“Investigative consulting,” Bolan replied. “Mostly how something could have been done when no one else has a clue how.”
“I’m afraid I don’t believe you, Mr. Cooper,” Sureno said. “But I suppose we must start somewhere. What were you doing out in the desert with that border patrol agent?”
“Asking questions,” Bolan said. “That’s what investigators do. Those weapons they found in the desert in that little action the other day were military.”
Sureno nodded. “Yes, a sad loss. And expensive in terms of the equipment and the men killed that night.”
“Seemed like a lot of loss on both sides, if you ask me.”
“Perhaps, but there will always be more Border Patrol agents, and I can get more men. But there is a limited supply of weapons at any one time.” He tsked sadly to himself. “Well, it’s the cost of doing business in this dangerous time.”
“It’s never easy running a business,” Bolan said. “Of course, in your line of work, I imagine there are more dangers than those faced by, say, a grocery store or a gas station.”
Sureno chuckled again. “You are a man of wit, I see. Humor is a salve to the soul, but it’s not very effective in the hot box, Mr. Cooper. So, I’m going to ask you my questions again, and this time, I urge you to answer them honestly. If you don’t...” He shrugged. “Then I will have Jesus ask you, and he is not as kind as I am. He is not kind at all.”
“Jesus?” Bolan asked, knowing this was about to turn ugly. “As in the son of God? He works for you, too?”
Sureno laughed once more. “Not quite,” he admitted. “Now, tell me again why a man with no agency identification is working with the Border Patrol.”
Before Bolan could answer, the door to the study opened. “He won’t tell you,” the man from the desert said. “I wouldn’t, and neither will...Colonel Stone, is it?”
“I prefer Matt Cooper, but if you like Colonel Stone, I can live with that, too.”
“Is that the name of the man Kingston ran into at the base, Jesus?” Sureno asked.
The mercenary stepped across the room to stand next to the desk. “It is,” he said. “And unless I am very wrong, he’s probably Army Criminal Investigations Division, working undercover. Using his actual military identification to get onto the base was a mistake, however.”
Bolan’s mind raced. If they believed him to be with Army CID, it might change their reactions, and not in a good way.
“What do you have to say to that, Colonel?” Sureno asked. “Is what Jesus says true?”
Knowing what was coming next, Bolan did the only thing he could. “I believe in Jesus, but this man’s full of shit.”
Sureno smiled, shaking his head. “Let’s move him to the interrogation room, Jesus,” he said. “We need to learn the truth of this man.”
Bolan stood, but Jesus moved in, sweeping his feet from beneath him. Knowing resistance could cost him dearly in this situation, Bolan allowed himself to be trussed with zip ties once more.
Sureno waited patiently while the guards came back, picked Bolan up and carried him out of the room and down the hall to a door that opened into a room that was little more than four concrete walls, a tile floor and a few folding chairs surrounding a stainless steel table.
“Ah, the interrogation room,” Bolan said. “I was expecting more of a dungeon decor.”
Jesus slapped him. “You talk when I tell you to talk.”
The guards shoved Bolan into one of the chairs, and Jesus sat down across from him. As Sureno entered the room and removed his suit coat, Bolan reminded himself that this man wasn’t like any Mexican cartel or weapons smuggler he’d ever dealt with. Still, he was willing to bet that as long as Sureno believed he was withholding useful information, he’d be kept alive.
Knowing he was alone out here, that Brognola wouldn’t be sending in the cavalry any minute now, would have depressed most men. For the Executioner, it was fuel to the fire. Whatever Sureno was up to with those weapons, Bolan intended to live long enough to burn the operation—and the man—to the ground.
“Are you ready to answer my questions, Colonel Stone?” Sureno asked, leaning down to look in his eyes.
“Not so much,” Bolan said.
Sureno laughed again and even Jesus joined in. “He will be hard to break,” the mercenary said.
“I suspect you are right,” Sureno replied, calmly removing his tie. “It will be interesting to find out what it will take, my friend, but we will find out. Every man can be broken.”
Chapter 7
Sureno and Jesus were men of their word. So far, they’d certainly tried to break him, but the Executioner had suffered worse. Physical torture, in Bolan’s experience, was one of the least effective ways to get information.
He’d been under interrogation for about an hour when the door flew open and a whirlwind feminine form entered the room.
“I can’t believe you brought him here! What were you thinking?” the woman asked.
The guards snickered, and the astonishment on Sureno’s face was quickly replaced with a sneer. He swung his arm, the back of his hand connecting with her cheek and knocking her to the ground. Her cry was met with a grunt of approval, and Sureno crouched on the ground next to her.
“You have something to say, chica?”
“I was...”
He grabbed her by the throat, lifted her to her feet, then shoved her into the wall. He backhanded her again. Her lip split this time, and a thin spray of blood hit the white wall.
“Something to say?” Sureno hissed.
“No, mi amor,” she said, shaking her head.
Bolan wanted nothing more than to break every bone in Sureno’s hand, but at the moment, he could only watch, hoping the beating would end. He despised a man who would harm a woman for no reason other than to exert his power over her, to demean her.
Sureno released his hold on her and she slumped to the floor. “Vámonos!” he ordered, and the guards stalked out of the room with their boss and Jesus bringing up the rear. The woman remained on the floor. The room was silent and dark lit only by the single bulb hanging from a beam overhead.
“Are you okay?” Bolan asked.
He could hear her weeping quietly and then she got slowly to her feet and shuffled across the floor toward him. The marks for her interference on his behalf were rapidly becoming evident as the swelling increased. She’d have a couple of bruises for her trouble. Behind them, however, was a pretty face, with large, dark eyes, high cheekbones and an olive complexion that would make most women envious.
“I will live,” she said. “Rene is...”
“Don’t try and sell me the nice guy story,” he said. “I’m not buying.”
She offered a bitter laugh. “He’s not a nice man,” she agreed.
Bolan cleared his throat. Now that he knew who and where Sureno was, it was past time to leave and bring in some serious firepower to take him out. “Look, I’ve got to get out of here,” he said. “You could come with me. I have friends who can help us.”
“Do you have an army of them?” she asked.
“As a matter of fact, I do,” he replied evenly. “With better weapons and training than anything your so-called boyfriend might put in the field.”
She shook her head, obviously not believing him. “He is not my boyfriend. Rene has friends in high places and many men, all trained by Jesus. I knew he was doing bad things on the border, but he’s never brought the trouble here.”
“What’s your name?”
“Isabel.”
“Isabel, this is all going to end very badly for Rene, whether he kills me or not. I don’t think you want to be in the crossfire when that happens. Let’s get both of us out of here.”
“I...I cannot leave,” she said, looking over her shoulde
r as though Sureno might be standing behind her.
“That’s not true,” he said. “Even if you don’t help me, you should help yourself and escape.”
Isabel hesitated, then put a hand into a pocket in her skirt and pulled out a pearl-handled straight razor. She quickly sliced through his bonds, and he lowered his arms.
“Thank you,” he said. “I’ve got to go. Come with me.”
“I don’t think you’ll make it past Rene’s guards, but you’re welcome to try. I have...family here that needs to be protected.”
“Look, we can come back for them—better armed and better prepared,” he argued.
She shook her head. “No, but think kindly of me when—if—you return.”
Giving up, he said, “Fine. How do I get out of here?”
“The truck they brought you in on is still parked by the gate. They leave the keys in it. If you can get to it, the gate is kept open during the day... Take this, if it will help,” she added, handing Bolan the razor.
“Thank you,” he said, slipping it into his boot.
“No matter what happens, you cannot let them know I’m involved,” Isabel said. “They must not suspect me.” Her eyes were pleading, even though her words sounded calm. Now her womanly beauty was replaced by the look of a frightened child.
“This is about more than your family,” Bolan said, making a guess. “Who are you and why are you really helping me?”
She looked over her shoulder once more, then leaned in close enough to whisper in his ear. “Policía Federal Ministerial,” she said.
Damn it, Bolan thought. She’s an undercover cop for the Mexican feds. “You can’t leave,” he said. “I understand.”
“Gracias,” she said.
“Get down on the floor,” he ordered. “Tell them I got loose and knocked you out. They’ll be too busy looking for me to think about you for very long.”
She nodded, slumping to the floor near the table. “Thank you,” he said again, lowering his voice as footsteps and voices sounded in the hall outside.
“Buena suerte,” she whispered. “Vaya con dios.”
He slid silently behind the door, waiting for the guards to enter. Two men stepped into the room, and the Executioner jumped into action. The straight razor slit the throat of the first man, spraying blood in a huge arc across the room. His shout of surprise was cut short as the blade severed his vocal cords.
The other guard, now covered in blood, spun and tried to draw his gun, but Bolan was faster. Dropping the first man to the floor, he stepped close, driving an elbow into his solar plexus. As the man leaned forward, gasping for breath, Bolan twisted, bringing the razor around again. It entered the guard’s body just below the navel, and he sliced upward, opening his abdomen up to the sternum. Most of the man’s intestines spilled out onto the floor with a wet splat before he’d even realized what happened.
The guard tried to scream, but without a connected diaphragm, he was unable to do more than drop to his knees, panting in shock as he died. Bolan took his sidearm, a well-cared-for little 9 mm from some off-brand company, then stepped through the door, shutting it behind him. The entire fight had lasted perhaps ten seconds, but now armed—and angry—the Executioner was ready for more.
He had underestimated Sureno but wouldn’t do so again. Now was the time to escape, but he would be coming back to avenge Rivers’s death as much as for any indignity he’d suffered at the Mexican’s hands. And to make sure that Jesus was out of business, too. There was a place in the world for mercenaries, men and women who used their skills to fight the good fight, but serving drug cartels and weapons smugglers...bringing harm to the innocent...that wasn’t it.
The hallway was dark and sunset was rapidly approaching. He needed to retrieve his handheld, his wallet and, ideally, his weapon, and the last place he’d seen them was on Sureno’s desk. Bolan knew that the element of surprise would only help for a brief window of time. He’d also need a little luck. He moved down the hall quickly, pausing to listen at the office door.
Hearing nothing, he eased the door open. The study was empty, and he stepped inside. Crossing to the desk, he found his belongings. He slipped the handheld into one pocket and his wallet and identification into another, then grabbed the Desert Eagle, using his shoulder rig for the 9 mm. Sureno didn’t keep a computer here, and Bolan saw little else that might be of help. He moved back to the door just as the knob started to turn.
Typical, he thought, sliding behind it and preparing to fight his way out. Sureno entered the office with Jesus on his heels. “We’ll go back and finish with Cooper in just a minute,” Sureno was saying. “I want to talk with Isabel first. Go and find her.”
Jesus turned just as Bolan stepped out from behind the door. “She’s unavailable at the moment,” he said, aiming the weapon at the mercenary. “You’ll just have to wait.”
Jesus started to move. “Don’t even think it,” Bolan snapped. “Whether I kill you now or later makes no difference to me. Neither one of you moves, and you might live through this.”
Sureno had turned at the sound of his voice. “How did you...”
“Escape?” Bolan finished. “I’m tricky that way, but I’m afraid I left a bit of a mess in your interrogation room.” He shook his head in mock sadness. “All that blood. And poor Isabel—maybe you shouldn’t have left her behind. Wrong place, wrong time, I guess.”
“If you’ve harmed her...”
“Shut it, Sureno,” Bolan snapped. Jesus was still silent, but he once again moved to Bolan’s right. “Don’t do it, my friend.” He stopped once more, eyeing Bolan with cold regard.
Bolan gestured with the gun at Jesus. “Take the zip ties out of your pocket. You know what to do.”
Jesus pulled a handful of zip ties from the cargo pocket of his pants and shrugged. He used one on Sureno’s wrists. “Take a seat,” Bolan said, pointing to the nearest couch. Sureno sat and Jesus did the same, using another zip tie on his own hands and pulling it tight with his teeth.
“You should kill me, Cooper,” Jesus said, eyeing him again. “If you don’t, I’m going to kill you when I find you. And you’ll die badly, like a wounded animal in the desert.”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Bolan said. “You’re a badass.” He inspected their wrists, then used the remaining zip ties to cuff their ankles together. Satisfied, he took a step back, considering how long it would take to get out of the house and into the courtyard to the truck. The clock was running and he knew that more guards could show up at any second.
“Do yourself a favor, Sureno. Get rid of your attack dog here and go into another line of work. When I come back, if you’re still in operation, I’m going to burn you to the ground.”
Sureno smiled. “You are assuming you will escape. It’s a long way from here to the border, but if you do come back, Mr. Cooper, we will be most happy to host you again.”
“I’m counting on it,” Bolan replied. Although he could kill both men now, it would bring every man in the compound on the run. He’d never make it out alive, and someone else would rise from the ashes to take over. When this was finished, he wanted the entire operation gone, never to return. Now wasn’t the time, but it would come.
Bolan opened the door enough to glance into the hallway, then turned back to Sureno. “Start yelling or raise a fuss, and I’ll be forced to come back in here. I may die, but you will, too. I’ll make sure of it.” He stepped out of the room, shut the door, then broke off the handle on his side.
He walked quickly toward the main door, keeping the Desert Eagle tucked next to his leg. He was halfway down the front steps before the alarms went off—old-school sirens like those used to warn a neighborhood of an incoming tornado or air raid. Men began running in all directions, obviously drilled for what to do.
Bolan moved more rapidly himself, following a group o
f men headed for the gate. He saw the truck and angled in that direction, just reaching the tailgate when he heard shouting from the house. “There! You damn fools! He’s right there!”
Risking a quick glance over his shoulder, he saw that Jesus was standing in the doorway and lifting an assault rifle to open fire. Bolan dove forward, rolling and twisting, just as the spray of bullets tore into the ground and metal tailgate of the truck.
Chapter 8
Bolan crawled along the side of the truck to the driver’s side door. Bullets whined around him, penetrating metal and dirt. He could only pray that one of them didn’t hit the radiator or the engine block. He reached the door and pulled himself into the cab, keeping low as more men closed in on the vehicle.
“Time to go,” he said, turning the key.
He didn’t wait for the men to figure it out, just shoved the transmission into drive and floored it, sitting up only enough to steer. The next wave of bullets shattered every window in the cab, covering him in safety glass. Two guards were shoving the gate closed, but Bolan didn’t even slow down. One managed to jump out of the way, but the other wasn’t quite fast enough. The front end of the truck clipped him, no doubt breaking his leg by the sound of his agonized screams.
As Bolan cleared the wall of the compound, he sat up and guided the truck down the road. There was only one way to go at the moment, and unfortunately, the road wasn’t going north but east. Still, he was out and alive, and now it was just a matter of getting away.
He glanced in the rearview mirror and could see the dust rising from the compound as vehicles moved in pursuit. He knew he was just as visible as they were, and with a lead of less than a mile, he wasn’t in the clear yet. Not even close.
“Damn,” he muttered, scanning the horizon for something like cover. He looked in the rearview once more and saw a chopper lifting over the walls of the compound. “A bonus,” he said, glad for his weapons. A couple of handguns and a straight razor wouldn’t hold out long against assault rifles, but a man made do with what he had. Seeing nothing in the distance, the Executioner made a decision.
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