by Scott McEwen
“I’ve protected you completely, Robert—like I always do. The only difference is that I’ve taken steps to protect myself as well.”
He sat thinking. “Who’s she sending after Ruvalcaba? She must have someone in mind.”
Midori kept her poker face. “All she would say is that she’s sending someone who knows what they’re doing.”
“Then we’ll just have to trust her,” Pope decided. “With Hector Ruvalcaba out of the way, Castañeda becomes the last major player. The southern cartels will fall in line under his leadership to avoid a war, but we’ll have to keep an eye on things down there. If another upstart shows his face . . .”
“Mariana will already have a professional team in-country to take him out.”
He chuckled, in spite of his annoyance at having been outmaneuvered. “Yes, I suppose she will, provided that their little coup is successful.”
Midori watched him closely as he spent the next couple of minutes pondering the mathematical probabilities, muttering at last to himself, “Something doesn’t quite add up, though. There’s an unknown variable left over at the end of this equation.”
Seeing genuine puzzlement in his eyes, Midori smiled inwardly, delighted that Pope had no idea Gil Shannon might still be alive.
74
TOLUCA, MEXICO
14:30 HOURS
The first firefight between the Toluca police and the Ruvalcabas took place near the center of town. Entirely by chance, two patrol trucks spotted a car with four of Ruvalcaba’s men sitting at a traffic light. The police attempted a traffic stop, and the cartel members opened fire.
One police officer was wounded in the hand, but all four Ruvalcabas were killed by automatic weapons fire. After that, word spread through town, and within a half hour, the civilian population was in lockdown mode; they were not strangers to drug violence in their streets.
Crosswhite and Vaught stood inside an Oxxo carryout store near the scene of the shooting, talking with Chief Diego and Sergeant Cuevas. Crosswhite had reached town only fifteen minutes earlier, but Vaught had briefed him fully by phone prior to his arrival.
“I understand your desire to hold the center of town,” Crosswhite told Diego, “but this isn’t that kind of fight. There’s nothing of value here, either to us or the enemy. The center of town is a symbol—nothing more. We have to hunt these people down and kill them.”
“But if we give up the center of town,” Diego said, “the people will think we’ve abandoned them and go over to the enemy.”
Crosswhite began to argue, but Vaught caught him by the arm. “He’s right. We have to hold the center of town. Symbolism is important here.”
“Goddamnit, we don’t have enough men for that!”
“If I may?” said Sergeant Cuevas.
Crosswhite nodded.
“Twenty-five men can hold the center of town if the rest maintain a close orbit, crisscrossing at regular intervals to give the appearance of a greater presence. In the meantime, the patrols can sweep the streets and engage when necessary.”
Crosswhite liked the idea in principle. “That will work until nightfall. After that, they’ll block many of the streets with narcobloqueos, and we’ll have to modify the tactic. But I like the plan. It should get us through the day and keep the people from thinking we’ve run out on them.”
“But after dark, we’ll pull the patrols much closer to the center,” Diego insisted. This was a tactic similar to that used in the north along the border before the truce with Castañeda had been struck. By day, the police had patrolled freely, whereas by night, many towns had been forced to suspend police services altogether to avoid their officers being killed in ambushes.
Crosswhite wanted to employ much more aggressive tactics, but it wasn’t his police department, and the men weren’t trained well enough for night action. Still, he wasn’t satisfied to fight a holding action. He took Vaught by the shoulder and walked him aside as three other officers came into the store to talk with the chief.
“With everyone bunched up together around the center of town tonight, Hancock’s gonna have a target-rich environment to work with.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Vaught said. “We should detach from the main body and be ready to move on him the second he fires.”
“He’ll have skirmishers. We won’t be able to run right up on him the way you did last night.”
“I’ll talk Cuevas into giving me that grenade launcher of his. We’ll hit ’em hard and fast. Hell, we might even get Hancock in the barrage.”
“If we could be so lucky,” Crosswhite said, snatching a pack of cigarettes from the rack behind the counter.
Vaught grinned. “Gonna pay for those?”
“I’m defending the city. If that’s not payment enough, they can root through my pockets when I’m dead.”
Sergeant Cuevas stepped up and tossed a fifty-peso note onto the counter. “I have Diego’s permission to detach my team after sundown to work with you. There will be seven of us to move on the sniper when he fires. One of us should get through to him.” He offered Vaught his FX-05 with the AG36 40 mm grenade launcher.
Vaught took a dip from his can of Copenhagen. “I won’t need it if you’re coming along, Sergeant.”
“I’ve fired the grenade launcher only twice,” Cuevas said. “I’m sure you have a better eye for it.”
Crosswhite tore the cellophane from the pack of smokes. “Vaught’s not trained on the weapon system. That makes you the grenadier, Sergeant.” He turned for the door. “Thanks for the cigarettes, by the way.”
When he was gone outside, Cuevas looked at Vaught. “Did he really kill Serrano?”
Tucking away the tobacco can in his pocket, Vaught nodded. “Are you conflicted by that . . . believe you should arrest him?”
Cuevas smirked and started for the door. “I’d sooner arrest him for stealing the cigarettes.”
75
MEXICO CITY, MEXICO
18:40 HOURS
Hector Ruvalcaba moved through his fortified home like an angry tiger. With Lazaro Serrano dead, he was entirely vulnerable and without protection from the federal government. Within ten days, his detractors would discern this vulnerability, and he would once again become a fugitive from justice. Even Captain Espinosa was dead. There were other police officials he could bribe, as well as those in government, but with earthquake relief occupying everyone’s efforts, there was no time to meet with them; no way to arrange for protection.
The Policia Federal Ministerial would soon begin formulating plans to take him back into custody and return him to that pigsty of a prison. Were it not for his great wealth hidden in bank accounts offshore, his own people would be abandoning him already. Now he would be forced to live on the move, fighting a running drug war with that dog Antonio Castañeda in the North.
Life, business, and freedom were about to become a great deal more expensive.
Ruvalcaba’s wife found him in the study, gathering documents into a briefcase. She was twenty years younger than him, with short-cropped dark hair. Although pretty at a distance, upon close examination, it was easy to see that at forty-five she had already undergone a good deal of plastic surgery. Her breasts, ass, lips, and nose were not exactly original equipment.
“Is it really necessary for us to leave today, Hector? We’re supposed to have dinner with the—”
“Dinner?!” He looked at her dismay. “There are no more dinners, Victoria. We’re fugitives. Our protection is gone.”
“Well . . .” She stood with her hands on her hips, refusing to accept that the high-society life to which she had grown accustomed over the past thirteen months was finished. “There’s still plenty of money. Just pay someone else.”
He shut the briefcase and stared at her. “Pay who?”
“I don’t know . . . somebody!”
; “I have to cultivate contacts, arrange for negotiations. Those things take time, and right now there is no time. Once I’m in custody, that’s it.”
“You worked it out last time. They even dug you a tunnel.”
He came from around the desk, taking her by the arms. “Serrano was one of the most powerful men in Mexico. Do you think anyone can arrange for a tunnel?” He shook his head and grabbed a computer from another table. “You should pack a couple of bags. We’re leaving soon.”
She started at him. “I’m not going. I’m staying here.”
“You can’t stay here.”
“Why not? I haven’t broken any laws.”
“That doesn’t matter. Castañeda’s people will hurt you to get to me.”
She shrugged. “So leave some men here to protect me. Leave Adrian and his team.”
He’d suspected that she and Adrian, the head of household security, had been messing around behind his back, but he’d overlooked it because of his own frequent indiscretions.
“Like anyone else, Victoria, Adrian can be bought.”
She crossed her arms. “I’m not living on the run. My friends are here in the city.”
“How long do you think they will remain your friends after my face is back in the papers?”
She knew already which of their friends secretly despised her husband. “I’m staying.”
“Fine,” he said at length. “I won’t force you—but you’re putting yourself in great danger.”
“I knew I was putting myself in danger when I married you, but this is the life I wanted, and I won’t give it up.”
Ruvalcaba took the briefcase from his desk and kissed her on the cheek on his way out of the study. “I’ll call when I can.”
He got into the backseat of his black Escalade and called Hancock on the phone. When the American answered, Ruvalcaba asked if he’d heard the news about Serrano.
“I just got word,” Hancock said. “We don’t need Serrano.”
“How are you progressing?” Hector wanted to know.
“We got a slow start this morning, but we killed four cops in an ambush half an hour ago, and that caused them to pull back closer to the center of town. We hold most of the outlying areas now. They’re doing what I expected them to do. By nightfall, we’ll have all the police in one place, more or less, and after that, it’s just a battle of attrition.”
“I need this victory,” Ruvalcaba said. “I have to bolster my reputation.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Ruvalcaba. You’ll own the city of Toluca by sunrise tomorrow. Then you can order the town council to appoint whoever you want as chief.”
“If you deliver the town as you say, I will deposit a bonus of one million dollars directly into your account.”
“That’s very generous.”
“And there will be another two million waiting for you after you have removed Antonio Castañeda.”
“Castañeda will be difficult,” Hancock said. “He’s had Special Forces training, and his security is very—”
“Five million,” Ruvalcaba said, knowing that he needed to spend whatever it took to remove Castañeda.
“I’m not bargaining, Mr. Ruvalcaba. I’m telling you that he’ll be very difficult to remove.”
“Difficult,” Ruvalcaba said. “Not impossible.”
“No, sir. Not impossible.”
“Very good. Finish your work in Toluca, then meet me down in Chiapas. We have much work to do, you and I.”
Ruvalcaba finished the call and looked at his driver. “Take me to the airfield.”
76
PUERTO VALLARTA, MEXICO
21:20 HOURS
Within ten minutes of meeting Gil Shannon, Antonio Castañeda knew he was speaking with a man of action. Obviously an accomplished professional, there was no bravado about him, no sense of ego, nothing cocky or challenging in his manner. It was plain to see that Gil’s deeds spoke for themselves and that he had nothing to prove to anyone.
Castañeda was sad and angry to have lost Lorena and Tanya. They’d been the most reliable and loyal of his people—not to mention the finest of his lovers. But he knew that if he hadn’t sent them to Tijuana, Fields’s man Villalobos would have killed Mariana, thus destroying his chances of consolidating the narcotics trade under his power. Later he would weep for the girls in private, but for now, there was business to take care of.
“I thank you for avenging their deaths,” he said to Gil in English. “That is a valuable personal service to me. How may I repay you?”
Gil thought for a second. “You can build a school down in . . .” He looked at Mariana. “What state did you say was the poorest?”
“Chiapas.”
“Chiapas,” he said. “You can build a school down in Chiapas.”
Castañeda chortled. “Chiapas is not part of my territory at the moment.”
“But it soon will be. That is the plan, correct?”
Castañeda smiled pleasantly at Mariana, not in his normally flirtatious way, and then looked back to Gil. “That is the plan, yes.”
“Then if you’re serious,” Gil said, “build a school, and we’ll call it even.”
“Consider it done. Now, what assistance can I provide you in removing Ruvalcaba—provided you’re serious about wanting to do the job yourself?”
Mariana had already explained to Gil that Hector Ruvalcaba had been reported dead twice in the past eight years, and that only last year he had successfully escaped a maximum security prison to resume control of the southern cartels. Gil wasn’t interested in taking anyone else’s word for it that Ruvalcaba was dead. “I want the job done correctly. I don’t speak the lingo, and I stick out like a sore thumb down here, so I don’t wanna have to come back and correct anyone else’s mistakes.”
Castañeda nodded, appreciating being in the presence of a professional. “You’re sure I cannot interest you in something to drink, my friend?”
“Thanks. I never drink when I’m working. It’s nothing personal, I promise.”
This left Castañeda feeling a little disappointed, but it was that kind of a day. “He died badly, this dog Fields who murdered my girls?”
“Very,” Gil said.
“What assistance will you need?”
“I need a quality weapon and a guide who speaks good English—a tough son of a bitch . . . but not somebody who’s gonna get carried away.”
Castañeda gestured at Mariana. “Look no further, señor.”
Gil shook his head. “No more fieldwork for her. She’ll be taking over Mexico station pretty soon, and I don’t want in her harm’s way.”
This was the first Castañeda had heard that, and it gave him a burst of adrenaline. “Is this true?” he asked her. “Pope is appointing you chief of station?”
She glanced at Gil. “It’s not official, but . . . Mr. Cochran is convinced it will happen if we’re successful in removing Ruvalcaba.”
Castañeda understood that Cochran was not Gil’s actual name. “Then you are a man of genuine influence.”
“I happen to be in a very unique position,” Gil replied. “And I intend to make the most of it, to the mutual benefit of all parties—excluding Hector Ruvalcaba.”
“But Pope does not want me taking over the narcotics trade. Won’t that pose a problem?”
“Pope wants to tell the president he’s stabilized the border for the long term. With Ruvalcaba dead, you’ll be the only man left who can make that happen. No one else has the power or influence to prevent another drug war. Pope will have no choice but to accept that reality and appoint Mariana as chief of station.”
Seeing the logic, Castañeda winked at Mariana. “It would appear we are at last true partners.”
She smiled in spite of herself, recognizing that, yes, she now needed Castañeda as badly as he needed her. �
��It would appear.”
“And you, Mr. Cochran, what is your interest in Mexico? Since you are obviously not here as a representative of Mr. Pope.”
Gil shrugged. “Some people are inclined to pull an injured man outta the street; others stand and watch. I’ve never just stood by. And I’ve never had any fucking use for those who do.”
“I thank you for that,” Castañeda said. “My country has a bloody history. Too many good men—those who would not stand by to watch—have been gunned down like dogs in that very same street you speak of. This unfortunate aspect of our culture has allowed men like me to thrive for the last hundred years, since the revolution.”
Gil was surprised by Castañeda’s self-deprecating remark. “Men like you?”
“I was once a soldier like yourself. I used to believe in the cause of my country. But the infection of corruption is too deep for any one man to cure. The people must demand the cure from our government. Until they do, men like me will continue to prosper. It is much the same in your country, no?”
“It’s getting worse,” Gil conceded, avoiding a political discussion.
“But you will continue to honor the truce,” Mariana said to Castañeda. “You will not take action against civilians on either side of the border, and you will make public examples of the men who do. Otherwise I will have to withdraw the support of the CIA—along with its protection.”
He cocked an eyebrow, glancing at Gil. “I used to believe she was so soft and delicate.”
“Blood hardens everybody,” Gil said. “Can you supply me with a good man?”
“I can do better than that,” Castañeda said confidently. “I can supply you with a man who has trained at Fort Bragg with your Green Berets.”
“Okay,” Gil said chuckling.
Castañeda smiled curiously. “That is funny?”
Gil smiled. “A Green Beret will do in a pinch.”
Castañeda laughed, getting the joke. “His name is Poncho, and you will be able to trust him with your life.”