The Cartel (A Sarah Roberts Thriller Book 15)

by Jonas Saul

  “Two buns with butter,” he said. He met Aaron’s eyes. “Why the butter? A female’s touch, perhaps? Why not just the bread?”

  Aaron shrugged. “It’s better than the one bun yesterday.”

  Casper crawled closer to Aaron and handed him the package.

  “Here, you eat both.”

  Aaron snapped his head up. “What? Why?”

  “You need to get your strength up.”

  “And you don’t?”

  “You’re the martial arts expert. You’re the hand-to-hand combat guru. My physical state will decline over the next few days without food, but I need yours healing. At least meet me halfway. Eat all the food they give us for a week and then if we’re still alive in a week’s time, I’ll start eating my share.”

  “Absolutely not.” Aaron shoved a bun in front of Casper. “Eat your share now.”

  Casper stared into Aaron’s eyes. “I wasn’t joking. Get your strength up. Eat. You need to survive this. It’s you they want, not me. I’m a federal agent. I’ll probably be dead inside twenty-four hours.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Why would they kill you?”

  “You’re being naive. This is a Mexican cartel. After what they did to Hector, you think they’ll let a federal agent live? Eating that food would be wasting it. Now eat. Then do pushups, sit-ups. Build your strength. Be ready. That’s how you survive this.”

  Casper crawled away and sat in the farthest corner from Aaron as he ate. How long had he been unconscious? How far from Tijuana were they? And how did the Mexican authorities not know about this place?

  His personal items had been taken. His ring, watch and wallet had been removed. Even his socks and shoes. They must have taken it to incinerate it. To begin the process of removing any sign of Special Agent Buck Schaffer. He had to admit to himself that this was the end. He had sat in that hotel as if in a thick web, waiting for the spider to claim its prize. He had made mistakes before, underestimated people, but this was by far the dumbest mistake he’d ever made and it was going to cost him his life.

  His long and illustrious career had two black marks, but those were circumstantial errors. Early in his career, his partner had been ambushed, shot and killed at a house fire. They had been responding to shots fired in the area. When they got there, the house was ablaze. Rick stayed out front while Casper ran to the back. He was able to crawl in a broken window and pull out an unconscious five-year-old boy. He had saved the boy’s life, but his partner had died. The house owner had just killed his wife and was trying to burn the evidence. When he saw a cop on his front lawn, he shot him. If the roles had been switched, it would’ve been Casper who was killed. Losing a partner that way had stung. Saving the boy was the one reason Casper stayed on and dealt with Rick’s death.

  The other time was when he lost his cool on a female pimp during a human trafficking sting. This woman had been torturing and terrorizing her girls, some as young as fifteen, to do terrible and horrific things for the male clientele. When she was being arrested, she had spit in Casper’s face, then head butted him. He cuffed her in the head so hard he knocked her out. After a day in the hospital, the charges against her were dropped and Casper was reassigned.

  He heard a year later that she had been killed, supposedly by one of her own girls. No one ever proved it. The pimp’s body was nearly decapitated. No weapon was ever found. No fibers, no hair and no signs of struggle. She just ended up dead.

  He’d dealt with small-time made men, hit men, murderers and even one serial killer case. But cartel business was his new assignment and fucking up this early held its price.

  He lowered his head and closed his eyes. A lingering effect from the tranquilizer dart made him feel drowsy. Or maybe he was just tired.

  Someone smashed the exterior door. Chains rattled outside.

  Casper jerked his head up. Aaron had been lying down and was getting up, too. The food was nowhere in sight.

  A stab of sunshine shot through the small prison cell as the door was opened.

  “Get up. Let’s go.”

  Six burly men entered the room. Two grabbed Aaron and two came for Casper.

  Is this it?

  Once he was on his feet and turned toward the door, he squinted at the bright sun. They half dragged, half walked him outside and then turned to the left. He tried to look behind him to see Aaron, but each time he did, the man on that side jammed Casper’s shoulder, forcing his head straight.

  The sweltering heat outside was a vast difference to the air inside the sheltered cell. From the position of the sun, he put it at about ten in the morning.

  Sweat broke out on the back of his neck as he struggled to keep up with the men on either side. No one said a thing, which allowed him to follow Aaron’s progress behind him.

  They headed across the property toward a large helicopter parked on a helipad out front of the huge house that Aaron had described earlier. The rest of the grounds were just as Aaron had said. The stables, the horses, the barn, even the cars parked in front of the estate home.

  Casper listened for traffic, cars on a highway. He searched the sky for planes. Maybe he’d see a flight path and be able to determine where Tijuana’s airport was. But there was only the noise the men made. He could be at a ranch in Maine, Montana, or New Orleans for all he knew. It certainly didn’t look like Mexico. The outer fence was high, wrapped in barbed wire and electrified, as Aaron had said.

  The fence was put in after, which probably meant this estate was purchased for cartel use, because the fence was built in a zig zag formation, keeping under the shelter of tall tree branches the entire time. The fence would be hardly visible from the air. Even low-flying planes wouldn’t be able to see it. These guys were serious thinkers. Whoever ran security for Enzo Miguel Guzman knew what he was doing. Unless this was Enzo’s idea, which would make more sense knowing what Casper knew of the man.

  As they neared the helicopter, he got a better look inside the craft. Two men were tied to the rear wall by their wrists. Bruises, welts, and lacerated skin dominated their faces, necks, and hands.

  Where were they taking them? A new prison? To meet Enzo?

  The benefit for him was he would get an aerial view of the estate, which would make it better to advise Aaron on his escape plans.

  At the helicopter’s open door, the men shoved him inside. Aaron followed, landing on the back of Casper’s legs. He grunted in pain and waited until Aaron rolled off him.

  Before Casper had a chance to get up, someone dragged him to the back wall where he was secured between the two other prisoners. Aaron was tied beside him.

  The rotors began spinning. Two of the men who brought him and Aaron to the helicopter jumped on board, one guarding each side’s open door. They clipped into a safety hook that connected to a body harness and leaned out over the edge at a forty-five degree angle. Each man smiled like they were kids about to take the ultimate roller coaster ride.

  Moments before the helicopter lifted off, a thick man stepped up to the open door and stared at Casper.

  Aaron stiffened beside him.

  “That’s the man,” Aaron said loud enough to be heard over the rotors. “He cut my finger off. I call him Spanish.”

  The man hopped on the craft and it lifted off. He hooked himself onto a clip that ran the length of the roof of the helicopter which allowed him to walk back and forth without falling out either open door.

  No one spoke as the chopper cleared the main house and continued to rise, wind buffeting them from both sides. Casper caught a glimpse of the hard-packed earth and baked terrain surrounding the compound before the man—Spanish— kicked him in the side of the ribs. He buckled inward and brought his knees up.

  “Why are you here, in Mexico?” Spanish shouted in his ear from a few feet away. With the doors open on either side and without a helmet, the sound of the rotors was like being in front of the speakers at a Metallica concert while the drummer thrashed on the drums repeatedly. Casper shook his head ba
ck and forth to try to block the sound of the thunderous roar.

  Spanish bent down close to Casper. “Where’s Sarah?” he asked. “Tell me and I’ll let you live.” He leaned closer. “We’ll fly by, observe Sarah, verify you’re telling the truth and then drop you off and wait for your people to come pick you up.” The chopper banked to the right and soared above the treetops. “Do we have a deal?”

  Casper turned to face Spanish. “I have no idea where Sarah is. She was in room 510 at the hotel. When your guys showed up, she was already gone.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Spanish stepped away, moved to one of the two men hooked to the back wall and snapped the clip that bound him there. He fell in a heap on the floor of the chopper, grasping at the floor for something to hold onto, his face panic stricken at the thought of falling out.

  Spanish shouted something to the pilot.

  The helicopter flipped sideways.

  Completely sideways. The prisoner groveling on the floor disappeared out the open door and fell hundreds of feet to his death.

  Spanish and his two men shot into the open air, their safety straps and harnesses supporting them as they hung there. The guard on the outside of the helicopter was at least five feet out in open air, smiling as he dangled from his safety strap.

  The three men still strapped to the back wall were suspended by their cuffed wrists. Casper forced his mouth closed at the pain as Aaron and the other prisoner screamed over the sound of the rotors.

  The helicopter righted and everyone dropped back onto the floor, minus the one man.

  “One down,” Spanish shouted at Casper. “The untied man fell to his death a thousand feet below because of you. Where have your people stashed Sarah?”

  Casper shot a glance at Aaron and was surprised to not see fear on his face. Aaron’s jaw was set, his eyes ablaze with anger. He stared at Spanish with a mask of hatred. Casper understood that anger. He’d felt it before. Learning how to control that kind of anger was the key. Lashing out and losing your cool was a mistake and Aaron was youthful and close to being killed for his rage. But what Casper knew of Aaron and Sarah, and what had happened to them because of this man, made him want to kill Spanish, too.

  “Tell me,” Spanish shouted. “Who attacked my men at the Baja Café? Did your team set that up?” He grabbed his safety rope and yanked it so he could lean in closer to Casper. “What does, no one lives mean? That was the message we were supposed to receive. A nun delivered it. A nun named Sarah Roberts.”

  Casper averted his eyes. Sarah? Dressed as a nun? Of course. She could get inside a café and out again dressed like that.

  He tried to empty his mind. His blank stare fixed on the horizon as he listened to the thunder of the rotors above.

  “Tell me who drove the black Hummer. Was it your people? Or Sarah’s? Whoever it was murdered a lot of my men.” Spanish appeared to be losing control. “I want names,” he shouted.

  Spanish’s helper unhooked the other prisoner as he cried and pleaded. Then he shoved him toward Spanish. The man dropped at Spanish’s feet and began pleading for his life, wrapping an arm around Spanish’s ankles.

  Spanish drew a small pistol, leaned down and pushed it into the top of the prisoner’s head. The man’s cries for mercy doubled.

  “I have a hundred men scouring the streets of Tijuana looking for that fucking Hummer. It will be blasted to hell when it’s found. Who drove it, Casper?” He said the name with obvious distaste. “Talk, Special Agent Schaffer, or this man dies.”

  “Don’t kill him,” Casper shouted. “I don’t know where Sarah is and I have no idea who was at the Baja Café. I don’t know anything about a Hummer. We were ordered to stand down. We were ordered to wait. You would be killing that man for nothing.”

  “What does no one lives mean? Why send that message to me? To Enzo?”

  Casper shook his head in a short spurt. “I have no idea. Maybe it was Sarah. She’s on her own now. Who knows where she is.” He was spewing what he could think of in the moment, but the look in Spanish’s eyes told him everything. He was going to kill this prisoner whether he learned what he wanted to learn or not.

  A second later, Spanish’s eyes not leaving Casper’s, he pulled the trigger.

  The prisoner’s body went rigid as blood shot out the other side of his head, then dropped limp to the floor of the chopper. Spanish kicked until the prisoner was gone, lost to the open air.

  Casper’s heart rate doubled. Spanish was certifiably insane. Firing a weapon inside the helicopter was crazy. He could have hit vital components, fuel lines or a ricochet could kill someone. Casper could only imagine what Aaron was going through.

  The helicopter changed course.

  Spanish nodded toward Aaron. His beast of a guard on Aaron’s side unhooked Aaron’s cuffed hands and dragged him to Spanish’s feet.

  “Don’t,” Casper shouted. “You need him.”

  Spanish shot his head around. “I don’t need anybody.”

  The wind buffeted them from both sides as the helicopter shot through the morning sky.

  “What I need is the location of Sarah Roberts.”

  “I can’t give you what you need because I don’t have it.”

  Spanish watched him for what felt like half a minute. Then he pulled his boot back and kicked Aaron hard enough to make Aaron roll over and curl up, gasping for air.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  The helicopter leveled out, its speed tapering off. Casper thought he saw the roof of the Enzo compound’s house between the trees.

  “What can you tell me?” Spanish asked. “Offer something I don’t already know. Spare Aaron’s life.”

  Casper had nothing to bargain with. The Mexican authorities had kept him in the dark. He was worried he’d have to deal with an irate Sarah and now he was being pumped for information that he didn’t have. Two men had just died for nothing and Aaron’s life was next.

  “Do you enjoy watching me kill people?” Spanish asked. “Is that it?”

  “NO!” Casper shouted and lunged for Spanish, his cuffs stopping him well short.

  Spanish leaned forward and said something to the pilot. It looked like Aaron understood what was about to happen and got to his knees. He met Casper’s eyes. There wasn’t a hint of regret in them. Just determination, fight. He was ready. But for what? Attack Spanish? He’d never succeed with the two armed men on either side.

  At that moment the helicopter flipped on its side again and Aaron slid to the open door. At the edge, he got his feet under him and launched off the floor at the man secured by the side door. He landed on the grunt hooked up at the side door perfectly. Aaron mounted the man’s shoulders like a monkey on his back. The man screamed and squirmed to dislodge Aaron, but Aaron clung tight, staring at the ground, eyes wide open.

  Spanish and his other man were helplessly suspended by their safety cords as well. Casper felt like his wrists would snap under the pressure. Then the chopper righted. Aaron and the man he clung to dropped to the floor of the chopper in a large heap of muscle and sweat.

  Spanish was on them in seconds, driving a fist into Aaron’s face twice and ripping Aaron off his man.

  Casper shouted for him to stop, his voice cracking with all the yelling over the sound of the rotors.

  Exhausted, Aaron rolled into the corner gasping for breath, no doubt understanding how close he came to buying the farm.

  With Casper still attached to the back wall by his wrists, he was useless as Spanish and his man brought Aaron to his feet. They stood Aaron by the open door of the helicopter and walked backwards, leaving him there, standing at the edge.

  Spanish produced a handgun.

  “Special Agent Buck Schaffer,” Spanish yelled with a glance over his shoulder. “Any last words for Aaron Stevens?”

  “Let him go,” he yelled back. “You’ve got me. Just let him go. Trade me for Sarah.”

  “You’re right. I don’t need Aaron anymore. Sarah’s here, in Mexico
. I’ll find her within days.” He turned to Casper. “Did you know I have a two hundred thousand bounty on her head? Anyone brings me her head gets a cool two hundred grand. Bring her alive and I double it.” He gestured at Aaron with the gun. “You see why I don’t need him anymore?”

  Aaron moved backwards a few more inches. At the edge of the open doorway, a calm, resolute look fell over his face.

  “I’m sorry, Casper,” Aaron shouted. “But I can’t be in the same room with this guy any more, let alone the same helicopter.”

  “What—” Casper shouted.

  “I will never help them find Sarah. They’re going to kill me anyway.”

  “Wait!” Casper tried again.

  Spanish was smiling at this display of bravado.