“Funny, I thought yours was, too,” Bolan responded. “I’m happy to be right.”
Bolan waited calmly as Jesus closed in, wielding the blade in a smooth figure eight designed to fool the eye as much as anything else. Bolan dodged the first attack. The second strike came closer, but Bolan blocked it with his own blade. Jesus tried again but to no avail. Bolan could see the frustration mounting on his face and waited for the next move.
* * *
WHATEVER WAS HAPPENING on the other side of the compound, it seemed to have drawn everyone in that direction. Merice set a quick pace along the wall, and she and the others encountered no guards beyond the two dead ones Cooper had left behind at the back door. They made it to the corner, and Merice gestured for Isabel to go up the stairs.
She caught Tony’s eye as he started to follow and he paused long enough for her to point at Isabel then lay a finger alongside her own eye. He nodded in understanding and started up the steps behind her, with Merice bringing up the rear.
They reached the top of the wall and began making their way along it, keeping an eye open for Cooper’s grapple. When they found it, Merice said, “Okay, Tony, you’re going down first. Then Isabel, then me.”
“Shouldn’t...” he started to ask, but she cut him off.
“I’ll cover you from up here, and you cover me from down there. Isabel, all you have to do is hold on to the rope and slide down the wall. Just watch Tony and do what he does.”
She nodded, not looking very enthusiastic at the prospect.
Tony checked to make sure the grapple was secure. When he was satisfied, he climbed over the edge of the wall and began lowering himself down, a few feet at a time.
Merice scanned the top of the wall once more and saw no one. Tony reached the ground and gestured for Isabel to follow. “Did you watch how he did it?” Nadia asked.
“Sí,” she said. “I can do it.” She grasped the rope in one hand and swung her legs out over the wall. Other than a brief moment when she slipped a foot or two, she made it down with ease.
Checking the wall once more and still finding it empty, Nadia leaned over to peer down at Tony. He stared up at her, shaking his head. Once again, she laid a finger next to her eye and pointed at Isabel. He nodded, then watched somberly as she cut the rope free from the grapple and let it fall down to his feet. Tony began to gather it up, and she worked the grapple itself free from the wall, then hooked it on one of her belt loops. One never knew when a spiky object would come in handy, and because she’d given Cooper the rifle, all she had now were her blades and one handgun.
She suspected she would need all the weapons she could get. Glancing down at Tony one last time, she sent him a quick salute, which he returned, then she moved back toward the stairs. Somewhere on the other side of the compound, she’d find Sureno or Cooper or both. Either way, she was in this to the end.
Chapter 23
Jesus was getting impatient and lunged forward. Bolan caught his arm in a reverse lock, then drove his knife deep into the soft spot below the ribs. Gasping, the mercenary dropped his own blade, trying to struggle free but failing.
“You... You bastard,” he said, spitting blood.
“I’ve been called worse,” the Executioner said. “By better men.” He ripped the knife free and brought complete pressure onto the man’s arm, snapping it at the elbow.
Jesus tried to scream but was unable to get a breath. Bolan knew his right lung would be rapidly filling with blood. The anger on the mercenary’s face turned to horror as Bolan released his arm, and he tried to stagger away.
Bolan took out his knee from behind and Jesus collapsed on the floor, still struggling. He had had a lot of fight in him, but that was over now, too. Bolan knelt down beside him. “I know about you,” he said. “I know all about the African villages where you let your men rape the women and kill them. I know about the one where they found over thirty dead children. It’s over, Jesus. No one else will suffer because of you.”
Bolan drove the KA-BAR knife into Jesus’s neck and it went all the way through, erupting in a final gush of blood on the other side. Jesus sagged immediately. Bolan cleaned the blade before tucking the knife back into his boot, then retrieved his Desert Eagle. Outside, he heard the sound of several large engines starting and he knew that Sureno was about to make his move. He had to pin him down before he could leave the compound.
Bolan crossed to the front door, grabbed the rifle from where he’d set it down earlier and peered outside. Using a heavy chain, Sureno’s men had dragged the charred wreckage of Merice’s SUV away from the trucks, and the path out of the compound was now clear. He scanned the courtyard for Sureno himself but didn’t see him. It was possible that he was already in one of the vehicles, but none of them had departed, so at least he was still in the area.
An adobe wall, perhaps three feet high, stood on each side of the steps leading into the main house, and Bolan took a position behind the one closest to the vehicles as he stepped outside. A quick scan revealed a total of four running trucks and about two dozen men milling in the courtyard, trying to organize themselves into vehicles. His best bet was to take targets of opportunity—starting with the trucks themselves.
He pulled the Tango 51 up to his shoulder and sighted on the lead vehicle’s front right tire, squeezing off a round and blowing it out. The shot wasn’t as quiet as he’d hoped—the baffles on the suppressor were rapidly wearing down—and Sureno’s men looked around, trying to pinpoint the source of the bullet. While they were distracted with that, Bolan took out the front tire of the rearmost vehicle, boxing the other two in place to some degree.
The ping of rifle fire followed his shot almost immediately, and he knew that they’d spotted him. This wasn’t an ideal location, but if it kept Sureno and the weapons from leaving, it would serve. Ignoring the scope, Bolan propped the rifle over the small barricade and squeezed off a handful of rounds. Men were shouting now and he recognized Sureno’s voice over the din, shouting for them to kill him muy rápido.
Concentrated fire began on his position in earnest, and Bolan realized that he was pretty well pinned down. About a dozen men were firing at the top of the stairs and the doorway, not bothering to wait for their target, but just laying down enough rounds so that if he popped his head up, he’d be finished. His best cover was across a good twenty yards of open ground to the small sweat boxes Sureno used for holding prisoners. Twenty yards was a long way to run with a firing squad at your back.
Bolan was contemplating his best move when the shooting momentarily cut off, then resumed but in a new direction. Now they were firing back toward the courtyard on the far side of the house. Though he was unsure of who had attracted their attention, he took advantage of the brief opportunity and leapt to his feet, running as fast as he could for the sweat boxes.
“There he is, you fools!” Sureno shouted.
Bolan wished he had time to stop and sight the man, but he was entirely focused on reaching his cover. As he dove into the shadows around the sweat boxes, more shots sounded from the courtyard. Sureno’s men didn’t know where to concentrate their efforts. Whoever was shooting over there had effectively saved his bacon. He suspected Merice, rather than Tony, since she was temperamentally prone to having her way.
He paused briefly behind one of the wooden structures to reload, then he heard the sound he’d been waiting for—the distinctive phip-phip-phip of incoming choppers. He estimated three, and instead of bothering to look for them, he came back around the corner and took aim at the nearest of Sureno’s men, dropping him with a clean shot, center mass.
As the helicopters got louder, he finally spotted Sureno himself, climbing into a truck. He tried a shot, but the angle was bad and the round skipped off the hood. The cartel boss shoved the big vehicle into gear and slammed forward into the disabled one in front of him.
Bolan moved back around the corner of the box. The choppers would be here any minute, but they’d likely only been authorized to do a strike on the compound itself. Bolan dropped the rifle and began to sprint along the wall as the first of the three choppers appeared overhead.
Running full tilt, he saw that they were Boeing AH-6s—special operations tactical choppers meant for ferrying up to five men into a difficult zone. The compound’s spotlight swiveled around, trying to point one of them out and then extinguished as the troopers opened up on the light and its operator. The first one set down and the wind from the rotors, along with the covering fire, was enough for Sureno’s men to run for it.
Now, all Bolan had to do was get to Sureno before he got away. Ahead, he saw that the truck was free of the temporary blockade he’d set up and headed for the remains of the front gate. Bolan put on an extra burst of speed and jumped, landing on the passenger side running board and holding onto the side mirror. Sureno saw him, swerved slightly, then pressed on.
Bolan tried to open the door as the deuce-and-a-half bounced down the pitted road, but he’d no sooner grabbed the handle than he noticed that Sureno was holding a pistol. He ducked down as the first round shattered the glass of the passenger side window.
“Hijo de puta!” Sureno yelled.
Bolan managed to hang on as the truck bounced over a series of deep potholes, then gripped the door handle once more. Another shot rang out as Sureno fought to steer the vehicle and shoot at him simultaneously. The truck veered to the right and caught the lip of the ditch, and Bolan felt the entire vehicle shake as the cartel runner tried to force it back onto the road.
Recognizing his chance, Bolan yanked open the door and dove inside the cab, chopping at Sureno’s arm and forcing him to drop the pistol. Another punch landed on the man’s jaw and the truck swerved back to the left. Elbows flew as they fought each other and the pitted road.
Finally, Sureno slammed on the brakes, shoved an elbow into Bolan’s left eye and threw himself free of the cab. Shaking his head, Bolan felt the truck start moving again and managed to find the gear stick and drop the vehicle into neutral. The engine coughed several times, then stalled. As the deuce rolled to a halt, he jumped out and gave chase.
Sureno was running across the desert, not bothering to look back. Bolan took off after him, rapidly closing the distance. The man heard him coming, tossing a quick look over his shoulder and trying to find some extra speed. His physical condition didn’t even come close to the Executioner’s, however, and the gap between them narrowed even more.
When Sureno tried to leap over a cactus, he stumbled, missed and came down on top of it, yelling in pain as he fell to the ground on the far side. Bolan saw him go down, slowed and jogged around the spiny plant as Sureno was getting to his feet. In the moonlight, his eyes were wide and sweat stained his shirt. “Come on then, cabrón,” he hissed, drawing a heavy combat knife from his belt. “If I do nothing else to pay you back, I’m going to cut you to ribbons.”
He waved the knife back and forth wildly and Bolan could tell that he was no knife fighter. He should have taken lessons from Jesus along with his men, but like most drug and weapons dealers, he was more interested in money and hiring thugs than he was in getting his hands dirty. Sureno charged at him, but Bolan slid sideways, letting the man barrel past.
“You’re slippery, Cooper, or whoever you are,” he said, spinning back around. “I should have killed you on sight.”
Bolan nodded. “Yeah, probably. You aren’t the first man to make that mistake.”
“I’m going to fix it now,” he growled, darting in once more.
Again, Bolan stepped aside, this time adding a shove that sent Sureno sprawling. To his credit, he got back to his feet quickly. “Stand and fight, cabrón,” he said.
“I’m right here waiting,” the Executioner said.
Sureno came forward again, the knife held low. This time, Bolan stood his ground, dropping down and catching the man’s wrist in his strong hands. He twisted and felt it crack as the knife hit the dirt. Yowling like a wounded animal, Sureno kicked and flailed, managing to get enough force into one blow to his cheek that Bolan released his hold and stepped away.
Cradling his broken wrist and panting heavily, Sureno stared hatefully at him. “Finish it, then,” he said. “Finish it.”
Bolan laughed softly. “It was finished the minute your man Jesus killed Colton Rivers.”
“I’m not dead yet—”
In one smooth motion, Bolan drew the Desert Eagle and fired. The round took Sureno in the forehead, blowing the back of his skull off in a bloody spray of bone and brain matter. He tottered, then fell dead on the hard, unforgiving desert floor. “That’s for Olivia and Katrina,” Bolan said.
Bolan turned and headed back in the direction of the truck. Whatever weapons Bricker had inside of it, he wanted to make sure they were handed over to the proper authorities and not left here for the Cardenas to find. The worst of the night was over, he knew, but there was still road to be traveled ahead.
Chapter 24
Bolan arrived back at the compound to find Tony and Merice standing near the gates. He pulled the deuce-and-a-half to a stop, shut down the engine and climbed out. The two moved closer, smiles lighting their faces. On the inside of the compound, he could see that the last of Bricker and Sureno’s men were kneeling in a line in the middle of the courtyard, their hands and feet secured with zip ties. For a while, at least, this little stretch of desert would be safer for both the Border Patrol and civilians. That alone would have pleased Rivers immensely, Bolan knew.
“What happened to Sureno?” Merice asked.
“He paid his debt in full,” Bolan said. “Though I think it was more expensive than what he had in mind. Was that you shooting from the courtyard earlier?”
“That was me,” she said. “And unless I’m mistaken, I saved your ass.” She broke into a laugh and Tony joined in, shaking his head ruefully.
“What happened to you?” he asked the old tracker, who was sporting the beginnings of a black eye.
“Isabel,” he said. “She’s not at all what she seems to be.”
“What do you mean?” Bolan asked, concerned. “Where is she?”
“I took a call from Brognola a few minutes ago,” Merice said. “Her name isn’t Isabel and she doesn’t work for the Mexican government. It’s Ana-Maria Cardenas, and she’s an operative for the cartel—specializing in setting up other cartels for a long, hard fall. The intelligence didn’t come through on her until half an hour ago. She’s practically a ghost.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Bolan said, then turned to Tony. “And you let her get away?”
“I don’t think ‘let’ is the proper word,” Tony replied. “She did her best to coldcock me with a rock and ran off into the desert. I didn’t feel up to chasing her at the time.” He rubbed his cheek gingerly. “Still don’t, for that matter, so find yourself someone else to hunt her down.”
“Let her go, Cooper,” Merice said.
“She’s a threat, and she obviously knew a lot more than she let on,” he said.
“Let her go,” she repeated. “There’s a nice little bonus here, if you do.”
“What’s that?” he asked.
“When she reports back to the Cardenas, Matt Cooper will be a name to fear down here, and so will Colonel Stone. Maybe it will keep them in check for a while.”
Bolan thought about it, then shrugged. “Maybe,” he said. “Or maybe it’s time for a new name.”
“Names are like hats. You wear the one that’s appropriate.”
“I try to,” he said, “though I’ve been fond of Cooper for a long time now. Very well, I’ll let her go.”
“What comes next?” Tony asked.
“We clear the scene,” Bolan said. “I’ll need to ca
ll Brognola, check in and arrange for all these weapons to be returned to the United States. I’m more than glad that someone else already known to the law enforcement community down here can help them with all the reports and paperwork.” He shot a meaningful glance at Merice, who groaned.
“Come on, Cooper,” she said. “You could help me with that stuff, too, you know.”
“I could, but I have something else that needs doing.”
“Oh?”
“I want to make sure that Colton Rivers gets the funeral he deserves and that his wife and daughter are doing okay.”
“That is always the hard part of our world,” Tony said. “It is not the names or the danger. It’s that for us to act, often someone has to die, while the living must carry on.”
“If it’s all the same to you,” Merice said, “I’ll take choice number two every time.”
“Better get that back-wound sewn up then,” Tony said.
They moved into the compound and Merice handed Bolan his phone. “Thanks,” he said. “And thanks for coming back. That was looking a little thin.”
“Thin?” she said. “You’re a master of understatement.”
* * *
THE FUNERAL PROCESSION started at ten in the morning, and the sun was already riding bright in the sky. Bolan watched from inside the tinted windows of the family limousine as the honor guard led the way down the dusty streets of Douglas, Arizona, to Calvary Cemetery, where Colton Rivers would be laid to rest alongside his fellow officers who had given their lives to protect the border and keep the American people safe.
“What are you thinking about, Cooper?” Olivia asked.
She seemed to be on the mend, he thought. Her eyes were clear and calm, and Tony’s wife was mothering her enough for any two women. A motorcycle passed on either side of the limo, the lights flickering and the chirp sirens on. “Change,” he said, peering out the window once more.
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