The Surge - 03

by Joe Nobody

  A few minutes later, all five were in Zach’s hotel room. The lead ranger started again from the top, taking extra time to let Chey know where everyone was going to be stationed, and what she should do in case things went wrong.

  Just 60 minutes before her designated rendezvous time, Sam took Cheyenne back to the lady ranger’s room in order to hook up the electronics.

  After a short time, the two women returned, the only noticeable difference in Chey’s outfit being a different set of earrings. The model twirled with a giggle saying, “Do I look like a police snitch?”

  Sam passed out the radios, each of the small transmitters looking like a Bluetooth headset commonly used with civilian cell phones. The team did a quick equipment check by moving down the hall and testing the device’s signal.

  After giving everyone a final chance to ask last minute questions, they gathered at the door. The team was eager to be in place early in order to study all of the guests arriving at the steakhouse.

  Chey gave Zach a quick peck on the cheek right as the other cops strolled out of the room. “See you in a bit,” he said, returning the embrace.

  “Wish me luck,” she said, clearly still on edge.

  “Good luck, and remember – if it gets to be too much … if you feel like things are getting out of control, then just get the hell out of there. Just kick off those heels and sprint for the door like those foot races we had as kids.”

  “I used to outrun your skinny ass all the time,” she teased, a hint of the old tomboy coming back into her tone. “At least until you were about 13.”

  Zach grinned, the short flash of memories helping both of them relax. “Trust your instincts, Chey. Run like hell if that’s what feels right. This operation isn’t worth a single hair on your beautiful head.”

  “Thanks, Zach. I’ll try not to let you down. Remember, I want to hurt these jerks just as much as you do. See you at five.”

  With their arms hooked together, Zach and Sam strolled beside the river just like dozens of other couples enjoying a late afternoon walk.

  Sam was the better actor, pointing at the sights and pretending to stop and window shop along the route. Zach had little trouble fulfilling his role as the boyfriend who didn’t care about the dress on the mannequin.

  The lady ranger made a big deal out of wanting to stop at the small café that provided a direct line of sight to Titus’s front door. Appearing reluctant, Zach finally agreed to sit at one of the tables. Both rangers ordered a glass of iced tea from the attentive waiter.

  “I’m in place,” Gus’s voice sounded in Zach’s earpiece.

  A few moments later, BB transmitted, “I can’t believe the prices in this place. $600 for a damn hat?” The two riverside rangers grinned, both feeling a little better that everyone had managed their posts.

  Zach spied the four men approaching along the river well before they arrived at the gate and stairs leading to the steakhouse. Something about their manner and dress raised the hair on his arms. “I bet that’s them,” he whispered to Sam, pointing only with his eyes.

  Pretending to adjust her chair for more shade, Sam managed to get a clear view of the foursome. With a quick adjustment of her sunglasses, the ranger began videotaping the new arrivals.

  After surveilling criminals for over a decade, Sam wanted to give whoever invented sunglasses with a built-in camera a huge hug. Practically unnoticeable, the tiny lenses appeared to be just another screw holding the frame together. The memory card was behind her ear. The microphone nearly invisible.

  She didn’t have to focus, adjust, or figure out some clever way to hide the camera while undercover. She simply looked at whatever she wanted to record.

  The four men were dressed in very expensive-looking clothing, all of the gentlemen flashing freshly shined dress shoes and top of the line sport coats. The guy who seemed to be in charge was wearing a tie. Two of his “friends” were carrying Italian designer briefcases.

  To the average onlooker, they appeared to be a small squadron of businessmen out for an after work cocktail. Zach, however, wasn’t the average observer.

  He immediately spotted several details that he referred to as “gangsterisms.” The flash of bling. A bulge under a jacket that might disguise a pistol or sub-machine gun. Just a bit too much bravado in their steps. But what really set them apart were their eyes.

  As the foursome drew closer, Zach followed their eyes more than anything. No two of the men looked in the same direction, each taking a quadrant and scanning intensely for threats. The ranger noted they focused high and low, left then right. They were professionals. They were coiled for violence, looking for work.

  When the obvious fifth member of their party came into view, Zach was almost certain he was surveilling the security team for a cartel boss of some very high rank. The trailer was 20 feet behind the main group, an extra precaution that only the most experienced units employed.

  Sam spotted the sixth member of the detail, sitting only two tables away from the rangers. He had come early, scouting the route. After she made eye contact with Zach, the senior ranger studied number six and nodded to his partner. “We’re in over our heads here,” he whispered.

  Sam pretended to receive a cell phone call, holding up her smartphone as she notified the rest of the team. “We have five serious security types and one primary,” she stated into the microphone. “Stand by.”

  “Does the primary have a short limp from his left leg?” BB’s voice responded. “Remember the tracks by the Rio Grande.”

  Zach focused like a laser, and sure enough, there was an odd hitch in the jefe’s gait. “I’ll be damned,” he whispered.

  The man next to the rangers stood suddenly. For a moment, Zach thought their surveillance had been detected. Reaching for his .45, the Texan was tensing for combat when Chey’s blue dress entered the corner of his vision. The bodyguard moved to greet her, a warm smile on his face.

  “Are you Cheyenne?” the man asked with only a slight accent.

  “Yes,” the model replied suspiciously. “And you would be?”

  “I’m sorry for startling you, Ma’am. I am here to escort you to the steakhouse. My apologies, but my employer is extremely conscientious regarding security matters, and there are a few basic preventative steps that are required before you dine with him.”

  In one way, Zach was impressed. On the other hand, the high and mighty protection detail was having a conversation not six feet away from two Texas lawmen. Their bad.

  Luck would appear to be on their side, and the ranger knew that sometimes good fortune was enough to carry the day.

  Chey was politely escorted to the stairwell leading to Titus. At the top, outside the ornate door, another of the goon squad appeared, this time with some sort of electronic wand. As one man searched the model’s purse, the other imitated an airport screener and ran the detector up and down the blue dress.

  Then, without further issue, they opened the door, and Chey was allowed entry.

  “I’m turning on the cameras now,” Sam announced, reaching into her oversized bag for a laptop.

  “No,” Zach snapped. “These guys are very sophisticated. Wait just a bit longer.”

  “I’ve got one of the no-necks outside in the alley keeping watch,” BB’s voice informed them over the radio. “He’s a big sum-bitch, too. Do I get extra pay if I have to work up a sweat kicking his ass?”

  Sam’s fingers were flying over the keyboard. “I'm sending the video we recorded to Austin. Let’s hope we can get an ID on these guys.”

  Zach was worried. “We’re out of our league here. I think we should call for help. I didn’t expect a detail that large and that skilled.”

  “Want me to call Major Putnam?”

  The Texan considered his partner’s suggestion for a few moments and then shook his head. “We still can’t be positive this guy is a criminal. He might just be ultra-wealthy and ultra-paranoid. Remember, innocent until proven guilty.”

  Sam didn�
��t agree, her frown signaling the disapproval.

  After a few seconds, Zach keyed his microphone. “Gus, can you call your captain friend and ask him to send over three or four of his better guys to our neck of the woods?”

  “Sure,” replied the detective. “On it right now.”

  The senior ranger’s gaze switched to the ornate door and then to Sam. “Okay, turn on the hardware, and let’s see what’s going on.”

  Chey was cursing her wet palms as she was escorted into the darkness of Titus. “Right this way, Madam,” the maître d greeted.

  With her eyes still adjusting to the low light, she was shown into the Italian Bristol room, and for a moment, she was certain a whiff of Zach’s aftershave lingered in the air. That one, brief connection helped settle her nerves.

  A man was already seated. He rose sharply, smiled, and stepped closer as she was shown in. “My name is Vincent,” he announced. “Thank you for having dinner with me this evening.”

  Chey offered her hand, which the charming gent immediately kissed. For a moment, she thought he was going to click his heels together during the act, but that didn’t happen.

  Their waiter held her chair and unfolded her napkin. “I’ve taken the liberty of ordering a pre-dinner wine. I hope you’ll find a Montrachet Grand Cru acceptable.”

  Chey decided to be honest, “I have no idea what that is, Vincent. I’m afraid my knowledge of wines is rather primitive.”

  His response was an absolutely blank stare, and for a moment, the young beauty thought she’d blown the interview before it had even begun.

  After a long pause, he smiled. “I like honesty. Someone with your charm has no need of pretense. I think you’ll find the wine a wonderful experience.”

  With her eyes adjusting to the dimness, Chey took a moment to study her host. She estimated he was in his late 30s, early 40s. He had a lighter complexion than many Latinos, the kind that made it difficult to tell how much was suntan, and how much was genetics.

  Her sense was that he was very fit, like a swimmer or runner. He wasn’t nearly as tall as Zach, probably just a little over six feet. His teeth were almost too white, the man’s haircut and mustache groomed to perfection. She could tell his suit had been custom fit, the cloth of extraordinary quality.

  What drew the model’s attention most were his eyes. They were dark pools of confidence, resonating with the self-esteem of wealth. Chey had seen plenty of well-to-do men in her career, and the man seated across from her was a prime example of the breed.

  There was something else about his scrutiny, however, some trait that was unlike anything she had ever experienced. It took her a moment to identify the attribute, and when she did, the cold fog of fear entered her core.

  Years ago, as a child, she’d gone hiking in Big Bend National Park. Cheyenne, always the rebel, had wandered off the trail, seeking a high formation of rocks visible in the distance.

  Finally achieving the objective, she found a flat rock and reclined there, enjoying her victory and admiring the hard-earned view.

  She’d been drinking from her canteen when some sixth sense alerted Chey she was being watched. Turning slowly to scan her surroundings, she encountered a mountain lion standing less than 20 feet away. It was an experience that she would never forget.

  For over a minute, human and puma maintained eye contact. To the Texas teen, it had seemed like hours before the big cat had turned and vanished into the rocks.

  Chey recalled the animal’s eyes and the emotionless trance of the predator. To the cougar, she was nothing but a hunk of meat … a potential meal … a strange occurrence on the high formation. There was no anger, mercy, fear, or caring – only intensity.

  Now, in the fanciest restaurant she’d ever visited, Chey sensed the same coldness in Vincent’s gaze. She was nothing but a potential to satisfy a need. There was no compassion, intrigue, or disdain – only intensity.

  Outside, less than 70 yards away, Sam and Zach were listening and watching intently. “Who is this guy? We need an ID … and quick.”

  The lady ranger was connected to multiple law enforcement databases, her hands flashing across the keyboard as she tried various searches. “I’m getting zero hits of any cartel bosses named Vincent. We need more information.”

  As if on cue, the two rangers heard Chey’s voice streaming through the listening devices, “So tell me, Vincent, where are you from originally?”

  “I was born in a small village that you’ve never heard of,” he answered. “It is a settlement in the mountains, studded with juniper and white oak. As a boy, I would ride the high meadows on a 16-hand gelding who was sure-footed and always brought me home. The air and water were clean and invigorating. There are times when I miss that simple life.”

  By accident or design, the mention of horses was a lure Chey couldn’t resist. For the first time that evening, the true sparkle of her eyes showed through. “What was the gelding’s name?”

  “Angel,” came the quiet reply of a man drifting somewhere in his past.

  Cheyenne wanted to change the subject, sensing something melancholy brewing in her host. Still, she was on comfortable ground talking about horses. “How long did you have Angel?” she asked innocently.

  An odd smile pulled at Vincent’s lips, the expression sending another chill down Chey’s spine. That sensation soon became an outright horror. “Only a short time, I’m afraid,” he replied, sipping lightly from his wine glass. “A drought struck our village, followed by an extremely harsh winter. There was no food. Angel fed many families.”

  The young model was shocked, choking on the mouth full of wine slipping past her lips. It wasn’t only the tale, but the telling. Vincent showed no emotion, no regret or anger. Something about the delivery was cold, hollow, and frightening.

  “I’m fortunate that I enjoyed her company for as long as we had together,” Vincent continued. “She was very much like you – a beautiful image to behold.”

  Cheyenne managed to mumble a quiet, “Thank you,” just as one of the bodyguards entered the room. “Excuse me, Jefe, but we have detected a disturbing signal.”

  “Turn them off!” Zach snapped at Sam. “Turn off the electronics – right now!”

  Again the lady ranger’s hands were darting across the keyboard as Zach watched the still streaming video feed. A man appeared on camera, holding some sort of electric device that looked like a miniature tennis racket strung with copper-colored wire. The picture went blank.

  “Shit, shit, shit,” Zach cursed, rising from the table and reaching for his weapon. “I don’t think you turned them off fast enough. Let’s go!”

  Inside Titus, the security man stalked slowly around the room, scanning the walls, table, fireplace, and even the ivy. Chey was next.

  A series of green lights illuminated on the device as the man passed them over her earrings. The bodyguard inhaled sharply and then stared directly at his boss, snapping a string of staccato Spanish.

  Everything seemed to happen at once.

  The room was flooded with Vincent’s security team, muscular men hustling in all directions. She heard someone say, “Take her with us,” and then her earrings were ripped from her lobes at the same moment strong hands pinned her arms.

  “I’ve got movement in the alley,” came BB’s voice. “A large van just pulled up. Something’s wrong.”

  “Gus! Gus!” Zach shouted, running for the front door. “Block the alley! Don’t let them get out.”

  Zach and Sam, weapons drawn and badges exposed, were running for the restaurant’s front door when a dark head appeared above them on the stairs. “El Rinche! El Rinche!” the guard screamed, using the Spanish slang for the Texas Rangers.

  Another head appeared, quickly followed by the barrel of a gun. “Down!” Zach yelled, raising his pistol to return fire.

  Zach spotted a Glock pistol, the magazine extending far beneath the meaty hand that grasped the weapon. “Oh shit!” the ranger managed to bark, diving hard. A hell
fire of burning lead rained down on the stone stairs.

  A seemingly endless stream of bullets flew at the two rangers as the man above emptied the 33 rounds through the Glock model 18 pistol. Rock and concrete splinters filled the air, and the 9mm rounds whacked and thwacked all around the two lawmen.

  Then it stopped.

  “He’s reloading!” Zach shouted, centering his aim on the wooden door, sure that the thug was using it for cover. As his finger tightened on the trigger, he tried to calculate if the thick barrier would stop his .45 caliber slugs. There was only one way to find out.

  The ranger squeezed off four shots, small white specs showing where his rounds were striking the ornate door. Before Zach saw her, Sam had come up beside him on the stairs and loosed another two rounds from her weapon.

  “Get back!” he warned, moving to shove Sam to the safer side of the stone steps. He was too late.

  Again the barrel appeared, a steady bright strobe of death spitting from the muzzle. Stone shrapnel and ricocheting lead filled the air as Zach tried to push Sam out of the way.

  Sam felt like a power hitter's baseball bat struck her leg, and then a red pain like fire worked its way through her nervous system. She knew she’d been hit at the same moment the limb refused to answer her commands.

  Zach felt his partner’s body jolt from the impact as he flung her against the rock wall of the staircase. He knew she’d been wounded before her yelp of pain reached his ears.

  “Where?” he shouted as he turned and began pouring rounds into the door above. “Where are you hit?”

  “My leg! Oh, fuck that hurts! Damn it!”

  Zach’s pistol locked back empty. As he reached for a refill, Sam shoved her weapon at his hand. “Here, use this!”

  They exchanged guns, Zach snap firing until Sam’s blaster was empty. By then, she was handing him back his own weapon with a fresh mag. What a woman, he thought. That’s why she’s a ranger.

  “How bad is it?” he yelled over the thunder of his shots.

  “I’ll live, but walking isn’t an option,” her brave voice announced. “I think the bone’s broken.”