At this time of night, it’s a skeleton crew. Pretty sparse. But even still, there are a couple of guys unloading a shipping container across the yard from me. About twenty yards in front of me is another trailer that’s sporting a sign that says ‘Loaded’. So obviously, this is bound for elsewhere. I’m curious to see what’s going out. I stroll forward casually, making a show of puffing on the cigarette without being too obvious about it.
Once I make it to the trailer, I lift the hitch and swing the door open. I quickly step inside and close the door behind me. Slipping the heavy-duty flashlight off my belt, I snap it on and sweep the inside of the container. Stacks of crates covered with dark tarps line both sides of the trailer. Stepping forward, I pull the tarp back to find a long unmarked wooden crate.
Bracing the light between my neck and shoulder, I open it up and whistle low when I find a rack of M4 assault rifles. It’s a shorter, lighter, more compact but more powerful variant of the M16. The military is phasing out the M16s in favor of these little ass-kickers. And I have to wonder where these are bound for. Looking around, I find a clipboard and quickly scan the pages, nodding. I’m totally unsurprised when I see these are bound for a location in Sonora. Vargas is loading up and equipping his cartel army with U.S. weapons.
I replace everything as I found it and carefully back out of the trailer. I shut the door and lock it again, then debate the wisdom of pushing my luck by scoping out another trailer. I cut a glance around the yard and spot a trailer sitting off all by its lonesome, waiting to be unloaded. With a deliberate casual walk, I make my way over to it and slip inside.
This one has reached its final destination. Whatever is in here is going to hit the streets of Tucson. I open the crates on one side of the trailer and find more M4s. Vargas wants his soldiers here properly equipped as well, apparently. In crates on the other side of the trailer, though, are packages of white powder. Lots and lots of drugs will be flooding the streets of Tucson and points beyond.
I have half a mind to destroy everything in this yard, and I probably would if I had the right equipment. I didn’t think to bring any explosives with me. But then that would tip McGregor that I was on to him, and he’d alter his routines to take precautions. And that’s the last thing I want to have happen. I’m settled now that this is a very bad man who needs to be put down. He’s not just on the take; he actively facilitates the work of these monstrous organizations. As far as I’m concerned, the Tower was right. Yet again.
I back out of the trailer, making my way back down to the guard booth. Grabbing hold of the still unconscious man, I undo his ties and gag, sitting him down in his chair. I toss the windbreaker onto a table behind him and then sit in a chair on the other side of the small booth.
I have to wait another fifteen minutes or so before he finally stirs. He groans and shakes his head, trying to come back to himself. When he sees me sitting there, he reaches for the weapon on his belt. I hold my hands up and affect an air of confusion and fear.
“Yo, I’m sorry man. I’m so sorry,” I plead. “I don’t know why I snapped like that. Other than I was really drunk.”
“You choked me out, asshole!”
I nod. “I did, and I didn’t mean to,” I respond. “I had too much to drink, and my friends bailed—listen, I put you back in your chair and waited here until I made sure you were okay. I didn’t mean to do it.”
He glares at me and rubs at his throat, his face dark with anger. He gets to his feet, looming over me like he can intimidate me. I play the part though and try to look like a whipped puppy.
“Get the fuck outta here,” he snaps. “And if I ever see you around here again, I’ll blow your damn head off.”
“Fair,” I say. “That’s fair.”
I get to my feet and keeping my head low, I scamper out of the booth and run down the driveway like I’m being chased by all the demons in Hell. In truth, I’m trying to keep myself from laughing. But I run all the way back to my car and quickly strip out of the booze-soaked shirt. I toss it and the ballcap in the trunk and pull on a black t-shirt.
I drink deeply from a bottle of water, then down a couple of Altoids. The last thing I want to have happen is to be pulled over for some innocuous reason and get busted for smelling like a distillery. I always prefer to be overprepared than be underprepared when the shit hits the fan.
Climbing back into my car, I drive back to my hotel. I’ve gotten all the information I need to satisfy my personal misgivings. Now I just need to set up the plan to execute my op.
Temperance said this is going to be a tough nut to crack. And given McGregor’s security regimen, she’s absolutely right.
Chapter Thirteen
I yawn loudly and stretch languidly when I wake up. I slip out of bed, use the restroom, then splash some water on my face, and brush my teeth. Even after a late night of hard work, I always find the common, normal, everyday activities that are part of a daily routine relaxing. Calming. It’s probably because everything else in my life is such an absolute shitshow most of the time. But whatever. I’ll revel in these moments of peace and calm whenever I can. I guess I have Justice to thank for reminding me of that. For being as young as she is, she is wiser than her years and has surprisingly taught me a lot.
Beyond the windows, dawn is just beginning to creep across the world, sending its vibrant hues stretching across the sky. I watch for a moment as the pastel pink and purple push their way forward, driving off the darkness of the night.
I quickly run out for coffee and something to snack on for breakfast, then return to the hotel room. After cranking up the air conditioner, I drop down into the seat at the table and open my laptop and boot it up. As I wait for it to come alive, I take a sip of coffee and a bite of my pastry. A moment later, the home screen flashes on, and I’m in business.
I call up the mapping program and sit back again, studying the three different routes McGregor takes to work. Hitting him at DEA HQ is a non-starter, which means I need to find another way to hit him. But his guys alternate the routes and the days he takes them to avoid predictability, making it impossible for me to set up somewhere with, say, a rocket launcher. Not that I can get my hands on one, but the point is, I can set up on a route and not have him pass by at all. No doubt a tactic he learned from his buddy Vargas, the cartel boss.
I study the routes carefully, taking a look from street level. There are very narrow windows in each when they’re away from civilians. Most of their routes take them through streets packed with small businesses or residences. No doubt by design. An assassin might think twice about taking a shot at him if it brings the unwanted scrutiny civilian casualties would bring.
Though of course, that’s not a guarantee. The cartels have shown no inclination to shy away from collateral damage if it means they get a shot at a rival boss. Which is no doubt why Vargas is arming his men so heavily. The fewer rivals to his throne, the better, as far as he’s concerned. And the mass graves filled with bullet-riddled, mutilated bodies they’re finding on the other side of the border seem to bear that out.
“So how am I going to get a crack at this guy?” I wonder aloud.
I narrow my eyes and study the maps harder, as if more intense concentration is going to make the answer suddenly appear. After more than an hour of staring at the damn maps and racking my brain, the only thing I come away with is a headache. If I want to avoid taking out innocent civilians, I can’t take the shot while he’s en route. The risk is just too great.
I sit back in my chair with a loud sigh and stroke my beard. The guy rarely goes out, and when he does, he’s not only surrounded by his men, he’s usually in very public places. He doesn’t go out for coffee or for long contemplative walks or runs on his own. Hell, I’d be satisfied if he took his bodyguards along with him on a jog into the vast expanse of desert land around his house. But he doesn’t. He stays holed up in his fortress when he doesn’t have to go out.
“Shit,” I growl, slamming my fist down on the table.
As if my frustration summoned her, a message for an incoming video chat comes through. It’s Delta. Blowing out a long breath, I connect the call and wait for the encryption to kick in before the picture resolves, showing me her familiar silhouette.
“Echo, I’m just calling to check in with you,” she says smoothly.
“That’s sweet,” I reply.
“I detect a tone of hostility in your voice,” she notes with a hint of amusement in hers. “How are you doing out there?”
“Frustrated.”
“About?”
“This guy has a bunker mentality,” I sigh. “He rarely sticks his head out of his hole. And when he does, he’s surrounded by civvies. Getting a shot at him is next to impossible. At least it is if we want to avoid collateral damage.”
“Which, of course, we do,” she replies smoothly. “Drawing attention to ourselves would not be ideal.”
“Obviously,” I raise an eyebrow. “I might have a window. He’s supposed to meet with Javier Vargas, and I could possibly have a window to take them both out.”
“Vargas isn’t to be touched,” she instructs.
“What? Why? He’s a bad guy, doing bad things.”
“And also not part of your mission specifics,” she tells me, her voice sharp. “You are to see to McGregor and nothing more. Am I clear?”
I’m a bit taken aback by it, honestly. Why would she not want to take out a high-value target like Vargas, the head of a cartel? I stand and begin pacing the room, chewing on my lower lip in frustration. I grab a bottle of water and twist the cap off, taking a long swallow, my mind still spinning with questions.
“Echo, am I clear?”
“Yeah yeah, you’re clear,” I say. “I got it. Vargas isn’t to be touched.”
“Good.”
There’s another moment of silence between us as I continue trying to figure out why she wouldn’t want Vargas hit at the same time. Is she afraid of the exposure? Vargas is a high-value target, which means he’ll bring extra scrutiny of course. But there’s already going to be extra scrutiny by taking out a DEA Chief. Surely, we can withstand a little extra.
“You really are frustrated,” she chirps, trying to cut through the tension. “I never thought I would see the day. You are always so unflappable.”
“There a reason you called?” I snap. “Or was it just to bust my balls here?”
“Actually, yes,” she says. “A very serious reason.”
The tone of her voice makes me stop and turn. I lean down, gripping the back of the chair and stare into the computer screen.
“What is it?” I ask.
“We’ve gotten some intel that the opposition is aware of you. Well, not you specifically, but they somehow know we have an operative who is eliminating their people,” she says gravely.
“Am I in danger?”
She shrugs. “Aren’t we always in danger in this business?”
“Don’t screw with me, Delta. Is somebody in the field gunning for me specifically?”
She sighs and sits back in her seat. “I don’t have any specifics, and as I said, they don’t know they’re looking for you specifically,” she says. “But the Hellfire Club is searching for the operative who is taking their people out. They apparently do not appreciate losing Judge Blankenship and Eleanor Vogel.”
“Wonderful.”
“I wanted you to know,” she tells me. “And to warn you to be extra vigilant.”
“Noted,” I say. “One more thing though.”
“Yes?”
I lean harder on the chair and lean toward the screen. “Seems a little convenient that you put me and Temperance together, and all of a sudden, the other side knows a single operator is taking their people off the board.”
“Let me stop you right there. I know what you’re thinking, and it is absurd.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. Temperance is one of the most loyal and devoted—”
“Why does she even know who I am?” I ask. “You’re my handler, not her.”
“I do not need to explain my every decision to you, Echo,” she snaps. “As you said, I’m your handler. It is not the other way around.”
I clench my jaw in frustration. “And that requires a level of trust,” I growl. “A trust you broke when you outed me to somebody I don’t know.”
“One thing has nothing to do with the other,” she says. “Temperance is not the reason the opposition is searching for you.”
“No? Then what is the reason?”
She sighs loudly, and I can see her body tense. She’s growing frustrated with me. Not that I care right now. I have a point to make, and she’s going to hear it. I’m not some mindless chess piece to be moved around the board at will. I am not some expendable pawn.
“The reason is because they have people very good at their jobs, Echo,” she hisses. “And you haven’t exactly been circumspect in your actions.”
“What are you talking about? I’ve done my job.”
“Yes, and you’ve also been carrying on with these side projects,” she replies. “Side projects I warned you specifically against pursuing.”
“I told you—”
She cuts me off with a wave of her hand. I hear her take a long breath and let it out slowly, as if trying to find some peace and calm inside of her. Not to mention the patience to deal with me.
“I know what you told me,” she says. “But you must believe that if I am aware of the things you’ve done, then so are they.”
“I haven’t done anything that should draw attention, Delta.”
“And yet it has. A mysterious stranger who manages to make an abusive boyfriend disappear in the same location a Supreme Court nominee is assassinated?” she asks. “Or how about a pair of hardened gang bangers being burned alive to avenge the murder of a little girl at the same time as top weapons contractor Eleanor Vogel is suddenly and shockingly discredited?”
“That’s not—”
“Or how about a mysterious man who shows up in Minneapolis and suddenly, an Armenian mob boss is taken down?” she growls. “A feat the FBI itself was not able to do in years of trying. You don’t think that sort of egg on the faces of the higher-ups—some assuredly members of the opposition—wouldn’t make them sit up and take notice?”
“Listen--”
“What am I going to find out once you leave Tucson, Echo?” she presses. “What little side projects are you working on?”
“I’m actually not working on anything personal this time,” I say, though that’s not exactly true.
“Well, that’s a relief because when you do your job, there will be extra eyes on Tucson,” she says. “And the more visible you make yourself, the sooner the opposition is going to catch on to you. Figure out who you are.”
“I’m not afraid of throwing down with some other operator—”
“I know you’re not. And that’s what pisses me off the most, Echo,” she spits. “You’re so reckless and careless with your life that sooner or later, it’s going to catch up with you.”
Her voice is thick and choked with emotion. It’s not just anger and frustration with me—although there is plenty of that. There’s something more, some feeling, behind her words. I can hear it. But then she gives her head a little shake and sits up straighter.
“I’m not going to stop doing the right thing, Delta. If you know the first thing about me, you have to know that,” I tell her.
“Oh, believe me, I know that well,” she says. “You can always be counted on to do the right thing.”
She lets out a soft, bitter laugh, her words seeming to carry a more personal bite. As if something happened in that supposed shared history between us. I don’t know what she means exactly, or what it is behind her words, nor do I have the faintest clue what happened in that shared history, but I don’t want to deal with it right now.
“Just do your job, Echo. Your job and nothing more,” she says. “And then get the hell out of town as fast as y
ou can.”
She cuts the transmission, leaving me staring at the darkened screen. I’m not entirely sure what just happened and am left feeling confused and frustrated. I’m not really digging how that all went down. It leaves me with more questions than answers.
I make a silent vow to take them up with Delta at some point in the near future. It’s time she ponies up and gives me the answers I want. I feel entitled to them.
But for now, I need to push that all to the back of my mind. It’s nothing more than background noise, and I can’t afford to let it distract me. I have a job to do.
Chapter Fourteen
“Please tell me you have some good news for me,” I plead.
“I have news. I’m not sure I’d consider it good, given the circumstances,” Publius says with a rueful laugh.
It feels like I’ve been waiting for her to get back to me forever. With the news that the Hellfire Club is looking for me weighing on my shoulders, hours have felt like days and days have felt like weeks. I’m no closer to solving the problem of how to get to McGregor, so I’ve been hoping Publius can help with that.
“Well, Vargas is going to be in Tucson the day after tomorrow,” she says. “He’s got a room booked at a posh little spot called the Grand Valley Hotel, and McGregor is supposed to be meeting him on the hotel grounds just after he checks in at noon.”
That is a bit of good news. Not the best news given that it is still a public place, but it’s better than nothing. It certainly makes access easier than what I’ve been able to find on my own.
“I’ll take it,” I say. “Though frankly, I’m surprised that McGregor isn’t having Vargas come to meet on his compound. It’s safer.”
She laughs softly. “Would you want a guy like Vargas in your home?”
“Well, I wouldn’t,” I say. “But then, I’m not in bed with the guy. I happen to think he’s a piece of crap. But McGregor is cut from the same cloth.”
Mission Mayhem Page 6