  Candy hung back. He could see the way this was going. Cooper was getting them to do exactly what he had planned. Drawing them clear of their own vehicle while he used the cover of the burning wreck.

  Candy moved to the rear of the 4x4 and edged around it until he could see Cooper’s vehicle. If the American was on foot, Escobedo would be alone inside the Mercedes. Cooper wouldn’t want him exposed to hostile gunfire.

  Which could make this the moment Candy fulfilled his own contract.

  This was his chance.

  He heard the crackle of automatic fire as one of Mariposa’s guys opened up.

  The other men were all engaged. This could be his opportunity.

  Candy measured the distance, saw smoke drifting his way. He broke cover and ran toward the Mercedes. Smoke stung his eyes. He could stand that.

  He heard more autofire.

  Someone yelled, and not in celebration.

  * * *

  THE A LA MUERTE SHOOTER had mistaken drifting smoke for a human shape. He triggered a burst and ran forward to follow it up. He paused when he realized he’d wasted his moment. Only then did he see a more substantial form emerge from the haze.

  There was no mistake this time.

  Bolan’s Uzi crackled, and the bullets tore into the target’s body, breaking ribs. The cartel soldier uttered a startled yell. Bolan fired again, this time sending the 9 mm slugs into the guy’s skull.

  As the man dropped, Bolan cut to the side, still making the most of the smoke. It wasn’t going to last as cover, so he needed to stretch his luck.

  * * *

  CANDY SAW MARIPOSA’S man go down. The cartel boss signaled to his remaining soldier to circle around, and moved forward himself. Then a tall figure emerged from the drifting smoke. Cooper.

  The man was impressive, his black-clad form imposing. Candy could see why the American had survived everything thrown at him. His movements were controlled and confident. It was plain to see why he had defied the A La Muerte soldiers. This was more than a simple gunman; he carried himself with the ease of a man totally in harmony with himself. A formidable enemy. He was a soldier in the true sense of the word. A fighting man who had no need to broadcast his skills. The evidence was in his actions.

  Slipping past Cooper and the fallen cartel guy, Candy reached the rear of the Mercedes. He looked in through the passenger window. There was no sign of Escobedo. The vehicle seemed empty.

  Where was he?

  The Mexican couldn’t have left the car. If he had, he would have been spotted. There was nowhere to hide.

  Candy inched along the side of the Mercedes, still not satisfied.

  He peered into the rear window, seeing nothing, then yanked open the door…and met the muzzle of a Glock. Hermano Escobedo was pointing the pistol at him, and thrust the barrel forward as he lunged up from the floor of the SUV.

  Escobedo looked like a man on his final stretch. He was disheveled, with dark rings around his eyes, his face beaded with sweat. His clothes were grubby, and bloodstained around his right shoulder. He braced himself with his left hand, but the hand holding the pistol was surprisingly firm, with no sign of a tremor.

  “You see what you have done to me?” Escobedo said quietly. “What you have made me do…”

  * * *

  ESCOBEDO PULLED THE trigger and put a 9 mm slug into the man’s face. It hit him between the eyes and cored into his skull. The man’s head snapped back with the impact, so the second shot Escobedo fired struck lower, smashing in through his nose. His opponent made no sound as he fell to the ground, his AK spilling from his hands.

  Escobedo watched him fall, his own finger squeezing the Glock’s trigger a few more times before it locked empty. Tears streamed down his face. He leaned against the edge of the seat, drained and exhausted. At that moment he had no resistance left in him.

  * * *

  BOLAN MOVED INTO the clear, the smoke behind him, and saw the surviving pair of A La Muerte soldiers facing him. They were both carrying AK-74s. He counted off the seconds as they both swung their rifles in his direction. Bolan took the only offensive action he could. His hand went into the bag slung from his shoulder and he brought out one of the remaining grenades. He dropped his AK and pulled the pin. The instant he threw the grenade, he grasped the Uzi.

  The grenade hit the ground and bounced, catching the attention of Mariposa and his man. It detonated with a hard sound, throwing up a shower of earth and a deadly spray of shrapnel.

  Mariposa went down
as fragments ripped into his lower legs. The A La Muerte soldier survived the blast because he was slightly behind Mariposa and was shielded. He caught fragments of shrapnel in his right arm, but not enough to take him out of the fight.

  Bolan turned the muzzle of his Uzi on him as the last man standing twisted away from the grenade burst. Bolan triggered the SMG, his shots finding their target. The cartel soldier doubled over as he took a gutful of 9 mm Parabellums. Bolan stood, moving to end his agony with a short burst, then turned to stand over Mariposa.

  The Mexican drug dealer stared up at him, his face screwed up from the pain of his shredded legs. Bloody shards of bone showed in the ravaged flesh.

  “You know who I am?” Mariposa asked, hands pawing at the ugly leg wounds.

  “No one important,” Bolan said.

  “I am Ramon Mariposa. Jefe of A La Muerte.”

  “If that’s supposed to impress me,” Bolan said, “it doesn’t.”

  “I know who you are,” Mariposa said. “Matt Cooper. When Jessup finds you and that cockroach Escobedo, both of you will die…”

  The Uzi moved. Just enough.

  “You first,” Bolan said, and pulled the trigger.

  The drug dealer’s face vanished in a mess of flesh and bone.

  * * *

  BOLAN FOUND ESCOBEDO passed out in the Mercedes, the dead Texan on the ground by the vehicle. Escobedo held the empty Glock in his hand.

  “Good for you, Hermano,” Bolan said.

  He crossed to the SUV the Mexicans had been using, and climbed in behind the wheel.

  This is becoming a habit, he thought.

  He drove up alongside the Mercedes and transferred Escobedo into the backseat. Then he gathered his gear and placed that on the floor beneath the passenger’s seat.

  According to the satellite data Stony Man had sent, the border was a couple hours’ drive away. Bolan used his sat phone GPS to plot the route, and pulled away from the smoldering, bloody scene of the firefight.