Quintanar exchanged a dark, satisfied look with his brother. “That’s just fine with us, sir. I only hope we find him first.”
De Cavallos nodded. “If you do, then you will have the chance to avenge the stain on your honor. I don’t care who does it, but Agent Cooper will not be leaving this town alive.”
BOLAN GLANCED BACK, making sure no one was on their tail. “Can you get us back to that side road that runs past your place without using the highway?”
“Sure—why?”
“Gotta stash the backup wheels and pick up my gear.”
Despite the drive, they weren’t that far away from the Cadillac, and Kelly’s expert knowledge of the back roads brought them to it in less than ten minutes. Bolan had kept his eyes open along the way, and once he was in the rental, drove it back to an obviously abandoned farmhouse with a leaning, once-red barn, its bright color faded underneath years of relentless of sun and wind. Shoving the door open, Bolan backed the SUV inside, then grabbed his bags, rearranged a few things and locked the vehicle. He walked out, closed the door, and glancing around to make sure no one had seen what he was up to, took a few minutes to wipe away the tire tracks in the dusty driveway.
When he got back in, he handed the Caddy’s keys and electronic fob to Kelly. “If for some reason we get separated or things go bad, you come back here, take the SUV and drive for the next county police, you hear me? If you don’t feel comfortable with that, head to your nearest relatives. There’s two thousand dollars in the compartment between the front seats. That should be enough to get you just about anywhere you need to go. Now let’s head back to town.”
As Kelly took a roundabout way back into town, Bolan held the dead gunman’s cell phone in his hand, weighing the risks of using it. He was pretty sure the crew at Stony Man Farm would be able to scramble the conversation, but there was always the possibility that the bad guys might be advanced enough to be able to triangulate his position while it was in use. No matter what, he’d be ditching it after the call, which would seriously hinder his ability to remain in contact with the Farm.
Keeping an eye on his watch, Bolan flipped the phone open and dialed the access number. Kurtzman’s voice answered on the first ring. “Is this line secure?”
“No, we’ve got about two minutes.”
“Initiating security communication protocols.” Bolan heard a distant hum in the phone’s speaker—their conversation was now scrambled, although the phone’s activation would still show up on the grid. “Bought us another minute, maybe two. What the hell’s going on out there, Striker? We lost your sat phone signal ten minutes ago—blackbox said it had suffered ‘unknown damage,’ and didn’t know if you were alive or dead.”
“Things have gotten a lot more complicated since we last spoke.” Bolan quickly outlined the events of the past hour or so, ending with the destruction of the cruiser. “The witness to the parents’ shooting is with me, and we’re holing up for a bit until I can plan my next move. I don’t know what’s going on here, but whatever it is, it’s deep, and the people behind it are very well financed and organized. By the way, I’ve got another hack job for Akira. I turned on the Bitterman’s home computer, so have him get into it and see if Jack kept any personal records about what he was doing or what the company is up to. Other than that, I don’t have any more intel—you got any light you can shed on this?”
“Not on Cristobal Pharmaceuticals. If they’re dirty, they’ve got a great PR firm working for them. There hasn’t been a whiff of any wrongdoing in the past five years. Of course, records south of the border are much spottier, but even our law-enforcement contacts in Central and South America haven’t come up with anything solid yet. Give me another twenty-four hours and I might come up with something, but by that time you’ll probably have destroyed the whole organization. As for your deputy, that’s another story.”
“Do tell. Wait a sec.” Bolan glanced at Kelly as they swung off the road onto a narrow dirt trail. “What’s going on?”
“Roadblock over the hill, so we’re going around. Don’t worry, I know the folks that own this land. We kids do it all the time.”
Bolan looked at her with new respect. “How’d you know the road was blocked?”
“You can see through the two hills over here if you know where to look. It’s a speed trap, and only catches the folks who don’t know about it.”
“Good eye.” Bolan returned to his conversation. “Go.”
“Quintanar, Rojas Esteban Arroyo, served in the Colombian military, fighting the counterinsurgency war against FARC in the midnineties. He quit in 1999, and headed north to the U.S.A. He’s one of three brothers, and apparently liked what he saw once he got here, because he brought them all up, too.”
“What? How in the hell did these guys get U.S. citizenship that quickly?”
“They either have masterfully forged documents, a lot of palms were greased, or maybe a little bit of both. We’re still checking ICE records in Homeland Security to see if these guys are flagged, but so far they’ve kept their noses amazingly clean.”
“Yeah, until tonight.”
“Maybe so, but the county force is twelve men strong, and right now we should probably assume they’re all out hunting for you. I think it’s best that we pull you in, then regroup and hit these guys hard.”
“Normally I’d agree with you, but they’re already on alert. If we give them even twelve hours, they’ll clean up anything incriminating and meet us with open arms, empty computers and no evidence, and shrug when we accuse them of anything. Besides, I still don’t know what the hell’s going on here. It’s a lot more than just some corrupt deputies, but I want some kind of proof so I can take down these scum once and for all. If I just walk away—” Bolan’s gaze flicked to Kelly “—at least two people will have died for nothing.”
“That sounds like a tall order, Striker. I know you’ve come through hellfire before, but you’re on unfamiliar terrain and surrounded by the enemy.”
“Maybe, but their control of the town has made them overconfident. Besides, they have to cover the whole area looking for me, while I’m staying mobile, moving light and fast. By morning I should have everything I’ll need to really bring in the DOJ to clean this up.”
“The boss is going to raise his eyebrows at this lone wolf bit.”
“They started it, so I’m just going to finish it. And Hal knows that I do what I have to do. Gotta go, our time’s up.”
“Striker, you know I have to call in reinforcements, especially since this is an unsanctioned op. You gonna remain on this cell?”
“Can’t. Too many unfriendly ears around. I’ll call in again in a few hours.” Bolan hung up, then slid off the battery cover. Unplugging the battery, he lowered the window and threw it out, then slid out the SIM chip, broke it in two, and did the same a half mile down the road. The rest of the phone followed a minute later.
Kelly cast furtive glances around as they came to an intersection on the north side of town. “We’re coming back in. You might want to keep your head down.”
Bolan didn’t slouch one inch. “That’s why I chose the Miracle Mile on this side of town. It’s the one on your left. My room is number 9.”
“Says the guy who’s only been here a day to the girl who’s grown up here her whole life.” Kelly rolled her eyes as she pulled into the parking lot, driving around back and nosing the Escalade into a space in the empty lot. “I’m dying for a shower.”
“It’s all yours. Just let me make sure the room’s secure first.” Bolan leaned down and checked to make sure the hair he’d pasted to the door with saliva was still attached to the jamb. Sometimes the simplest alarm systems were still the best, he noted, casually glancing around. Other than a skinny Hispanic kid pushing a cleaning cart down at the other end of the motel, the place was deserted. “Okay, let’s go.”
Bolan inserted his key in the lock and opened the door, pushing it as he walked into the room. A shadow moved in the moonlight to hi
s right, and he smelled a familiar cologne.
Shit.
As he reached for the Beretta, he felt a small circle of cold steel press into his temple, and a familiar voice mocked him.
“Please give me a reason to pull this trigger, amigo.”
8
Bolan tensed for a moment, wanting to disarm the arrogant punk and pushing his face into the nearest wall. It wouldn’t be difficult. Putting a gun this close to a target’s head was practically an invitation to have it taken away, and Bolan knew a half-dozen ways to do so in under two seconds.
“Who’s— Hey, what are you doing? Let me go!” Kelly’s panicking voice behind him made Bolan’s decision for him. He relaxed and slowly moved his hand away from the pistol.
The Beretta was snatched from its holster. “Set the bag down, slowly, and walk to the center of the room.”
The lights came on as he did so, and once he had reached the middle of the room Bolan turned, blinking in the glare. Everado De Cavallos stood by the door, pointing a big, chrome pistol at Bolan’s face. Two more of his crew Bolan recognized from that afternoon shoved Kelly through the door, closing it behind them. The soldier sensed another person come out of the bathroom, and realized the whole gang was here. Kelly sank into a cloth-and-wooden chair near the door, the two who had escorted her taking up positions on either side of her.
“Well, well, look what we have here—the man the entire sheriff’s department couldn’t catch. And who’s this with him? The little bitch that gave Deputy Quintanar the slip yesterday.” Everado chuckled, his laughter picked up by the rest of his followers. Suddenly the young man’s expression turned serious. “I can’t wait to see what they say when we bring these two in gift wrapped.”
Bolan took them by surprise by speaking. “You’re pretty good, I’ll give you that. How’d you find us?”
The four youths burst out laughing, although Everado’s gun never wavered from Bolan’s head. Finally, Everado waved at the others to shut up. “Man, have you ever been in a small town? Everyone knows everything here. My homie working the cleaning crew gave me the 411 on you checking in this afternoon after I spread your picture around to my boys. He let me and Carlos in through the back window, and Luis and Paco took the rooms on either side, to make sure you didn’t book out the front. Once we were all in position, all we had to do was stay awake until you came back. Too easy.”
Guess those old security methods don’t work as well as I’d thought, Bolan concluded. “Better than I expected from four small-town punks, that’s for sure.”
Everado’s face darkened, and he stepped closer to Bolan, thumbing back the hammer on his SIG-Sauer. “I’d watch that shit if I were you. No one said you had to go to Cristobal in one piece, gringo.”
“Look, you guys don’t want to do this. My name is Matt Cooper, and I’m a federal agent with the Department of Justice, Domestic Security Section. That deputy who bailed you out earlier today is already in a lot of trouble, and I don’t think you boys want to go down with him.” Bolan slowly lowered his right hand and held it out. “Why don’t you give me the gun, and we can talk this over?”
The four boys exchanged glances again, then they all burst out laughing even harder than before. While they were yukking it up, Bolan exchanged his own glance with Kelly. Although her lips were tight with fear, she also had a free hand dangling near the black canvas bag Bolan had dropped near the door. Her eyes flicked down at it, then up at him again. Bolan shook his head, then lifted his gaze to the cheap light fixture overhead. Staring at her, he waited to see if she understood his message. She frowned, then nodded just as Everado feigned wiping a tear from his eye and shook his head.
“You sure you’re not a fucking comedian? You have no fucking idea what you’re in the middle of, do you?”
“Why don’t you enlighten me?”
As Bolan figured, the kid couldn’t resist the bait. “Dumbass norteamericano, you accidentally stumbled into the biggest drug lab in the state, probably in the country, all operating under your estupido government’s very nose. We’re running tons of the shit out of here every week, and nobody knows jack about it. Oh, your DEA agents know that hundreds of pounds of high-grade stuff are swarming out of the middle of your country, but they have no idea where to look. They still think it’s Charley Blue-Collar cooking it up in his basement or an RV. It’s the fucking perfect setup. Shit, we just should have thought of it years ago.”
Bolan nodded. “So Cristobal makes the dying town of Quincyville an offer it can’t refuse, right? It sets up its headquarters nearby, bringing jobs and economic prosperity to the area. And in return all it wants to do is run what, coke, meth out of the location to your distributors around the country? Pretty slick.”
Everado nodded as Bolan summarized the operation. “Hey, you got it, homes. And you know what the best thing about it is? Since Cristobal’s a pharmaceutical company, we make the pseudoephedrine that we use in the meth production! No worries about trying to acquire mass quantities!”
The four boys laughed again. When the laughter died down once again, Everado took a firmer grip on his pistol. “So you see, we aren’t worried about a lone federal agent out here. There’s a million miles of fuckin’ prairie to bury you under, although since they have all that acid and shit at the company, I doubt anyone’s ever gonna find your body once my father’s done with you.”
“Your father’s head of security at Cristobal?”
Everado frowned in puzzlement. “Yeah, why?”
“Because I spoke to him earlier this evening.”
“Oh, you two have a good chat?”
Bolan’s expression turned ice-cold. “I doubt he thought so. I talked to him right after I’d killed three of his men and told him I was coming for him next.”
Everado grinned again, glancing at his boys. “You got co-jones, that’s for sure, federale. I might want to stick around, see how long it takes him to break you.”
“You won’t want to see that, trust me.”
The younger De Cavallos sobered. “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.” He shook his head again. Given that and Everado’s twitchiness, Bolan had already pegged him for at least a casual meth user, maybe about to take it to the next level.
“That’s enough fun and games. Time to take you and the bitch here in for interrogation.”
Bolan glanced over at Kelly. “Now.”
She reached up behind the thug on her right and hit the light switch, plunging the room into darkness. Bolan ducked as Everado’s pistol flashed and roared, the bullet passing over his head.
Crouching, the soldier lashed out with his heel at where Everado’s shins should have been. He was rewarded with a meaty impact and a grunt of pain, followed by a heavy thump as the punk hit the floor. Bolan was already heading toward the door, where two figures silhouetted against the parking lot light fought with a snarling, kicking wildcat in the chair. One of them reached over and flipped on the room light just in time to see Bolan next to him, both hands raised in a hammer blow that came crashing down on the spot between his neck and shoulder. Stunned, the youth sank to the floor.
“Fuckin’ shoot him!” Everado shouted as Bolan flicked the lights off again.
Kelly was doing everything in her power to fend off the second guard, but he was slowly overpowering her. Bolan drove a hard fist into the young man’s kidney, making him groan and release her. Grabbing him by the shoulders, the soldier whipped him around, shoving him into the center of the room. He slammed into somebody—Everado, Bolan hoped—and they both fell to the floor in a huge crash.
“Out the door, let’s go!” Bolan grabbed Kelly’s arm with his right hand and the black bag with his left, slinging it over his shoulder so he could reach for the door. The bathroom light flicked on just as he got the door open.
“Freeze, both of you!” the fourth youth by the bathroom said. Bolan let go of Kelly just long enough to flick the room lights back on, then shoved her out the door, lunging out and to the left himself.
Gunshots sounded behind him, but he was already hauling Kelly down the outside hallway and around the corner.
“Let go! I can run better without you draggin’ me!” Kelly panted beside him, but once Bolan released her, she pulled ahead of him.
“Are you hurt? Were you shot anywhere?” Bolan asked as they ran.
“Don’t think so…what’s the plan?”
“Get to the Escalade and get the hell out of here. Those shots’ll bring the deputies any minute.”
“Don’t you think they’re gonna figure out where we’re going?”
“Possibly, that’s why we’re moving fast. Come on.” At the rear corner of the building, Bolan peeked around and saw no one near the SUV. “Stay low.” He took a flash-bang grenade out of his bag and kept it ready as they crept underneath the first-floor windows of the other rooms toward their vehicle. As they approached, Bolan could hear Everado berating his boys for their incompetence.
They were only a few yards from the SUV when the bathroom window slid open. As a head started to poke out, Bolan stepped forward and grabbed the youth by his neck, pulling him out and slamming him to the ground. A shout from inside sounded a warning, but Bolan had already yanked the pin on his grenade and tossed it into the small room. He turned to Kelly. “Get in, and don’t look behind you.”
“What the— Holy sh—!” came from the room before bright white flashes could be seen, even facing away from the motel. They were followed immediately by a series of loud booms that rattled Bolan’s ears. Anyone inside the room would have been almost completely deafened from the concussions.
“Time to go.” Bolan slid behind the wheel and fired up the SUV. Backing out of the parking space, he pulled around to the front as three coughing figures stumbled out of the smoking room. Amazingly, one of them could still see well enough to spot the Escalade as they left the parking lot.
Stand Down Page 8