Alfaro waved a hand. “Don’t worry, if your friends are out there, they’re still in the jungle. There’s no way they’ll make it to town before nightfall.”
Dawson’s comm squawked in his ear and he held up a finger. “Just a second.” Stepping away, he responded. “Zero-One, go ahead, over.”
“Zero-One, Control. We’ve got a pickup for you. Details have been sent to your encrypted phone, copy?”
Dawson pulled his phone out and confirmed the message. “Copy that. Out.” He scanned the message, disguising his curiosity. He walked back over to Alfaro and his men. “I need a vehicle.”
Alfaro’s eyes narrowed. “For what?”
“I want to visit my cousin who lives near here.”
Alfaro eyed him then shook his head, a slight smile breaking out as he tossed him a set of keys. “Okay, just try not to kill your cousin or any of his friends. I don’t need the paperwork.”
46
Municipal Police Detachment
Tepich, Mexico
Officer Hector Santana sat behind his desk, wondering what he had got himself mixed up in. They were still waiting for the Federales to show up, and most of his fellow officers had called in sick, nobody wanting to be near the place with so many of El Jefe’s people in the morgue.
They were scared.
And so was he.
It was already late afternoon, and he was desperate to get out of here, though felt it his duty to stay. He had managed to get home for a few hours of sleep and a shower, but it hadn’t been enough. He was exhausted. And to add to his stress level, he had just received a call from the Chris person, obviously DEA or CIA, informing him that someone would be arriving shortly to pick up the transmitters.
The more he thought about it, the more he realized he should have kept his mouth shut and not told them about the devices. Forgetting the fact this person was American and he had no business telling them, these belonged to El Jefe. These were important to him, and he’d be wanting them back at some point.
He had no doubt that if things had gone as planned at the dump, El Jefe’s men would have removed the transmitters themselves, but now dozens of them were here, including half a dozen in a plastic evidence bag sitting on his desk. If El Jefe found out he had given them to the Americans, he’d have him killed for sure.
You’re a fool!
He was. He had got caught up in the moment, trying to do the right thing, shocked by the overwhelming violence that had taken place, the deaths of so many women he recognized and so many young people he didn’t. He should have hung up the moment his call had been interrupted, yet he hadn’t.
That at least was forgivable.
Calling them back was idiotic.
The chime at the front door sounded and he looked up from the transmitters. A man entered, walking on crutches, four kids helping him. Santana recognized the man from the neighborhood. “Señor Carona, what brings you here today?” he asked as he rose from his desk, noting the poor man’s right foot had been amputated.
“There are rumors that some people were killed. My Rosa didn’t come home last night.”
Santana frowned. There was no keeping something like this a secret, which meant there was little doubt El Jefe’s people knew by now. And if the transmitters were important to him, they could be here at any moment. But he had a job to do. “There was. A lot of people are dead. Did Rosa work at the lab south of here?”
Carona stared at the floor, unwilling to answer, that in itself an answer.
“No matter. She wasn’t among the dead we found.”
He brightened at this. “Then maybe she’s alive!”
“Perhaps. But if I were you, I wouldn’t tell anyone that. You know who’s killing all the witnesses.”
Carona’s eyes widened and his children all hugged him. “Wh-what should I do?”
“Leave.”
Carona’s eyebrows rose.
“Do you have family you can go to? Away from here?”
He nodded.
“Then take the kids and get out of here. Today. Now.”
Carona’s shoulders slumped. “We will leave, but not before I know what happened to my Rosa.”
“That’s your choice,” said Santana, holding open the door, “but it wouldn’t be mine.”
He noticed two SUVs pull up outside and wondered if it was the Americans arriving to pick up the transmitters. Eight men climbed out, locals. “Get out of here, now!” he hissed at Carona before slamming the door shut and locking it, warning the others brave enough to have remained. “We’re about to be hit!”
Panic took hold for a moment as he rounded the front counter and grabbed the shotgun he had already prepared on his desk. The others were ready too, but they were outnumbered, two-to-one. Four men approached the useless glass door, machine guns held at waist level, the other four out of sight.
“There’re eight of them. Looks like four out front. Watch for them coming from the rear entrance.”
Roberto, a rookie, rushed up beside him. “Should we shoot first and take them by surprise?”
Santana smiled at him. “I like how you think.” He popped up and took aim, knowing he might only get one shot at this. “I’ve got the one in the black hat.”
“I’ve got the guy to his left.”
“Fire.”
Two thunderous shots echoed through the tiny police station, glass shattering, two of their attackers dropping. Santana pulled Roberto down as the other two emptied their mags into the front of the station, reloading several times as the walls and ceiling were shredded, the reinforced front counter holding for the moment.
Shots from behind them had Santana spinning to see what was going on. His fellow officers were taking turns firing down the hallway leading to the rear entrance, the others obviously already inside.
We’re not going to last long.
He heard a cry as one of his friends took a round to the shoulder, dragged out of danger by the other, leaving only one man guarding their rear. There was a pause in the gunfire from the front, and he risked a look then fired, too late, both men diving to the side.
Steady fire erupted from behind him and he slapped Roberto on the shoulder. “Go help him!”
Roberto scurried away as Santana repositioned, his position exposed. Tires screeched outside and he cursed, more of El Jefe’s men arriving. He glanced over at his desk, the photo of his wife and children missing. A moment of irrational panic gripped him then he spotted it on the floor, the glass shattered but the photo intact.
I guess I’ll never enjoy your papadzules again.
Dawson threw open the door as he drew his weapon, the others doing the same. One of the gunmen spun around, his AR-15 spitting rounds at them, the passenger door taking a beating. Dawson fired twice, removing the man from the equation, Niner doing the same to the other, both hostiles dropping in heaps, their weapons silenced, though gunfire continued from inside the station.
He signaled for Atlas and Sergeant Will “Spock” Lightman to take the rear of the building as he advanced toward the front. A rapid series of shots he recognized as Glocks quickly silenced the remaining gunfire, an eerie calm settling over the area, civilians still scurrying for cover.
He poked his head through the door and heard a shotgun pump. “Hold your fire! American Drug Enforcement Agency! We’re looking for Officer Hector Santana!”
“Th-that’s me.”
“Okay, we’re friendlies, understood? I have two men at the back, and two in the front. Are you okay?”
“We have one wounded, but we’re alive.”
“Good. Now I want you to stand up and show me your hands.” He peered around the corner and saw a forty-something police officer slowly rise, hands up, a shotgun gripped tightly in his right. “Okay, put the gun on the counter.”
He complied.
“Okay, I’m going to come in. Does everyone understand?”
A round of “si”s was heard and he stepped inside, slowly, Niner just behind him and t
o the side, covering him. He reached forward and removed the shotgun from the counter, spotting the other three survivors near the back, their hands up as Atlas and Spock entered from the rear.
“Okay, we’re all friends here, right?”
Heads nodded.
Dawson holstered his weapon, the others doing the same. He looked at Santana. “You have something for me?”
Santana shook out a nod then went to a desk. He retrieved a plastic bag from the floor then returned, handing it to Dawson as Atlas and Spock stepped through the shattered station and joined them at the entrance.
“Thank you. Can you handle things now?”
Santana shrugged, lowering his hands. “What choice do we have?”
Dawson frowned, wanting to stay and help these brave men, but he had a mission. “I guess not any. We’ll be on our way now.” He backed out then strode swiftly toward their vehicle when Santana shouted from behind him. He spun, reaching for his weapon when he saw the officer rush through the door, unarmed.
“Wait!”
Dawson walked toward him, his team taking up covering positions, watching for any approaching danger. “What?”
“There might be a survivor.”
Dawson’s eyes narrowed. He had been briefed on the drug lab explosion and the bodies, but this was the first he had heard of a survivor. “How do you know?”
“Señor Carona was here a few minutes ago. He said his wife worked at the lab and she never came home. She wasn’t among the dead.”
Dawson pursed his lips. It was an interesting possibility, though with the force of the apparent explosion, there might simply not have been enough of her left to recognize.
“Do you know what that means?”
Dawson shook his head.
Santana pointed at the plastic bag. “She will have one of those, too.”
Dawson smiled, realizing what Santana was getting at. “Good to know.” He pointed at the station. “If I were you, I’d get the hell out of there and wait for the Federales to show up. Whoever did this will probably send more guns.”
Santana paled slightly. “Are the Federales coming?”
Dawson nodded. “Yes. But not until tonight.”
Santana cursed, spitting on the ground. “Useless bureaucrats. We die while they fill out paperwork.”
Dawson chuckled. “I hear you, my friend.” He held up the plastic bag. “Thanks for this. Keep safe.” He slapped Santana on the arm then climbed in the SUV, the others following as the officer ran back inside the station, hopefully preparing to abandon his post.
Some things were worth dying for, and a pile of dead bodies wasn’t it.
Dawson handed the bag to Niner then started the SUV, pulling away, all the while watching for any new hostiles arriving. “See what you can get off of that.”
Niner quickly went to work, the scanner already prepared. It took only moments. “Got it.”
“Good. Send it to Langley.”
Niner transmitted the frequencies to Langley through his encrypted phone. Dawson activated his comm. “Control, Zero-One. We’ve got your frequencies. You should be receiving them now, over.”
“Copy that, Zero-One. We have them. We’re tracking you now, so if you don’t want the hostiles to know where you are, I recommend shielding them immediately.”
Dawson grunted. “Roger that.” He glanced in his rearview mirror as Niner snapped a lead-lined case shut. “Control, can you confirm you’re no longer tracking us?”
“Confirmed, Zero-One. We’ll get back to you as soon as we’ve completed our analysis.”
“Copy that, Control. Be advised that our local contact says there might be a survivor with an active implant. We have no reason to believe she’s with Acton or Palmer, but if she wasn’t killed in the explosion, and was one of the survivors, she should have been in those trucks with the students. The fact she wasn’t, and neither was Palmer, suggests she may have remained behind when the kidnapping took place. And if that’s the case, there’s no way Palmer would leave the woman to fend for herself. They just might be together.”
There was a pause. It was a theory just pulled out of his ass, though it was at least remotely plausible.
“We’ll look into it. Out.”
Dawson yanked his seatbelt on, clipped it in place, then glanced at Atlas in the passenger seat. “I was thinking about what just happened.”
“What?”
“Well, why were they attacking the station?”
Atlas shrugged. “Probably came to get the bodies, or at least see who was there and who wasn’t.”
Niner tapped the box with the transmitters. “Probably came to get these too.”
Dawson agreed. “True. But think about it. Right now El Jefe’s crew has no idea who’s alive and who’s dead. All they probably know is one of their labs blew up. They send a crew out to check it out, stumble upon the professors, kill all the locals, then bring them back to town to dump the bodies. But we know they didn’t all return to town.”
“How do we know that?”
“Because if they did, then who’s Professor Palmer following? If she had a vehicle, she’d be near civilization by now and would have already called for help.” He shook his head. “No, she’s on foot, following them, which means they’re on foot. We also know she has their satphone, so they have no way of communicating with the outside world, otherwise they would have just called for a pickup. And if they’re on foot, El Jefe has no way of knowing who’s alive and who’s dead. The fact they just hit the station means they’re looking for intel.”
Atlas frowned. “If that’s the case, it’s only going to be a matter of time before someone thinks to check where all those transmitters are, if they haven’t already.”
Dawson cursed. “If there is a survivor with them, then El Jefe is going to know exactly where they are.” He glanced in his rearview mirror at the others. “We might have just run out of time.”
47
South of Tepich, Mexico
James Acton stumbled, quickly recovering his footing. He glanced over his shoulder and glared at the man who had shoved him. “Was that really necessary?”
“Go faster.”
“Untie me and I’d be happy to.” He glanced at Hugh Reading a few paces to his right, his face red with rage.
If he doesn’t calm down, he’s going to have a heart attack.
Reading was over a decade his senior, and though he may have packed on a few extra pounds stuck mostly behind a desk the past few years, he was no slouch. But this was rough terrain, and they were going through the thick of it. This was supposed to be a vacation, the three of them enjoying some downtime after so many run-ins with people hell-bent on killing them over the years, yet once again they found themselves at the mercy of men with guns.
Their only hope was whoever had slashed the tires, and he prayed every waking moment that that someone was Laura, though it probably wasn’t. She was dead, along with the students and survivors.
“Hey, Javier, we didn’t find anything. Probably just some animal.”
Diaz nodded. “Well, we could hear you pretty much the entire way, so chances are you’re right.” His eyes narrowed. “Where’s Jose?”
One of them shrugged. “Dunno. He isn’t here?”
Diaz stopped walking. “No, he went with you.”
Another shrug. “Haven’t seen him.”
Diaz growled, shaking his head. “Go look for him. We don’t have any more time to waste.” He held up a hand. “Wait. Give me the tracker.” A tablet-like device was handed to him and he turned it on. “Shit! We’ve got a signal.” He pointed to where the men had just come from. “Over there. One of the workers is following us.” He tossed the tracker to one of them. “Go find her. Bring her here.”
Acton’s shoulders slumped as the two men departed. It was now confirmed Laura wasn’t following them at all, but one of the workers from the drug lab. He sighed, his eyes burning as Reading stepped closer, having come to the same conclusion.
“I’m sorry, mate, but we knew it was a long shot.”
Acton avoided eye contact. “I know. She’s dead.” His voice cracked. “Wh-what am I going to do?”
“Move!” A rifle butt delivered by Diaz slammed him in the stomach and he doubled over. “I want to get there before nightfall. Enough talking!”
Acton glared at him. “I’m going to kill every damned last one of you.”
“Why, because we killed your wife?” Diaz grabbed Acton by the chin, squeezing it hard. “If you touch any of my men, I’ll have your wife’s corpse brought to me, and I’ll slice her apart in front of you and feed her to my pigs.”
48
Operations Center 3, CIA Headquarters
Langley, Virginia
“I’ve got it!”
Chris Leroux glanced up from his station at Randy Child’s outburst, the young man—though barely younger than Leroux—pointing at the large displays curving around the front of the operations center. On the screen was an isolation of a map with a large cluster of pulsing red dots overlapping one another.
Leroux rose, stepping down toward the screen. “What am I looking at?”
“All the transmitters they’re using. I was able to take the frequencies the Delta team sent us, decode the signal, then search for any other frequencies using the same encryption key.” Child gestured toward the screen. “There you go, all the transmitters on the dead bodies.”
Leroux smiled slightly. “Good work. Now zoom out, let’s see if anyone else is being tracked.” A few clicks from Child and the image zoomed out, several more clusters appearing, though only one drew his attention. He pointed. “Focus in on that one.” Child complied, and the image zoomed back in, repositioning about ten miles to the south.
“That’s not far from the drug lab explosion.”
Leroux agreed with Tong’s assessment. “Yeah. It’s in between where Professor Palmer sent her text message to Kane, and the town where the bodies are. Can we get eyes on that?”
Wrath of the Gods (A James Acton Thriller, #18) (James Acton Thrillers) Page 12