Connor (In the Company of Snipers Book 5)

by Irish Winters

  “What if there’s no water when we get there?”

  “You’re right, but smoke means fire. Fire might mean firefighters. And yeah, the water thing is a big deal, but we have to do something. I’ll hike over there tomorrow and see if there’s any kind of help to be had. If not, I’ll come right back, okay?”

  Leaving a pregnant woman alone in the desert was not his idea of a good scenario, but not doing anything put her and the baby in more danger. At least this way they might have a chance.

  She scanned the distant mountain. “How far do you think it is?”

  “A good day’s walk. Twenty miles maybe.”

  “Do you think anyone’s even looking for us?”

  He sighed. “This is a big state with lots of desert and nothing much in between. Only the cartel knows where we are. That’s the best reason to get the hell out of here.”

  “Every time I hear a plane fly over I throw more sagebrush on the fire, but they’re all too high. I don’t think they can see the smoke.”

  “Airliners fly over thirty-thousand feet high, Izza. They’d never see us.”

  “Hey, I have an idea.” The excited look in her eyes made him smile. Connor was the first to admit it. He was a sucker for this woman through and through.

  “Mother and Ember are always studying satellite images, aren’t they?” she asked. “Why don’t we give them something to look at?”

  Connor didn’t have any idea what Izza meant, but after packing rocks for a couple hours in the summer sun, he found out. By then, they’d constructed a huge SOS sign on the desert floor just beyond the cave’s entrance. Hopefully visible by air and satellite, they amended their call for help by adding another acronym that only someone from The TEAM would understand. C.M.I.R. – their initials. By late afternoon, they were both tired, but pleased with their handiwork.

  Their little pile of granite cast just enough of a shadow to shade them from the sun. He took advantage of it, a bottle of water in one hand and Izza comfortable in the other while he sat on the ground at the cave entrance. The sign was extra large. That meant big rocks, and big rocks meant two sore backs. Connor and Izza were dirty, tired, and thirsty as usual.

  “You like our new acronym?” he asked.

  She breathed out a tired sigh. “It’s just another acronym, but if you like it, whatever.”

  “You’ve got to say it right. Go on. Say it.” As usual, Connor saw joy where Izza did not.

  She enunciated each letter patiently. “C. M. I. R. There. Are you happy now?”

  “You’re not doing it right. Don’t spell it out. Say it like you mean it. It really says ‘Come here.’” He grinned down at her, all tired and sweaty in the crook of his arm. “It’s what I always say to you when we’re making love. Come here, Izza. Come here. And you always do what you’re told.”

  She pushed him away with a half-hearted shove, blushing. “I’m not in the mood. Should have spelled, ‘Go on.’”

  “No, Izza, come here. Come here,” he teased, pulling her onto his lap, his hand already under her tank top. His fingers worked their way over her stomach to the soft swell of her breasts. Her nipples sprang to attention.

  “You’re nuts.” She giggled under his fun-loving attention, his hands all over her by now. “I thought you were tired.”

  “I am, but you’re irresistible,” he breathed hit hot against her neck. “Come here, Izza. Come to me.”

  She propped her bottle of water against the granite chair before she gave in to him for some ‘Come here’ time together. Connor made love with Izza under the wide desert sky.

  Boomerang watched from his safe distance at the crest of the granite cave. Homer stared unblinking from his rock corral. And somewhere miles above the earth, a Defense military satellite snapped photo after photo after photo....

  “You don’t understand,” DEA Director Scott Sylvane said evenly. Out of the blue, he’d flown to Utah and gone directly to Tom Baxter to request a meeting with Alex. Sitting across the Governor’s conference table from two very polished politicians only irked Alex all the more.

  “Then enlighten me,” growled Alex. “Your last words were ‘need to know,’ Scott. Well, I sonofabitchin’ need to know.”

  The only encouraging part of the afternoon was that he’d been required to leave his cell phone with Tom’s secretary, which meant the Governor’s office was SCIF enabled, a Sensitive Compartment Information Facility. SCIF rooms were safe rooms, specifically designed to protect top secret intel against electronic surveillance from corporate spies or foreign operatives. That was the first hint of possible DEA cooperation. Scott might actually have come to Utah to share some of his top-secret intelligence for a change.

  He removed a thick gray business file from his briefcase and slid it across the table to Alex. “This won’t help much, but it’s yours. You’ve got smart people working for you, Alex. They should be able to extract what you need to know out of this report.”

  Alex flipped through the report. Just as he’d suspected. The file contained page after page of redacted, blacked-out intelligence. He slapped it shut and tossed the file back to Scott. “You’re as much help as you were last time. I don’t have time to decode this, and you know it.” He deliberated for all of one second before he went for broke. “I’ve got boots on the ground outside Hermosillo right now. Tell me what’s really going on inside that hacienda.”

  Scott straightened in his seat. “You do? Since when? How many?”

  “Four. Since my op was compromised. Now speak.”

  “I didn’t know the State Department approved—”

  “They’re sightseeing,” Alex lied. “The State Department doesn’t even know they’re there. My team came across a moral dilemma they could not ignore while they were... hiking.”

  Scott Sylvane was a tall, silver-haired man with the self-control of a saint. Never once did he raise his voice or pull rank like many other federal directors of important agencies who Alex had dealt with in the past. Those good traits rankled Alex all the more, but especially now that he’d confessed to an unauthorized operation inside a foreign country, and an ally at that. Civilian contractors just didn’t do those kinds of things. Usually.

  “That moral dilemma your agents are up against wouldn’t have anything to do the Sonoran Cartel, would it?” Scott asked, his long fingers sedately interlocked on the table in front of him and the corners of his mouth crinkled with sarcasm.

  “Yes,” Alex admitted point blank.

  “Before we go any further, Director Sylvane, there is something else you need to be aware of,” Tom Baxter interrupted. “Miguel Ramirez is dead.”

  “He is?” Scott turned on Tom, his eyes widened with shock. “When did that happen? How?”

  Tom nodded. “It doesn’t matter. We believe the cartel got to him inside the secure portion of our county jail.”

  “Why am I just hearing about this now?”

  “Probably for the same reason I only recently found out three DEA agents were murdered in one of my canyons last year,” Tom shot back. “I placed a temporary gag order on my people to keep this out of the news so we could get one step ahead of the SC for a change, something I don’t seem to be able to do with DEA in my backyard. You want to explain that?”

  “How can you be sure it was someone from the cartel?”

  “Because I don’t know many Americans who know how to poison a man with the venom from bark scorpions, do you?”

  Scott blew out a deep sigh as he glanced from Tom back to Alex. “Okay. Okay. It’s time we put all of our cards on the table, gentlemen. Me first.” He turned to Tom. “You’re right. The SC likes a gruesome death. Scorpion venom would work. They’ve used it before. It’s one of their trademarks. And yes, I squelched the press reports about the DEA murders last year. They were barbaric and cruel. The citizens of Utah didn’t need to know. Besides, I couldn’t allow the SC to believe for one second they had the upper hand in your state.”

  “Did they?” Alex ask
ed.

  “Momentarily,” Scott admitted. “Not anymore.”

  “What happened?”

  Scott hesitated. “Let’s just say that we had an unfortunate confrontation that led to an awful mistake. That’s all I can say.”

  “But those agent’s families deserve to know the truth,” Tom insisted.

  “No.” The DEA Director shook his head bleakly. “They don’t. Right now, they think their sons and husbands are on an extended undercover operation that required a complete information blackout. When the time is right, I will tell them their men died honorably for their country in the line of duty, but I will not reveal the brutal nature of their deaths. No family deserves that final memory.”

  “That’s a damn low way to treat their families,” Tom muttered.

  Scott Sylvane offered a shrug and a tired smile. “Believe me. I sold my soul long ago to protect my country. If I have to sell another piece of it to shield these families from atrocities committed, you can bet I will.”

  “The truth will out,” Alex warned. “You’re sitting on a ticking bomb with the kind of press we have today.”

  Scott nodded, his eyes to the table. “And I hope the American people will understand when the day comes that I’m explaining to Congress and other so called important people who’ve never once stood in the line of fire. My intentions are pure. I’ve done what I’ve done to save more than just one state, Tom. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re in a war. The SC smoked through Arizona like it was nothing. Fast forward ten years. Hell, fast forward just two years. Our borders are already breached. I don’t want to burst your bubble, gentlemen, but cartels far worse than the SC are headed north.” He lifted his head and his eyes went straight to Alex. “You’re a Marine. You know the drill. Men like you and me who actually believe in our country are just in the way.”

  “Then why the slow roll this year?” Alex asked, his appreciation for the DEA Director at an all time high. “You’ve got a team up the canyon right now sitting on their thumbs.”

  “Actually, I don’t. Special Agents Burkhouse and Denton are two of my finest. Randy had strict orders to infiltrate the cartel. He’s accomplished more—”

  “You’ve got a man inside,” Alex hissed. Instantly, he understood the perceived lack of DEA cooperation. They’d slow-rolled his team because they couldn’t risk endangering their undercover operative.

  Scott nodded. “I do. Carlos Santiago has been deep undercover for the last three years. I believe one of your men met him during a close encounter in the canyon. Broke his nose. Left Carlos with some explaining to do, but also made him look more authentic. One of your men wouldn’t be a surfer out of California, would he? Tan, blond, moves like a cat?”

  “Connor Maher. From Boston,” Alex answered, pleased that Connor had made an impression on the DEA’s face. “Was Santiago involved in the ambush of my men?”

  “No,” Scott declared quickly. “He was on his way back to Mexico with Ramirez’s wife when it happened.”

  “So what now?” Tom asked, his fingers tapping impatiently on the heavy wooden table.

  Alex revealed his last card. “Ramirez begged me to rescue his daughters. Do you know why?”

  “Yes,” Scott said. “For the last seven months, Carlos has been working with operatives of CISEN, the Mexican Center for Research and National Security. They’ve suspected Alejandra of running her own game behind Miguel’s back for a while now. She’s used his influence to build her own very considerable power base. Carlos suspected she might have her eye on taking over the cartel her husband built. Not until he and the agents from CISEN were able to put two and two together did they realize how truly devious she is. You see Alejandra has another child, one whom she’s kept secret from Ramirez for fifteen years. Ricardo Quinones.”

  “Javier’s kid?” Tom asked. “She’s got a son with her brother?”

  Scott nodded. “At first Carlos thought Ricardo was just a nephew or something. Javier’s got enough brothers and sisters. But then one of the CISEN informants embedded inside the Quinones hacienda discovered the truth. The kid’s no nephew. He’s next in line to be run the cartel.”

  Alex pressed two fingers to his throbbing temple at the lengths people went to for power and greed. “Sonofabitch. Then Quinones must be grooming his bastard son to take over the cartel. The purge is to eliminate any other heirs or opposition to the Ramirez throne. That’s why the—”

  “What purge?” Scott asked in alarm.

  “The one taking place right now in Sonora,” Alex said. “Javier’s army showed up yesterday. My team believes they’re killing anyone in the Ramirez hacienda loyal to Miguel.”

  Scott breathed in a huge breath as this new intelligence registered. Alex could almost see the wheels spinning in his head. “Then Operation Cristero must conclude tonight,” he muttered to himself.

  “Operation Cristero?” Alex asked.

  Suddenly, Scott looked very tired. “Yes. You know how the people of Mexico think. Everything has to do with saints and honor. In the late 1920s, Elías Calles was the fortieth President of Mexico. He waged a bloody war in Sonora against all Christian clerics because, as he saw it, organized religion had grown too powerful and threatened his country. It was nothing more than a lie to further his own power play, but many priests and monks were executed for their faith. The people fought back in a counter-revolution they named Cristeros in honor of—”

  “Christ the King,” Alex said. “Understood, but why? This cartel is not attacking religious freedom.”

  “No, but Javier and Alejandra Quinones are heirs of Elías Calles. Why else the name of their hacienda?”

  Alex paused. Why did he not know that piece of information if it was so important?

  Scott offered a bemused smile. “The people of Hermosillo call it Hacienda de Jefe Máximo, the title Elías Calles bestowed upon himself when he was in power. The man was a flaming ego maniac.”

  Alex got the connection. The current residents of the hacienda were as ruthless as Calles, but that only explained the name of the operation. He didn’t really care. “What the hell is Operation Cristero about?”

  “It is the Mexican government’s complete takedown of all drug cartels throughout their country. The people are tired of living in fear. Their Presidente had finally heard their cries for justice. He has vowed to send his army.”

  All Alex heard was his men were in the middle of a hornet’s nest about to get hit with a big stick. “When can you get hold of your man inside?” he asked bluntly.

  “Immediately. Where are your men?”

  “They’re keeping watch outside the Ramirez estate. I told them to retrieve the girls. They planned to go in tonight.”

  “They’re going in alone?” Scott asked in dismay. “You sent four men against an army of hundreds?”

  “No,” Alex barked. “I sent two damned good ex-Marines and the agents your superstar Burkhouse canned.”

  Scott didn’t bat an eye. He turned to Tom. “I need my damned phone.”

  For hours they slept, wrapped up in each other’s arms and oblivious to the scorching sun that rolled across the sky. Izza lay with her back to Connor, his arm a pillow for her head. Their bedroom was nothing more than a cave full of rocks, dirt, a few old soda pop bottles and a banged up coffee pot. And she couldn’t have felt happier.

  “Remember the fireworks the first time we made love?” Connor murmured.

  She squirmed around in his arms to face him. “I’m pretty sure those were RPGs. Not fireworks.”

  “Nope. They were big, beautiful red fireworks that spelled I. Z. Z. A. They were way up high in the sky. You couldn’t miss them.” He lifted his palm to the ceiling as if he could make her see what he’d seen that first time. Watching the glow in his eyes never ceased to amaze her. Connor could make the sun shine on a dark day.

  “Nope. Sorry. RPGs,” she teased just to see the light in those Pacific blues again.

  “It was you.” He kissed her forehead. “W
hen we get back to civilization, I want a do-over. I want the chance to do this right.”

  “Are you telling me we didn’t do it right this time?” she asked, lifting one eyebrow in mischief.

  He rubbed her baby bump. “Not exactly. We’ve both done good, but I want to make love to you on something besides dirt. I want to feed you chocolate-covered strawberries and champagne. I want to spoil you rotten like the brat you are.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes. The day she never imagined would come had finally arrived. She was finally willing to be loved, and here lay the man who actually did.

  “Do you ever wonder why things happen the way they do? Like those words in the locket?” she asked pensively.

  He pulled her under his chin. “What do you think?”

  “I think it was a message from Jamie. I know it sounds weird, but he’d do something like that. Like when Dad would come home drunk, Jamie and me would hide. Sometimes Dad caught me anyway, but Jamie always made me laugh after it was over. You know? He always found a way to show me that he loved me even when I felt like no one else did.”

  “Your dad was real hard on you, wasn’t he?”

  “Yeah,” she admitted. Connor might as a well know the truth. “He was a mean drunk. Didn’t care which one of us he got hold of. He’d used anything within reach—belt, the phone cord, a chair. It didn’t matter. He just kept hitting, like somehow that would bring her back.”

  Connor squeezed her tightly. “Your mother?”

  She nodded. “Yes, my Mama. When she died of cancer, everything good in Dad died, too. At first, he spent days sitting in their bedroom drinking and crying. I don’t think he really saw Jamie and me after that. We were just in his way. We got to be good at hiding or just not being home when he was. One time, we even planned to make him fall down the stairs. It didn’t work.”

  “Where is he? You want me to look him up?”