by B. B. Hamel
This is the first time I’ve really been out of the compound since coming, not counting the few trips to the surrounding beach area. We move through a small town, barely more than a collection of lean-tos and shanties. The people in the town are poor, incredibly poor, and I suspect that many of the guards actually live there. It would make sense, because as soon as we get out of that town, there’s nothing for miles.
I mean nothing. There are stereotypes about the Mexican landscape being all desert, and of course there are huge swaths of that all over, but Mexico is actually a beautiful country.
However, we are not in the beautiful part. We’re deep in the stereotypical Mexico, all cactuses and arid, red, sunbaked clay land. The road is barely a road, more like hard packed dirt with tire marks in it, and I’m pretty sure we’re driving in circles.
“What’s the plan again?” I ask Mikhail after we’d been driving for about a half hour.
“We go. We meet cartel. We give money. We go home.”
“Eloquently said,” I respond.
“Don’t be funny. Nobody likes a funny man.”
I grin at him. “You think I’m funny? Thanks, Mikhail. You’re sweet.”
He ignores me and keeps driving. I glance back at the guards but neither of them return my gaze.
So, we’re going to deliver cash to the cartel. “How much, exactly?” I ask Mikhail.
He pauses. “A lot,” he says after a second.
Okay, we’re going to deliver a lot of cash to the cartel.
But there’s something conspicuously missing.
There’s no cash in this car. Or at least there’s no bag large enough to be holding a lot of cash. The thing with cash is, it takes up space. And the more cash there is, the more space it takes up. Maybe it was already loaded in the back before we got in, but I really doubt that. I didn’t get a glimpse of any bags back there, and I did make a point of looking as we walked past.
So, no cash, or at least no obviously visible cash. Which means Mikhail here is lying about something.
I can guess what he’s lying about. This whole fucking mission stinks of a setup.
For one, why would they send me along? That makes no sense, I’m a stranger and it’s my understanding that drug cartels tend not to like strangers. If Anton is trying to maintain a good relationship with a cartel, he wouldn’t send some random fucking gringo along on the drop.
Then of course there’s the fact that Anton has been souring on me for a while now. Probably never liked me to begin with. He thinks my methods are bullshit and probably thinks I’m some kind of saboteur, which of course I am.
Anton isn’t stupid. I have to keep reminding myself of that fact. He’s been in this business for a long time and this is not the sort of industry that allows fools to thrive. The idiot human traffickers are all dead or rotting in jail. Meanwhile, Anton toils on and is even thriving.
That means he has to have some kind of instincts for this. And the way I walked into his life is for sure fishy at best. Clearly I’m not what he expected and he thinks my methods are bullshit, because clearly they are.
What I’m not sure about is why the Russians are okay with my firm taking Anton down. He probably shorted them, or has been shorting them, or they found some new supplier and they figure it’s easier to get Anton out of the way. It’s hard to really know what the Russians actually want when so much of this shit is so complicated.
I’m not an expert on any of it, and frankly don’t want to be. But if I can see that there’s probably some reason that the Russians want to get rid of Anton, it’s almost definite that he can see it too.
He’s probably paranoid as hell right now, and my company just dropped me into the heart of a dangerous, violent, paranoid psycho’s house. And he sniffed me out.
This is a fucking setup. We’re not driving out into the desert to meet with some cartel, we’re driving out into the desert so that these three men can kill me and then get rid of my body.
They’ll go back and tell the Russians and, by extension, my people that I died in a firefight with the cartel, no doubt. Although that’s a lie, of course. But it’ll take the blame from Anton, and then he can work to get back into their good graces. Or maybe he can work to kill his competition. I don’t know what his long-term plan is and it doesn’t really matter.
All that matters is he’s trying to kill me.
“What’s the plan here, boss?” I ask Mikhail.
“The plan is for you to shut your mouth,” he says.
I smile slightly at him. “If we’re making a drop with the cartel, it makes more sense to tell me what’s going down, right? That way I don’t screw it up by mistake.”
I watch him as he reasons that out. He probably doesn’t think all this subterfuge is necessary, which is good. He doesn’t know who he’s dealing with, which is even better. He probably thinks I’m just some regular guy.
“We meet them in the desert, not much farther. We give them money, they leave, we leave. That’s plan.”
I sigh. “Okay, boss. Sure. Sounds good.” We drive in silence for a few more minutes. “So tell me, you’re ex-military, right?”
He glances at me. “Maybe,” he says.
“Spetsnaz?”
His eyes narrow. “Could be.”
“Which branch?”
“The fuck you care?”
I just shrug and look out the window. “Just making small talk. Those guys back there aren’t much to talk to.”
“Their English is bad.”
“No kidding.” I look back at Mikhail. “Come on, now. You intelligence? Paratrooper? Some shit like that?”
“Chechen,” he says. “Vostok.”
I blink, surprised. I know what that is, though he probably didn’t think I’d recognize it. The Vostok is an elite branch of the Russian military and a special Chechen force. They’re known to be particularly fucking brutal and dangerous.
I underestimated Mikhail, and I’m glad I asked him. Now I know who and what he is, but I still have the advantage. He doesn’t know what I’m capable of.
We crest a nearby ridge and begin down the far side. Ahead, there’s a small outcropping of cactuses and Mikhail heads over toward it.
“That’s spot,” he says.
“Did you fight in Chechnya?” I ask him.
“Of course.”
“See much action?”
“In Chechnya, back then, everything was action.”
I nod and watch his face. I pegged him at an old thirty, but now I see that he’s more like a fit fifty. That makes sense, since the main thrust of the Chechnya conflict happened in the nineties.
It also means I’m a little more than half his age, which is another advantage. No matter how hard and grizzled a man may be, he still loses something with age, and I can exploit that.
The two guys in the back are probably just locals. I doubt they have any real experience with this sort of thing. In fact, they both look nervous, although they’re trying to hide it behind their lack of English. If they stay silent, they can’t betray their weakness.
But that’s okay. It’s not them I’m worried about. It’s Mikhail.
We pull up next to the cactus cluster and Mikhail kills the engine.
“Where’s the cartel?” I ask him.
“Close,” he says. “We’re early.”
“Should I get the money ready?”
He pauses then nods. “Yes, good. Get money ready.”
I open the door, sliding my gun into the front of my jeans in one fluid motion. Nobody notices and I make sure my shirt falls in front of it, covering it from view.
“You two, with him,” Mikhail says.
The two guys climb out of the back. My heart is pounding in my chest as Mikhail’s door opens as well. The man behind me steps close as I go toward the back of the car.
No time to lose. I might be wrong about this, but it doesn’t matter.
I pull my gun and turn, dropping to one knee. I put a bullet in the chin
of the man behind me. It bursts through his skull and splatters his brain all over the car.
The other Mexican guard opens fire, tearing up the truck. I dive forward, rolling out of the line of fire.
“Stop!” Mikhail screams. “Hold your fucking fire.”
I come up and aim, squeezing off two shots. They tear through the windows of the truck and catch the guard in the head. He goes down with a thud.
Two down, just Mikhail to go. He’s staying down under the windows, out of sight, which is smart. I’m doing the same as I creep around the truck.
“You’re no ordinary man,” Mikhail calls out. “Who are you?”
“I’m like you, actually,” I say.
“Special Forces?” he asks.
“Navy SEAL, actually.”
He laughs, and now I know that he’s near the back left part of the truck.
“How did you get so close?”
“I was hired to take you guys down.”
“Better men than you have tried.”
“I doubt that.”
I drop to my stomach and fire my gun. I squeeze off three shots and one manages to clip his ankle. He grunts and starts running for the cluster of cactuses.
I fire after him, but the bullets move wide. I follow, aiming and firing, careful to keep him pinned down so he can’t turn and shoot back. He disappears into the cluster, out of sight.
I move into the cluster, staying low and moving slow. It’s tight, but there’s enough room to maneuver. The cactuses are tall, about seven feet, and very thick with long pointy spines all over them. They look like cartoons, but they’re very dangerous.
I move forward, creeping slowly, gun forward. Mikhail is nearby, I know it. He won’t break from the cover of the cactuses because he’s worried I’ll be able to shoot him. He knows I’m a good shot now and knows I’m trained.
Suddenly a hand flies out from behind a cactus. It smacks my gun down. He brings his weapon forward and squeezes off a shot, winging my arm as I twist and bring my hand up to smack his arm aside. I push harder, pinning his arm against the cactus.
He yells in pain and drops his gun. I move to twist mine up but he brings a knee up, catching my stomach and pushing me back. I drop my gun as I twist out of the way of a cactus.
He comes at me, jumping up to slam his fist down. I take it on the jaw and stumble back before getting my hands up to defend myself. I strike back but I’m losing ground as he forces me back with a series of punches. I take them on the arms, blocking my face, and I can feel a cactus behind me.
He shoves and the spines stab into my body. I shout in pain then twist to the side, falling to the ground and rolling. I can feel the spines dig into my body but the pain doesn’t matter. Pain is only temporary, but death is permanent.
I come up to my feet and turn just in time to catch a kick to my knee. I stumble as he follows with a punch. I dodge and his fist slams into a cactus, burying spines into his skin. He shouts in pain and I come up beside him, punching him in the gut and face.
He stumbles away and attacks again ferociously. I dodge and weave away. He’s stronger and faster than I would have guessed. Blood runs down his fist but it doesn’t slow him down. I take a few blows and give a few back.
We’re at the edge of the cactus cluster now, and I know I have to end this soon. There’s a short drop and a small hill, probably from running rainwater, just to our left.
I turn right and catch a punch to the jaw, but I shove him toward it. He recovers, but his foot slips down the gravel, losing his balance.
I jump, planting both feet in his chest, kicking him back. He topples and falls, hitting the ground with a thud and rolls down the hill.
As I get to my feet, I grab a baseball-sized rock and run after him. He rolls to the side as I smash it down where his head was just a second ago. He punches my kidney but I swing the rock wildly.
It connects with his jaw. He grunts and falls backward. I jump on top of him and slam the rock down again and again and again until he’s not moving and his face isn’t recognizable as a face anymore.
Panting, bleeding, and in pain, I slowly stand up.
I look around at the scene. Mikhail and the two guards lie there in their own pools of blood. I reach back and start plucking as many spines from my skin as I can, but I know I’m missing some.
I get back to the truck. The keys are still in the ignition and it starts. Luckily, the guard that opened fire didn’t hit anything important. I check the back of the truck, just to confirm, and sure enough there is no money anywhere.
This was an execution, not a meeting.
I shake my head and climb back into the truck. My laptop is still in my bag, so I pull it out and flip open the lid. I quickly make an uplink and send a message to command.
“Cover blown. Go forward with operation. Extraction needed.”
I lean back and wait, dabbing at my wounds. They’re mostly superficial, and I know I’ll survive. I manage to get out the rest of the spines by the time I get my response.
“Roger. Extraction coming. Units in place. Attack commences two hours. Over and out.”
I lean back with a sigh and a smile.
Finally, they’re coming. They’re finally going to listen and get over their fucking cowardly hesitation. At least they had units in the area, waiting and ready to go. We drove for about an hour and a half, so I need to hurry to get back to the compound before the attack starts. I need to find Riley and make sure she’s safe through all of this.
I pull the truck around and start driving. There’s a GPS unit on the dash with the compound’s location already programmed in there. I enter the information and hit the gas, jumping forward.
I’m going to save her. I’m coming for her. Just hold on, Riley.
27
Riley
The boredom is starting to eat at my mind again, although it’s barely been a few hours since I was taken into my new room. I didn’t realize just how much those books were helping me pass the time, but without them I’m just stuck obsessing about everything that’s happening.
There are more footsteps in this part of the compound and I can hear voices in a nearby room. At first, they’re barely a muted buzz, but soon I hear shouting and thumps. I don’t know what they mean, but I know that whatever’s happening isn’t good.
Fear wells up inside of me but I have to work to push it back. I can’t let myself give in to whatever game they’re playing with me. I have to hold on, or else I’m going to ruin everything. Logan needs me to be strong, and regardless of whether he’s alive or not, that’s what I’m going to do.
After the shouting stops, there’s silence for about ten minutes, maybe more, before I hear footsteps outside of my room.
The door slides open and the bald man steps in. He shuts the door behind him and smiles at me.
“I’m Anton,” he says. “And you’re mine. Do you understand that? I own you. Logan worked for me.”
I sit up and stare at him. “Logan worked for you?”
“That’s right.”
“What do you mean ...worked?”
He smiles at me slowly, that wicked and gross smile again. He looks like a pig. Or at least he looks like what a pig would look like if it were pure fucking evil.
“He’s not with us any longer,” he says.
“What happened to him?” I feel desperate and I know I shouldn’t be asking questions, but I can’t help it.
“You’re fond of Logan,” Anton says. He walks over and sits down at the foot of my cot. “I can understand that. He was a handsome man, I’ll give him that.”
“Was ...?” I’m practically pleading with him.
I have to know what happened to Logan. I have to know. I can’t sit around without finding out if he’s alive or dead, forever in suspense.
“It doesn’t matter, Riley,” Anton says. “Maybe he’s alive and maybe he’s dead. Is that what you want to know?”
“Yes,” I beg. “Please. I just need to know if he
’s alive.”
“I see.” Anton leans back and sighs. “It’s been a very trying day, you know. Very trying. You know I have a shipment coming up?”
I don’t know what he’s talking about and I really don’t care. My whole body is screaming for more information about Logan but he’s clearly not giving me any. I can already tell that this man likes to play games.
He’s the boss. That’s obvious. He’s the guy that runs this whole operation, and I know that I need to be careful. If this man is the one in charge, that means he’s a very dangerous man. He’s probably broken many, many girls already, and probably killed even more. I’m in danger with every passing second this man sits near me.
I don’t know how I know this. I can just sense it. I’ve been around horrible men my whole life and maybe I’ve just developed a sense for it. I knew Logan wasn’t a bad person instinctively, deep down inside of my body, in the same way that I just know that this man is rotten.
It’s the way he’s looking at me, like I’m not a person but a piece of luggage. He says he owns me, and although Logan said similar things, I think this man really means it literally. He owns me like a piece of property, and I’m his to do with whatever he wants.
That includes breaking me. Physically breaking me.
I have to be careful, but I have to know the truth about Logan. I need to find some way to get it out of him.
“Do you want to talk to me about it?” I ask, leaning toward him.
I don’t expect him to backhand me. It comes out of nowhere. He whips his hand and smacks it across my jaw, sending stars dancing across my vision. I collapse back onto the cot, curling up into the fetal position.
He grins at me. “Did I fucking ask for you to speak, bitch?”
I stare at him quietly.
“Good. There you go. Learned your lesson. You speak when spoken to.” He leans back against the wall, smiling again, looking innocent and normal but I saw it, there for a second, the beast inside of him.