I remembered Vicky saying she had Los Zetas in her sights and planned to move on them after dealing with Campinera. “So you think she got ambushed by the Mexicans?”
“Yes, but what I think doesn’t matter anymore.”
“You’ll get no sympathy from me, Eduardo. Do you know where the hit took place?”
“No, like I said, it was a phone call. Why don’t you contact her boss at DEA?”
The scum bucket looked pathetic, but my gut told me he was telling the truth. I stood and placed my hand on the back of his neck, squeezing till he winced and said, “Then I’ll be leaving you to your job hunting. Call me if you think of anything else.”
~~~
HAWK STOOD by the window, peering through the blinds. Like a moray eel coiled in a hide-hole waiting for a meal to swim by. I hung up the phone and said, “Vicky’s boss wasn’t much help. He confirmed what Arnez said about Los Zetas but didn’t have much more to offer. I managed to get the name of the guy they suspect is responsible—Jose Guizarro.”
“Did he say where the dude might be?”
“His headquarters are located on Cozumel. He runs Los Zetas’ Mexican and Central American operations.”
“What’s the connection to Campinera?”
“Vicky’s boss said Guizarro wants to expand into the U.S. Southeast. He’s actually American, born in California. The U.S. authorities have a five-million-dollar bounty on him for drug trafficking and money laundering. But the DEA is giving it a low priority. Guizarro has no outstanding warrants or convictions in Mexico, so the DEA is getting no cooperation from the Federales. ICE has him on their watch-list in case he dares a visit to the States.”
“Sounds like the DEA has the same support the Border Patrol gets. I guess we’re on our own.”
“With all the corruption in law enforcement these days, I prefer it, Hawk.”
Hawk smiled and said, “Cozumel, huh? Isn’t their Carnaval festival this month? We could fly in and use the celebration as cover.”
“Good idea, but I’d rather shoot across the Gulf in Too Fast. We can bring more gear that will give us better options, some firepower and a fast exit if we need it. We’ll use the hidden compartment in the bow for our weapons.”
REPTILIAN REDOUBT
FIERCE EYES blazing, the crocodile surged from the murky lagoon. Vicky’s heartbeat quickened when the monster climbed the bank in front of her tiny island prison. It stopped inches from the rusty bars, opened its jaws and hissed, spraying a musky scent that gagged her. She moved to stifle a cough, but the croc didn’t change its threat pose. Just stared. Like the last time. She exhaled slowly, moved to the back of her cell and waited for it to go away.
She remembered little from the past few weeks. A drug bust gone bad. A hood thrown over her head. A long ride in a fast boat. She had been drugged, a spot on her upper arm was still sore. They carried her from the boat still hooded and hogtied. When she faked a retching fit, they removed the hood. It was nighttime. They were in an SUV leaving a small marina. Where the hell was she? Who knows how far from Miami she had traveled? It was definitely south, and much warmer than Miami.
Vicky looked at the croc. As quickly as it had appeared, it turned and slithered back into the water, dropping beneath the surface without a sound. The same behavior since she arrived. A daily threat, a show of force to intimidate, to remind her who was in control. Vicky hated it when she lost control. The adrenaline rush subsiding, she still did not move and kept a watchful eye on the spot where the crocodile disappeared.
Jose Guizarro was playing mind games with her. Keeping her in isolation. No contact except his daily interrogation and the reptilian watch dog with halitosis threatening to crush the cage. Her strength sapped from lack of food and barely enough water to stay alive, she drifted off. I’ll sleep a little, get some rest. Need a clear head…must escape.
~~~
A LOUD SPLASH jolted her awake. It came from the far edge of the lagoon. She could see the animal struggle in the water, squealing, a panicky cry for help. A piglet, maybe ten pounds, no more. The water swirled in the center of the pool. Mid-shriek, the pig disappeared, returning the lagoon to silence.
“You see what will happen to you if you do not cooperate?”
Vicky jumped. Still dazed from fitful sleep, she was distracted watching the little pig, did not see Guizarro cross the foot bridge to the island. He stood to one side of the cage, leering at her.
“Are you ready to cooperate?”
Vicky threw her head back. “I told you, I don’t know anything about Jorge Campinera.”
Guizarro reached into the cage and grabbed Vicky’s hair. He pulled her against the rusted bars. “You are a stubborn woman. I’m losing patience.”
Vicky gasped. “My people will be looking for me.”
Guizarro scoffed, “You are in a cage, on a tiny island in the swamps of another island and a very large, very hungry crocodile wants you for lunch. No one will come for you. Your only hope is to answer my questions. Who are the DEA informants in Campinera’s gang?”
Vicky remained defiant. She would not help Guizarro identify the moles and take over Campinera’s territory. He’ll kill her anyway. “I have nothing to say.”
“Perhaps another day without food and water will change your mind. If not, then my pet will dine on more than pig.” Guizarro crossed the footbridge as the croc returned to its watch. Bits of pork ribs were stuck to its front teeth. Looking back Guizarro said, “Don’t even think about escape, Miss Borne. My pet will sleep while digesting the pig, so I will post a guard.”
Vicky moved to the back of the cage and watched the beast glide to the bottom of the lagoon, a few yards closer than before.
CARNAVAL DE COZUMEL
MID-FEBRUARY brings the annual Carnaval de Cozumel, one week before New Orleans’ Mardi Gras. The celebration swells the population from eighty thousand to nearly a hundred thousand. Cozumel is a tiny island—thirty miles long, ten miles wide—mostly undeveloped scrub, with coastal lagoons and mangrove swamp. The majority of the locals live in the city of San Miguel, serving the tourists that arrive by cruise ship and airplane every winter. More daring souls sail or motor to the island in their own boats. The influx of strangers will provide good cover.
With a flat sea, we cruised at seventy mph and made the trip from Marathon to Cozumel in five hours. We used an auxiliary fuel tank to extend the max cruise range of Too Fast For U. We had fifty gallons to spare when we idled into Caleta Marina on the south side of San Miguel at high noon.
After checking in with customs we refueled, rented a temporary slip and headed for the bars. Tomorrow is Fat Tuesday, the final day of Carnaval. Most of the inebriated revelers will gather at the curb for the processions along the downtown seafront, starting at the placio, down one side of Avenue de General Raphael Melgar to the Forum shops, and return on the other side of Melgar. I brought a photo of Vicky. We’ll work the crowds. Maybe someone has seen her.
~~~
NO ONE in the last ten bars had seen Vicky. We’d bar-hopped the length of Melgar without a single lead. Some of the locals looked at us gringos and seemed nervous when shown the picture. We couldn’t get past ¿has visto a esta mujer? before they threw up their hands and rushed away. Just when I thought this wasn’t such a good idea, a swarthy guy walked up to the bar and leaned over to look at the photo lying next to my drink. He looked at us and spoke softly, “Why do you want to find this woman?”
“She’s a close friend. Have you seen her?”
“One hundred dollars, American.”
I pulled a bill from my pocket and placed it on the bar. He reached for it. I grabbed his wrist and repeated, “Have you seen her?”
“Si, but it was a week ago.”
“Where?”
The man looked around the bar. Then held out his other hand and rubbed his thumb against his fingers.
Hawk said, “He wants more money.”
I had several hundred-dollar bills and offered one mor
e. He shook his head. I added a second bill. He spoke again, barely audible above the noise of the Carnaval crowd.
“You must be careful. The man she was with is very powerful. I saw her in an SUV. They were driving out of town to the northern part of the island. The man yanked a hood off her head. That’s what caught my attention.”
“Any names?”
The guy rubbed his fingers and thumb again. I placed two more C-notes on the bar. He said, “Guizarro. A dangerous man.” He scooped up the bills, turned and quickly left us without another word.
Hawk said, “I don’t like it, CJ. Are we being set up?”
“What choice do we have? It’s our only lead.”
“What next?”
“Tonight, after dark, we rent a four-wheel drive and head north. I’ve already studied a map of the island. There are only a few roads, most on the coast end in swamp or lagoons.”
~~~
THE AVENUE de General Raphael Melgar was nearly empty north of the parade route. We detoured a few times to get past some bottlenecks at the airport and the Cozumel Country Club. The GPS display showed a satellite view of the northern tip of the island. Punta Norte.
A mile past the country club we turned off Melgar before it curved east, away from Punta Norte. The hard surface road became rough, potholed dirt that tested the suspension of our rental and the fillings in my teeth.
“Better check our twenty.”
Hawk pulled up Google Map on his cell phone and zoomed in to Cozumel, looking for a street view of the buildings. It amazes me how much of our world has been recorded by the probing eye of a digital camera. Government satellites are one thing, but private technology companies have taken it a step further. Even in remote areas, the digital eye has mapped the terrain, including street views.
Hawk said, “I think I found it. There’s a large building behind a high fence.” He looked out the window for a landmark. “Looks like we’re about two miles from the gate. Do you plan to drive right up to it?”
“That’s the quickest way to find out if we’re in the right place. We’re just turistas looking for a dive spot on the northern coast, right?”
The road narrowed to a single lane, elevated a few feet above mangrove swamp. Some areas opened to lagoons big enough for a small boat. The hacienda came into view. Before we reached the gate, two men armed with AK47’s stepped in front of us. We stopped. One of the men walked up to the driver’s side window.
“This is private property, Señor. You must turn around.”
“Sorry, hombre. The guy at the marina said there’s some great dive locations on the northern tip of the island. My buddy and I were trying to locate one.”
The guard trained his AK at my face. “No, you must turn around. Propriedad privada.”
I shifted to reverse and made a three-point turn while Hawk checked out the gate and looked for surveillance cameras.
Hawk said, “Let’s come back after midnight. Maybe it will be by sea.” He held his iPhone for me to see a Google Earth view. “The lagoon on the right side of the compound connects to the coast through a tidal creek.”
~~~
THE SEA CHART of Cozumel lay on the table in the cabin of Too Fast. The chart included a detailed view of the inlets on the coast of Punta Norte. Hawk circled a large lagoon that fed into a small creek, ending at a deep water cut on the coast. He read the depth contour lines and traced a way in. “If we tilt up the outboards and use the trolling motors, we can get into the lagoon behind Guizarro’s compound.”
“We’ll use our night vision scopes to navigate. If Vicky’s not there, we don’t want to make contact with anyone, especially the guys with AK47’s.”
~~~
WE WAITED till zero dark thirty to leave the marina. Fifteen minutes later we approached the cut in the rocky shoreline at Punta Norte. I killed the outboards and power tilted them out of the water while Hawk dropped the trolling motors into position. Silent running with night vision from here on out.
A gibbous moon provided some light through the vines and moss hanging from the mangroves along the creek bank. Like bearded sentries, standing on giant prop roots, the trees arched toward the seaward side of the island, guarding a fortress in the middle of nowhere. Boas dangled from the lowest branches, waiting for a feathered breakfast to cross their path. The channel narrowed. Aggressive kudzu reached across the gap, forming a tunnel-like passage.
Several pairs of green dots disturbed the smooth surface, the reflected moon-glow enhanced by our night vision goggles. American crocodiles are known to live in these brackish waters. The largest specimens can be twenty feet from snout to tail-tip and weigh two thousand pounds. The eyes looked too close together to belong to a croc that big.
The creek divided in two. The channel widened to the right, through a break in the mangroves and opened into a large lagoon.
“This is the one,” Hawk said as he checked the GPS app on his phone.
I reduced speed to drop our wake and continued into the lagoon. A faint light shone through the trees on the opposite bank a thousand feet from our position. I steered to starboard, through an arch of giant mangrove roots into a vine covered inlet, cut power to the motors and slid the bow silently onto mud exposed by a receding tide.
“Let’s tie here and arm up.”
I grabbed my SIG Sauer pistol, a coil of rope and a flash bang from the hidden compartment. Hawk reached for the Stoner SR-25 rifle with night vision scope. After ten paces I looked back where we stashed the boat. The dense foliage made it impossible to see even with the aid of night vision goggles. We continued along the edge of the lagoon toward the light, our footsteps silenced by the spongy carpet of swamp moss that smothered the ground near the lagoon.
Hawk took the lead and suddenly halted. He held up a closed fist and looked up. We waited a few seconds as a six-foot boa slid off a branch in front of us, slithering after an early breakfast. A few minutes passed before the walled hacienda came into view, lit up by a single light mounted high on a pole in the middle of the compound. We circled around to the rear.
Fifty yards from our position, a lone sentry shuffled along a path leading away from the back entrance to the hacienda. We kept pace, remaining in the shadows of scrub trees bordering the path. The man stopped at a gate in a ten-foot fence that surrounded another pool, separate from the lagoon we entered earlier.
Hawk placed a hand on my shoulder and whispered, “See that other hombre coming across the foot bridge? Looks like a guard change.”
The surface of the moat rippled as the man crossed the bridge. He quickened his pace, opened the gate and nodded to his replacement. As the new guard walked across the bridge we moved in closer. There was a cage in the center of the small island. No vegetation hid the view of its occupant. No mistake, Vicky sat slumped on a chair. She was shackled by the ankles with a heavy chain looped through one of the bars.
I whispered to Hawk, “Any ideas on how we get through the gate and cross that bridge?”
Hawk was looking up at the trees surrounding the pool. Some large branches arched across forming a thin canopy. “You’re lighter than me. Why don’t you climb that tree and rappel onto the guard. I’ll cover you from here.”
Hawk set up in a sniper position resting the Stoner in the crook of a tree. With a little luck, we won’t wake anyone in the hacienda. The silencer on the rifle should keep it that way if he needs to take out the guard before I get up the tree.
Halfway up I was greeted by a fat boa curled around the branch I needed to fasten my rope. Her ten-inch girth had a large bump a few feet past her head. She looked sleepy, digesting whatever caused the bulge.
I took a deep breath and slid off the branch to execute a hand-over-hand monkey bar maneuver. Got past without waking her or alerting the guard thirty feet below. I decided to keep things simple and drop onto the guard without rappel rope. If I aimed right, he would break my fall. As I released my grip on the branch, the rustle of leaves made the guard look up in time to we
lcome the heel of my boot with his nose.
Hawk sprinted to the bridge and took a defensive position facing the hacienda while I searched the guard for a key to the cage. Vicky stirred when I creaked open the door to her torture chamber. She was dazed but I could see she recognized me by the expression on her face.
“How did you know where to find me?” she slurred.
“I’ll explain later, sweetheart. We need to get out of here, pronto.”
There were two keys on the ring. I tried the second one on the padlocked chain. It worked, but the shackles were bolted onto Vicky’s ankles, so we’ll have to leave the chain on till we get to the boat.
Halfway across the foot bridge, the water rippled, followed by a set of teeth that rivaled Jawselle’s. A huge croc leaped from the water and landed on the bridge, breaking it in half. The weight of the chain pulled Vicky under and the crocodile followed.
Hawk set his rifle down, unsheathed his SOG knife and dove after the croc. I dove after Vicky, grabbed her by the hair and pulled her across to the other bank.
Looking back, we saw Hawk trapped in a death roll with the croc. He had an arm lock across its neck, riding the croc’s back. I grabbed the rifle and took aim. Before I could get a shot, Hawk jammed his knife into the soft flesh at the base of the lower jaw. He plunged it deep, twisting it sharply to sever the spinal cord where it connects to the croc’s tiny brain. Hawk rolled off and swam toward us, leaving the dead reptile for its mates’ next meal.
Still no movement inside the hacienda. They must be on drugs. We retreated to the boat and slipped back toward the river mouth. Once we reached open water, we cranked up the Verados and made a beeline for the Keys. No point in sticking around. I’m sure the Federales are well bribed by Guizarro. Hawk took the helm while I stashed our weapons and dug out my toolbox for a wrench. Vicky collapsed on the forward berth, alive but clearly exhausted.
Charley Manner series Box Set Page 15