Sarah couldn’t contain the joy she found in that news and a smile grew across her face.
“When we find that information—who killed Xander’s family—we will approach him. But…”
Manning paused and looked over to Sarah.
“…We have to be careful. If something goes wrong, if Xander were to kill the wrong person and it gets out that we knew what he was doing and we let it happen, we kiss all of our jobs good-bye.”
Richards stood and gathered his things.
“If you don’t mind me asking, sir, why take the risk? You ask me, we should shut him down and find a soldier that wants to work for his country. There has to be a hundred guys in our great military that can do the jobs we need done, the jobs he can do—”
“I assure you there is not.”
Director Manning's expression was dead serious.
“There isn’t one. Not in our military, or any other military. That’s the only reason I would even call this meeting. If it wasn’t King doing this, we would just shut it down. But this soldier is special. We just have to make him an offer he can’t refuse, and we need to do it fast. As far as I’m concerned this is of the highest priority. The United States needs Xander King.”
The King Is in the Building
The black Cadillac Escalade glided down the 5 freeway, heading south. The tangerine evening sky hovered over downtown as it admired its own reflection in the glistening waters of San Diego Bay. A 737 commercial airliner pulled its wheels up into itself and floated out over the Pacific Ocean, carrying passengers headed to all sorts of different final destinations. Some flying back home from vacation, others just starting theirs, and an unfortunate leaving for work, or worse, a loved one’s funeral. Xander King took in the scenery from the passenger seat. His eyes wandered over the airport, trying to pick out the hangar where his own private aircraft awaited his arrival. He wished he were on his way there now, but he wasn’t. He had business to tend to.
Xander’s phone vibrated in his lap.
“Hey, Sam,” he answered.
“Xander,” she spoke in a strong, proper British accent, “the two of you are behind schedule, you should only be ten minutes from Juarez’s compound at the moment.”
“Sam?” Sam could hear Xander’s wry smile grow over his words through the phone. “Are you watching us on GPS again?”
“Of course I’m following you on GPS. Someone has to keep you on schedule. It isn’t like you are late to a film. I know this is all second nature to you, Xander, but your life depends on the preciseness of my plan. Every second you are behind is a second that I hadn’t planned for, and—”
“Then it’s a good thing I know how to improvise, Sam. You act like it’s my first time. Relax, darlin’. How many times have we done this?” Xander attempted to reassure her. He threw in the word ‘darlin’ for good measure, because he knew how much she hated it.
“I hate it when you call me darlin’.” Sam over-countrified the word darlin’. “I know exactly how many times we have done this. I know, because every single time, we have to have this little chat beforehand.”
“And every time, everything goes just as you’d planned. Now, if you don’t have anything important to offer about the target, I’m gonna get back—”
“I have confirmed there are at least three young girls being held captive in the cellar. All of them under the age of fifteen,” Sam interrupted.
Her words hung over the them with the weight of an elephant. Xander’s playful mood instantly switched off and a sickening rumble permeated his stomach. Live hostages changed the game entirely. His level of precision would have to parallel perfection.
“Jesus, Sam.”
“This changes everything, Xander. All yellow targets are now green. I know you never like eliminating anyone but our main target, but there are innocent lives at stake here. You know that everyone working security for Juarez is fully aware of the horrible things he plans to do to with these poor young ladies. They all have a hand in the rape and the brutal—”
“All right, all right. I get it. You don’t have to tell me why we are doing this.”
“I know I don’t. As soon as you give me word the compound is clear and you are well on your way, I will send in the authorities to pick up the hostages. Xander, I—”
“I know, Sam…They all have to die.”
“I’m sorry, Xander. It’s the only way.”
It never ceased to amaze Kyle how poised Xander continued to be in these situations. He had been driving for him going on four years now and still he felt more nervous than his best friend seemed in these moments. His mind couldn’t compute how calm Xander could remain, like he had ice water in his veins. He supposed it was because of Xander’s training, but still it was amazing. With downtown now behind them and the last of the auburn sky fading to black, Xander continued to read through the target file. Another file full of all things drug trafficking, prostitution, and murder. Yet again, a profile of another of the world’s nastiest human beings, and by looking at him, you would think Xander was reading a magazine. Not a fidget or a squirm of nervousness, even though he was about to walk right into the lion’s den.
Alone.
Kyle could tell by Xander’s conversation with Sam that things at the target’s compound had become more complicated. Though, by looking at Xander, you’d never know it.
"You need some more air or anything?” Kyle asked.
"I'm good. Just doing my homework,” Xander replied. “Did Sam brief you before we left?"
"Not really, just the drop and pickup points. Sorry. I got back too late from the DMV. They were giving me shit about not having a California driver's license. And…I may have been a little hungover.”
"No worries. Last night was fun.” Xander smiled.
“It really was—”
“Let me catch you up before we get there," Xander interrupted, all business now. Fun and games were over. He shuffled back to the beginning of the profile. He looked down at a photo of a young Mexican man, mid-twenties, a gold-toothed snarl on his face, bald head, and a tattoo of a snake winding up and around his neck, Xander thought the snake tattoo seemed rather appropriate. He read aloud to Kyle.
“Okay, the target is Miguel Juarez—son of Jose Juarez—the founder of the Trinity Cartel. About three years ago when his father died Miguel took over operations and has grown it by more than double. As you know, I don’t give a shit about drug trafficking. If it were just about that, I definitely wouldn’t waste our time.”
Kyle nodded as he navigated the palm-lined roads. They had now crossed over into Chula Vista, California’s southernmost city, just above Tijuana at the Mexican border. He knew Xander wasn’t worried about petty crimes that only involved drugs.
“But, about two years ago our boy Miguel here started dipping his toes in the human trafficking waters. Young teenage girls, to be more specific."
“Wow, who does that?” said Kyle.
"I know. Since then he has bought or kidnapped and sold more than two hundred young girls, to the fate of God knows what. Lately, and the main reason he popped up on Sam's radar of potential targets, Miguel has figured out that young San Diego white girls fetch a lot more money on the black market than his usual lineup of teenage Mexicans.”
"Does he have anything to do with the reports I've been seeing lately on the news about young girls going missing?" Kyle asked.
"He has everything to do with them.” Xander casually took a sip from his Red Bull. “Listen, I've heard awful stories of what has happened to some of these girls, and it is sickening. Rape, slavery, torture, I heard one girl he sold ended up being a sex slave to an entire cartel in southern Mexico. Fifteen men raped and beat her whenever they wanted, for months before she finally found a way to kill herself. And it's all courtesy of Miguel here, our dead man walking," Xander elaborated and briefly flashed Kyle the photo of Miguel.
"Sam did mention I was dropping you off just outside this guy’s compound. Any special inst
ructions?"
"No, you can drop me off just around the corner. It's pretty isolated, and as always, I'll see you at the pickup point when it's over."
"No problem. I’ll be there," Kyle assured him. “Only about ten minutes away now."
Xander nodded and got back to reading over the blueprints of Miguel Juarez’s compound. The glow of the GPS in the middle of the Escalade's dash was all the brighter now that the sun had set and darkness had filled in around them. Kyle always left the last few minutes of these rides for silence. Xander never said he needed it, but he knew his friend about as well as he knew himself. Besides, Kyle always felt that if it were he who was about to walk into a notorious gangster's personal compound in order to kill him, he would at least like to take a few minutes to gather himself. Not that Xander ever needed it, but it was the least Kyle could do.
The semi-robotic female voice of the GPS broke the silence. "Turn left onto Palm Bluff Lane and in two-tenths of a mile your destination is ahead on the right."
"This is close enough.” Xander said as he pointed to the side of the road. His voice was calm, as if he were getting dropped at the bus station. It was pitch-black now and the only light on the isolated road beamed from the front of their Cadillac. Kyle brought the SUV to a stop and popped open the lift gate in the back. Xander opened the passenger door and the overhead light of the vehicle shined down on his chiseled face as he turned back to Kyle.
"I'll meet you back here in exactly twelve minutes. Any longer and I'll meet you at plan B in half an hour. We really don't have time for plan B, though. We have a launch party to get to," Xander said with a smile and a wink. His deep and tranquil blue eyes showing no signs of fear or nerves.
Kyle smiled back and reached out his hand for their customary handshake—three sideways open hand slaps and a fist bump. It hadn't been modified in over ten years, not since the first touchdown he threw to Kyle senior year against their cross-town rivals, the Ashland Tomcats. Sam thought it entirely immature of them, but Sam didn’t know how to have fun. Kyle knew he would see Xander in exactly twelve minutes. Four years in and there had never been a need for plan B. Xander had never missed his mark.
Xander's smile turned to game face as he shut the passenger door. The cool Southern California breeze said hello as it carried the faint salty scent of the ocean. He made his way to the back of the Escalade and inside were a few tools of the trade. He took his sniper rifle from its case and threw the strap over his shoulder. Sam had also left him two silencer-fitted, Glock 19 pistols for his shoulder holster, and he slid both of them in their slots beneath his perfectly tailored black blazer and shut the lift gate. He’d had the blazer custom-made to allow for plenty of movement while maintaining a snug athletic fit. He chose Glock 19’s as his preferred piece because he liked the way it felt in his hand. And at that point, he had sent thousands of rounds down the gun range with it, so it felt like a reliable old friend. He gave two pats on the back of the Escalade and Kyle pulled a U-turn, leaving Xander alone to his mission.
Xander walked down a small grass-covered embankment toward the tree line to avoid being noticed by any potential passersby. As he made his way toward Miguel's driveway another cool breeze swept through his hair and awoke the rows of pine and palm trees that stood watch over him. With only a sliver of moon visible, there wasn't much to light his path. Branches and pinecones snapped and popped beneath his feet as he moved methodically toward the now visible light of the gate and guardhouse at the foot of the compound. About a hundred meters, he figured. Cloaked in the shadows of the freshly fallen night he took a knee and pulled the rifle from his shoulder. The ground was soft under his weight. He checked his Apple watch—8:00 p.m. An iron gate—the only way into Miguel Juarez's completely walled-in, drug-and slave-money-funded mansion—opened and a black SUV drove through. Xander crouched lower and watched with a keen eye. It stopped for a moment, then proceeded out onto the main road, just as Sam had said it would. According to her calculations, there was a 50 percent chance that Juarez was in that SUV and a 30 percent chance he wouldn't return for at least forty-three minutes. Sam was never wrong. However, in this case the intel wasn’t absolute, and as she’d stated in her briefing, this left Xander with a probable success rate of only 14 percent. She always teetered on the side of caution.
Xander did not.
The exhaust rumbled as the driver stepped on the gas and the red glow of the SUV's taillights disappeared in the distance. Xander loaded two specially made tranquilizer bullets into his silencer-modified, bolt action M24 sniper rifle. It had a range of over eight hundred meters, but only about a hundred of those would be necessary to take out the guard stationed at the gate. Xander had read that the gate guard was employed by an outside security firm, so there would be no reason for him to die. He readied the sniper rifle. Every time he used this rifle it reminded him of his time as a navy SEAL. Moreover, it reminded him of his course manager, Sergeant Marx, who used to never let a moment go by without giving Xander a hard time about being the son of a billionaire oil tycoon.
Marx would always joke: “I don't understand why in the hell a good-lookin’, rich-ass son of a bitch like you would want to practically kill himself to become a navy SEAL. If I were you, and I had all of my daddy’s billions, I’d be at the titty bars throwin’ money around till somethin’ came home with me!"
Ever charming was Marx.
Xander laughed to himself as he peered through the rifle's scope. He adjusted for the slight but steady SoCal breeze and he wrapped his black leather glove covered finger around the trigger. The crosshairs danced back and forth over the guard’s chest. With a deep breath and a steady hand he gently squeezed the trigger and hit his mark directly in the right shoulder. He continued his gaze through the scope, studying the guard as he grasped his shoulder in pain. A small spatter of blood saturated the entry point of the bullet on the guard's white short-sleeved button-down shirt. In a matter of seconds he slowly folded over as the tranquilizer settled into his bloodstream. Xander panned the rifle a few feet to the right until he spotted the camera on the gate in his sights. One more squeeze and the bullet exploded directly through the lens, disabling the camera. Xander lowered his rifle and tossed it just outside the tree line, where his intended exit route would take him. He made his way through the rest of the trees to the opening of the driveway and continued past the guardhouse to the gate's keypad. He entered the four-digit code he’d memorized from Sam's intel and the gate opened, giving way to the compound and its grounds. He moved through and the gate closed behind him. Ahead of him lay a long narrow driveway that wound its way up a hill before dead-ending into a massive Mediterranean-style mansion. Instead of taking the driveway and further exposing himself, he made his way up the manicured hill beside it, through various tropical plants, pines, and palm trees. He took notice of the soft, but firm ground, just in case a quick exit from the premises would be necessary.
As he approached the outside of the mansion there were no sounds or signs of movement coming from inside. It was, in fact, much quieter than he’d expected. His intel had shown, especially on the weekends, many parties took place here. There were no signs this was the case tonight. The driveway was free of souped-up Chevy Impalas and other tacky retro cars fitted with thirty-inch rims.
Sam's 14 percent probable success rate might just be right on the money, he thought.
He quickly erased this thought from his mind, as there was no room for any doubt that Miguel and his crew would be anything but ready and waiting for him. He spotted the first security camera and pulled one of his pistols. With minimal effort he shot out the camera. Xander, at one time, after a few too many bourbons had joked with Sam that he was going to start bringing a paintball gun along just for the security cameras. Sam didn’t find the idea amusing at all. She was the best in the world at building these missions, but she was a little uptight. A lot uptight actually, the yin to Xander's yang. Sam was supposed to have already hacked in and cut the cameras, but since
it was on his way in he figured it couldn’t hurt to be safe.
Xander re-holstered his pistol and made a move for the side door when a window lit up on the second floor toward the rear of the mansion. He couldn’t help but feel that at that moment the 14 percent probability Sam had given him to succeed had just gone to 100. A shade was drawn, but he could see a shadow moving in the background through the window. He scoured the outside of the compound for an easier way to reach his target. If he could avoid having to scour the entire mansion that it would be far more efficient. To his left, in the yellow floodlight, he could see a substantial concrete balcony protruding from the second floor of the back of the mansion, connected to the very room that showed the signs of movement above him. With three quick bursting bounds he used his momentum to propel himself up the side of the stucco wall. Without stopping, he pushed off of the wall and after a catlike leap over the back gate, he had a hold on to the bottom of the balcony on the other side. Pulling himself up with one arm, he kept his right hand around the grip of his pistol that was tucked inside his suspender holsters.
Much to the dismay of Sam he’d decided long ago to go form over function with his attire.
There was no one out on the balcony, and once he’d pulled himself the rest of the way up he tucked up against the side of the mansion on the outside of the stucco and stone pillar railing. His all-black suit stood out loudly against the light tan stucco he now leaned his back against.
There was a massive sliding door on the other side of the railing. The light was on in the room, but in addition to the window there was a curtain closed for privacy. He listened for any movement and as he did he noticed the sprawling backside of the mansion. Multiple floodlights cast their rays over a magnificent pool, complete with a faux rock mountain holding a slide and what appeared to be the opening to a grotto tucked underneath it. Xander was amazed by how much money was made trafficking drugs, and in this case, prostituting innocent children. That thought brought his blood to a boil and focused him on the task at hand. A sliver of wall on the balcony separated the rail from the beginning of the sliding door, just enough room for him to stay hidden. Xander hopped the rail and paused at that gap before noticing a small opening in the curtain as it had been pulled a little too far to the middle of the glass doors. Just as he began to take a look inside he heard a woman let out a moan and he quickly pulled his head back away from the door. For the moment at least, it didn't sound as if she was moaning from being forced into her current situation. This gave Xander the time to take his time.
Whiskey & Roses (The Xander King Series Book 1) Page 2