The Surge - 03
Page 32
The ranger’s forehead smashed into the man’s nose with a crushing blow, muffling his half-breath scream. Zach coiled for another strike but stopped when BB’s knife was buried to the hilt in the gunman’s throat. Only the sound of a wet gurgle escaped.
Two splashes sounded a moment later, both of the cartel goons “sleeping with the fishes.” BB hefted the MP5, whispering, “I don’t have one of these in my gun safe. Nice.”
Zach, still breathing hard, simply muttered, “Thanks.”
The sun was rising just as the two lawmen made it back to the pickup. “I need a shower. A hot one. A cup of coffee, and about three fingers of quality bourbon,” Zach stated as they drove off.
“I take it you managed to find the ship’s propellers?” BB teased.
“Yes, and God help me if I ever have to do something like that again. Once was plenty for this land lover. That sucked.”
They drove to a cheap hotel, BB paying in pesos and answering all of the clerk’s questions in passable Spanish. “I’m going to go find us some coffee and bourbon. Don’t use all the hot water. I’ll be back in 30 minutes.”
“You can skip the whiskey,” Zach countered. “Now that my nerves are crawling back inside my skin, I’ll settle for some breakfast.”
“Done.”
Zach couldn’t remember hot water ever feeling so good. Despite the dingy room, nasty bathtub, and the cheapest soap he’d ever seen, the ranger scrubbed and washed every inch of his body and hair at least three times.
He was just buttoning his shirt when BB returned, steaming cups of coffee and a bag of sugary, Mexican donuts in his hands.
Zach relaxed with the java and breakfast while BB took his turn purging two days of travel and work off his carcass. When the seasoned ranger finally reappeared, Zach suggested, “Let’s go visit your friend at police headquarters before someone notices two missing guards.”
They drove to the city management complex. BB was surprised how much security was in place until Zach reminded him of the fact that Mexico was in the middle of a civil war. “I guess that makes sense,” BB admitted.
Twenty minutes later, they were shown into the chief’s office, the Mexican cop acting like BB was his best friend who’d just returned from the dead.
Zach, too, received a warm, friendly greeting after BB introduced his traveling companion as a Texas Ranger.
“I’m working with Ranger Bass in much the same capacity that I worked with you,” BB explained. “He hired me to help him track down a suspect, and we’ve found our man right here in Tampico.”
Evidently, BB’s old buddy thought the ranger was in for a bit of “la mordida,” or “the pinch,” as bribes and graft were commonly called. With Texas dollar signs in his smiling eyes, the chief said, “How can I help you apprehend this desperado?”
“Oh, no, no, my friend,” BB smiled back. “We’re here as a professional courtesy. You see, Ranger Bass has called in a team of Special Forces from the Texas military. They should be arriving before noon, and I wanted to warn you that they would be operating nearby.”
“Tejas military? Here? In Tampico?” questioned the now-troubled cop. “This is allowed by my government?”
“Yes, we have approval from Mexico City,” Zach lied. “You’re welcome to call your superiors and verify this.”
The chief was suddenly unhappy, but also appeared not to know exactly what to do about it. Finally, the frustrated man decided to call the mayor. While he was dialing, Zach and BB were heading for the door. “Thank you,” both of them mumbled as they reached the exit. “See you soon.”
“Let’s get the hell out of Dodge before he has us arrested,” BB said, hurrying down the hall.
“Right behind you, partner. I’ll bet you a good steak dinner that he’s really calling Vincent.”
“I’m tempted to take you up on that. Knowing that corrupt old bastard, he’s sitting down there right now trying to figure out how he can make a profit with his newfound knowledge.”
The two rangers pulled out of the parking lot without incident, heading directly for the warehouse and their makeshift HVAC hide.
Twenty minutes later, Zach was wishing BB had accepted the wager.
Men were rushing all over, the anthill of activity both on and around Vincent’s yacht, some trying to carry large boxes of supplies up the gangplank at the same time as others were trying to exit. The number of sentries had been tripled.
Zach could see Ghost was still aboard, as well as the female hostage from Texas. Vincent was hustling here and there, trying to direct traffic and issue orders, but, in reality, making things worse. The ranger had to chuckle when he saw the crime lord’s eyes often scanning the sky as if he was looking for the helicopters that would deliver death from above.
“It won’t be long now,” Zach grinned.
Another 20 minutes had passed before El General decided he’d dillydallied enough. Strings of harsh orders were barked up and down the pier, resulting in several of the guards rushing to man the heavy dock lines that secured La Rosa to the bank.
Zach heard the powerful diesel engines crank, puffs of black smoke rising from under the yacht’s stern. The gangplank was pulled aboard, a man wearing the whites of a ship’s captain supervising the final steps before casting off.
Through his binoculars, Zach watched the vessel’s master jog up a flight of stairs and into what the Texan assumed was the bridge. The engines revved as La Rosa’s bow began to drift out into the river. Again, the throttle was applied to the big diesels, this time followed by a sickening screech of metal against metal.
Dense clouds of black smoke now boiled from the exhausts, but La Rosa didn’t move.
Panic ensued aboard the boat, the captain reappearing and shouting for the dock lines to be reattached before his now-dead vessel drifted too far out into the current. Men were scrambling fore and aft, lines and rope arching through the air.
Vincent and Ghost arrived on the deck just as La Rosa was being pulled back toward the shore, at least 20 men straining to tug the huge yacht back to her mooring.
It was obvious that the ship’s owner wasn’t happy with her skipper. Zach watched Vincent’s hand gestures and body language, wondering if the captain was going to be executed right on the spot. The woman from Texas inserted herself between El General and the captain, trying to calm the situation down.
The captain shrugged his shoulders, pointed toward the engine room, and seemed to be begging for mercy. Ghost stood beside his boss, taking it all in without the slightest reaction.
While he would have loved to stay and watch the show, Zach had to retreat from his cardboard hide and prepare for the next act of the drama.
The ranger rushed down the stairs and through the warehouse, finding his partner waiting in the idling pickup. “I’d give them 20 minutes tops,” Zach said while climbing into the cab.
“We’ll be ready,” BB responded, an almost evil gleam of anticipation in the older ranger’s eyes.
They drove a few hundred yards further along the riverbank, coming to rest next to an empty lot of waist-high weeds and trash.
The lot had been selected for three reasons, all of which were critical. First of all, it was a mere 600 yards from the now-disabled La Rosa.
Secondly, the overgrowth provided excellent cover.
Finally, it was less than two blocks from a major roadway.
The duo rushed to pull their weapons and magazines from the pickup’s locked toolbox, each ranger checking the actions of his respective firearms. Then without a word, both moved into the overgrowth and headed for the river’s bank.
Zach had been wrong about how long it would take Vincent to activate plan B. It was closer to 40 minutes before the steady thump-thump-thump of an approaching helicopter reached the duo’s ears.
“I knew he’d have a copter waiting close by,” Zach bragged. “No way a guy like that buys a boat with a helipad without having all the accessories. I bet the paint job even matches.”
The helicopter came in low from the west, following the river less than 500 feet off the ground. As the two rangers shouldered their weapons, the pilot made a slow, looping turn for his approach.
Zach’s rifle was a bit more accurate than BB’s AK, but the older lawman’s bullets carried more punch. “Steady,” BB said, keeping the bubbled glass in his sights. “Nail that bastard when he’s about 10 feet off the deck.”
The ambushers waited, watching as the bird’s nose flared upwards to check its approach. The pilot then started bringing her down slowly, hovering directly above La Rosa’s flat landing area.
Flicking off his safety, Zach fired.
Striking a man at 600 yards with an AR15 was doable, but very difficult. Hitting a target the size of a helicopter wasn’t all that hard.
Both of the rangers starting firing as fast as they could reset the trigger and pull again, arching round after round at the descending aircraft.
The bird’s smooth, steady descent suddenly changed – the airframe tilting, jerking, and then holding steady as each ranger kept up a steady stream of anti-aircraft fire.
Zach wanted to knock the bird down and watch a fiery ball of flame envelope La Rosa after the crash, but that wasn’t in the cards. Instead, the pilot attempted to increase his altitude just as smoke started pouring from the aircraft’s turbine engine.
“He’s trying to get away,” BB shouted over the constant roar of their weapons.
Both rangers locked back empty at almost the same moment. Slamming home a couple of fresh magazines, the two lawmen returned to their assault within seconds.
The pilot was fighting for control now, the copter spinning and wobbling directly above La Rosa. Out of the corner of his eye, Zach noticed tiny figures running across the deck.
Flames, adding their sense of doom to the thicker column of black smoke, appeared as the two Texans continued throwing a relentless maelstrom of lead at the stricken bird.
The aircraft tilted sharply and banked hard toward the center of the river.
The helicopter struck the surface on its right side, the still-spinning rotors throwing up a curtain of water and mist as they slammed into the river.
Zach watched as the fuselage did a cartwheel across the surface, and then a red and white fireball erupted as burning gasoline was thrown 50 feet into the air.
“We gotta get the fuck out of here,” BB snapped. “They’ll be coming … and coming hard.”
While he would have loved to stay and watch the death throes of Vincent’s flying limo, Zach knew his partner was right.
The two bushwhackers hustled for the pickup, scrambling into the cab with their weapons – just in case Vincent’s bloodhounds responded a little faster than anticipated.
BB threw the transmission into gear and they were off, throwing up a cloud of dust, speeding toward the main road as fast as the aged V8 would take them. Less than two minutes later, they were merging into traffic and slowing down. There wasn’t any sign of pursuit.
Once the two lawmen were comfortable that El General’s boys weren’t on their tails, BB turned back toward the river. “If your read on Vincent is accurate, he’ll be going loco about now. He’ll want to get as far away from here as he can get.”
Zach nodded, keeping his eye on their surroundings. “He’s down to one option – evading by car. Let’s get to work on our funnel.”
During the rooftop scouting and tours of the area, Zach had noted a significant tactical oversight by the man everyone claimed to be a “General.”
While the river provided a means of escape and limited 180 degrees of access to his position, it also had the reverse effect of limiting the number of routes available for sneaking away. Without a boat, the water suddenly was like a prison’s wall, and thus El General’s enemy.
Then there was the industrial area where Vincent had chosen to moor his yacht. It was an isolated part of town, designed for interior square footage, not motor-traffic. There were only two streets in and out, and Zach planned to reduce that number by half.
BB drove to the burned out hulk they’d passed on the way in. When they’d first noticed the lone, still-standing wall and labeled it a deathtrap, neither ranger had known how accurate their prophecy would be.
After backing the truck into position, BB hopped out and grabbed a lengthy section of cord from the pickup’s bed. “Been a while since I roped a steer this big,” he grinned at his partner. “Sure hope this little scheme works.”
Stepping toward the dilapidated structure, the old ranger began spinning the lasso with a broad, circular motion of his arm.
The noose shot through the air, arching high and falling perfectly over a piece of rebar 20 feet above. BB tightened the line and then made a quick knot on a second length of rope to make sure they had plenty of space.
While BB connected the “extension cord,” to the lassoed building, Zach was tying it off to the truck’s trailer hitch.
Back in the pickup, BB glanced at the younger man and said, “I always wanted to pull the bars off a jail cell and set my gang of outlaws free. I guess this will have to do.”
BB gently rolled the truck forward until the rope was tight and then gave the V8 a boot’s worth of gas. The back tires kicked up a plume of dirt and sand as they spun. For a moment, it looked like the old wall was far sturdier than either ranger had predicted.
Cutting the wheel right and left in short jabs, BB caused the back end of the pickup to swing back and forth. Rubber barked as the wall began to topple.
Zach watched in the side mirror as they began to roll forward, a child-like grin crossing the ranger’s face when the three-story monolith of brick and concrete came crashing down. A huge cloud of debris billowed into the air as a rumbling thunder rolled through the area.
Waving the dust from their faces, the two Texans exited the truck to inspect their handiwork.
They found the narrow street blocked by a four-foot high wall of crumbled block, jagged rebar, and piles upon mounds of brick and concrete.
“That was fun,” Zach coughed, the dust sticking in his throat.
“No shit. That was worth the trip just by itself,” BB grinned.
Now Vincent had only one way in or out, and the rangers were going to be waiting for him.
Chapter 16
El General had been suspicious when the Tampico Chief of Police had called, claiming the Texas Rangers were in town. While he had his doubts about the cop and his information, there was no need to panic. After consulting with Ghost, it had been decided that moving their base of operations was sage.
Vincent had even been willing to accept the captain’s excuse that an old dock line had somehow managed to foul La Rosa’s propellers. While his famous temper had boiled over the incident, he was worldly enough to know that no amount of planning and preparation could overcome simple bad luck.
“Call in the helicopter,” he’d ordered. “We’ll go to the alternative plan.”
While the crew and security forces scrambled to pack and prepare to abandon ship, El General had remained calm – at least as compared to some of his more notable outbursts. The captain was still alive, preparing to send a diver over the side to check on the propellers.
The drug lord knew something was terribly wrong when bullets started striking his freedom bird. Perhaps the chief hadn’t been completely full of shit.
With his mind racing to figure out how the Texas Rangers had found his lair, Vincent still had alternatives – La Rosa’s 22-foot speedboat being the next option.
While his men hustled to take up defensive positions and prepare to engage the Texas Special Forces that were surely on their way, El General went about packing an overnight bag and instructing Weekend to do the same. They would ride La Rosa’s launch to the open water of the Gulf and then motor south to safety.
As his most trusted bodyguard toted their bags,
Vincent and Weekend navigated the passageways that led to the yacht’s water garage and the waiting powerboat.
One deck above the “toy shed,” El General could hear the powerful outboard motors rumbling through the bulkhead. Turning to Weekend, he said, “Someone is finally thinking ahead and warming the engines,” trying to steady his own nerves. “Given everything else that has gone wrong today, I should give them a raise.”
They came to the hatch leading to the garage just as the engine noise increased its pitch.
Opening the watertight door, Vincent was stunned to see the speedboat accelerating away from La Rose, Ghost at the helm, waving goodbye from behind the wheel.
“Shoot him!” El General screamed at the bodyguard. “Kill him!”
It was too late, the launch coming up on plane and blasting across the surface of the river, fading quickly into the distance.
Weekend and the protector braced for Vincent’s volcano of fury to erupt, but the explosion never came. Instead, the now frightened cartel boss said, “Get the cars packed and ready to go. Right now. We’ll drive out of here.”
Turning to give one last glance at the tiny white dot of Ghost’s stolen vessel, El General hissed, “When I find you, your death will be very slow and agonizing, my friend. You will regret this treachery with every fiber of your being, so help me God.”
For the first time since she’d met Vincent, Weekend detected fear in his voice. He’d always been so confident and self-assured.
She didn’t really understand the fast-moving events of the morning, nor did she grasp the political aspirations of the man who treated her like the world’s most pampered prisoner.
She could clearly see, however, the first flashes of insecurity and self-doubt, and that made her smile. Obviously, El General was in trouble, and she would welcome watching the mighty fall.
Zach touched the wires again and listened to the engine crank while his boot stomped on the gas. He’d never hotwired a vehicle before, but the old delivery van they’d spotted had been manufactured years before computer chips had made grand theft auto a high-tech crime.