Rogue State (Fractured State Series Book 2)

by Steven Konkoly

  “There’s another one. Right side,” said Nathan.

  Keira looked too late, barely glimpsing the repeated scene. Snipers on both sides?

  “That one had a rifle,” added her husband.

  “They have this place locked down tight,” said David, pushing the SUV up to eighty-five miles per hour.

  An earsplitting bang filled the car, creating a moment of pandemonium. Keira instinctively pulled Owen over her lap before David slammed on the brakes, forcing her against her seat belt, then floored the SUV, rocketing them back against the seat. When she looked up, she couldn’t see through her window. She started to form words, but a hollow thump vibrated the car, a brief shower of sparks bouncing off the windshield and disappearing.

  “Stay down!” yelled David, the SUV veering into the oncoming traffic lane.

  Owen tried to raise his head, but she kept him buried under her arms, leaning over his torso. A sharp crack, immediately followed by a shower of glass, kept her locked into position over her son. The SUV accelerated faster than she thought possible, the rough street rumbling furiously underneath them.

  “Are you OK?” yelled Nathan.

  She lifted her head far enough to see Nathan turned in his seat, partially leaning over the center console. He extended a hand, which she grasped and squeezed.

  The SUV shuddered, traveling at breakneck speed for another minute or so before slowing.

  “We’re out of the town,” said David. “Whose window got hit?”

  “Mine,” said Keira.

  “Mom, you’re crushing me,” protested Owen.

  “I don’t really care. You’re not sitting up until the town is out of sight.”

  “Describe the window for me,” David said.

  “Shattered in place,” said Nathan.

  “Probably took a hit from a military-grade armor-piercing bullet,” said David. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

  “I feel like the luckiest girl in the world,” she said bitterly. “Is my window useless now?”

  “Another bullet like that will go right through, but it should stand up to more conventional rounds for now.”

  “Should?” she said.

  David shrugged. “I’ve seen this type of glass take a beating long after I would have guessed it was useless, and I’ve seen it fail miserably under the same circumstances.”

  “Which situation happened most often?”

  “The first.”

  “Finally some good news,” said Keira.

  “Want to hear something even better?” said David.

  “I can’t wait.”

  “We’re still alive,” said David.

  “Hard to beat that.”

  “Seriously. One of their bullets grazed the middle of hood. If it had struck the side of the vehicle, we’d still be in town—most likely dead or bleeding out.”

  “The good news express keeps delivering.”

  Owen and Nathan laughed.

  “What are you laughing at?” she said to her son, at last letting him sit up.

  “Watch the glass back there,” said David. “I’ll stop about ten miles south of town so we can clean that out.”

  “I’d prefer you didn’t stop until we reached Mexico City.”

  “We’re not going to Mexico City,” said David.

  “Maybe we should be.”

  Keira was starting to have second thoughts about crossing into the United States at Nogales—or anywhere, for that matter.

  CHAPTER 28

  Leeds shook his head as Olmos steered their SUV between the two gaudy, illuminated marble pillars that marked the entrance to La Araña’s gated estate. He had to give this Spider guy some credit. Instead of building a mansion on a sprawling tract of land on the outskirts of town, he had declared the drug cartel’s equivalent of eminent domain and confiscated something a little closer to the action. The digital maps still listed his estate as a public park. Impressive.

  Leeds tensed when a few guards appeared inside the gate and pointed flashlights at the SUV, still wary of the safe passage guaranteed by Chukov. The men kept their rifles and submachine guns pointed away from the vehicle despite the murderous glares directed at the tinted glass windows. They had reason to be angry. He just hoped their fear of disobeying La Araña’s orders would trump any drug-fueled vigilante notions. Chukov’s team hadn’t been subtle when they’d breached the compound. They’d cut a wide path through the guards on their way in.

  A massive Mexican wearing a black suit over a stark white collared shirt waved them through.

  “Drive slow and steady,” said Leeds. “Don’t give them an excuse.”

  “I don’t see how this is supposed to work for us. Why can’t Chukov go to work on Spider-Man and leave us out of it?”

  “Because we need Señor Talamanco’s cooperation and blessing, no matter how insincere, to continue operating in Mexicali. If the cartel turns against us, we won’t last the hour.”

  “I’m worried about later,” said Olmos. “I can’t imagine he’s going to take Chukov’s stunt lightly. These guys build their reputations on fear and respect. Chukov just knocked him down the ladder a few notches.”

  “We just need to get through the night.”

  “I don’t know. These guys look hungry. Never know who’s got their eyes set on the big mansion.”

  “I think we can reach a satisfactory agreement with this guy,” said Leeds.

  “I hope so.”

  Leeds didn’t exactly trust the situation either, but Chukov hadn’t left him much of a choice. He’d been just as surprised as Olmos when the Russian’s call came through. Somehow Petrov’s ragged bandits had managed to infiltrate the cartel boss’s compound and capture a man who had, until tonight, respectfully declined any association with Cerberus. Now he was politely requesting an audience.

  They were directed to park beside a Range Rover under a carport set behind a line of trees. When they got out, one of two men standing at a thick, black gate set into a tall, brick wall gestured for them to follow. Leeds was pleased to see that neither man appeared armed, as he had insisted.

  They followed the men into a lush courtyard. Apparently, the water crisis hadn’t reached Señor Talamanco’s private gardens.

  The guards guided them across the exquisitely manicured grounds, past a brightly glowing pool to a softly lit, open-air dining room attached to the main house. A man Leeds assumed to be Talamanco sat alone at the head of a thick wooden table, casually eating from a plate piled with food. Chukov faced him, seated at the opposite end. Three Russian mercenaries were visible, forming a loose perimeter around the alfresco dining room.

  As Leeds and Olmos reached the brick patio connected to the room, Talamanco waved the two escorts away. They disappeared into the gardens, never looking back.

  “Welcome,” said Talamanco, gesturing to the chairs next to him. “Please join me for a late dinner. My kitchen staff always prepares enough food to feed an army. Little did they know, I’d be entertaining one.”

  “I’ll let you handle this,” whispered Olmos, nodding respectfully at Talamanco before stepping to the edge of the room near one of Chukov’s men.

  Leeds nodded. “I don’t normally eat this late, but there’s nothing normal about tonight. Thank you.”

  He’d reached out to pull back the chair next to Talamanco when he noticed the plate was already full. Leeds decided to stand.

  “That was my wife’s plate. We don’t normally eat this late either,” said Talamanco, cutting into a steak without looking up. “And we’ve never had uninvited guests—until tonight.”

  “I trust Señor Talamanco’s wife and children are being treated well,” said Leeds, glancing at Chukov.

  “With white-glove service,” said Chukov.

  Talamanco took a sip of red wine. “I assume you are familiar with the term Mexican standoff?”

  Leeds smirked. “Of course.”

  “And your friend?” said Talamanco, waving the glass of wine at Chukov.
>
  The Russian shook his head, as if the Mexican’s question was a waste of time.

  “Then let me put it into terms a Russki might understand,” said Talamanco. “It’s similar to a stalemate in chess. There is no winning situation for any party involved.”

  Chukov’s expression remained the same. Unimpressed.

  “I’m here to break the stalemate,” said Leeds. “We can all walk away from this winners.”

  “All of this was rather unnecessary,” said Talamanco.

  “We’re operating under a strict timeline, and you haven’t exactly made yourself available to us today.”

  “I’m a busy man, Mr. Leeds. I don’t have time to pursue petty cash offers made in bars or on street corners.”

  Leeds tried to conceal his surprise that Talamanco knew his name.

  “Don’t strain too hard to keep a straight face. I knew who you were within an hour of your arrival, along with Raymond Olmos, former Navy SEAL. I have dossiers on both of you.”

  Chukov stifled a laugh.

  “Don’t laugh, Mr. Chukov. Your team has made a name for itself in and around Mexico City,” said the cartel boss.

  Chukov’s face hardened. He placed his elbows on the table, interlacing his fingers. Talamanco put his wineglass down, smiling cordially at Leeds.

  “What are you offering to break the stalemate?”

  “The lives of your wife and children,” stated Chukov.

  The Mexican shook his head. “He truly doesn’t understand. We’re all dead. You. Me. Olmos. Chukov. His team. My family. That’s where this negotiation starts. The neighborhood surrounding this place is filled with my soldiers. Word is out. Nobody survives. So, what are you offering for me to sell out one of my best-paying clients?”

  Leeds shook his head at Chukov, who had reached one hand below the table and leaned forward. The Russian eased back against his seat.

  “One million dollars,” said Leeds.

  “That doesn’t cover one month’s rent for the space they occupy—and the protection I provide. The clients in question pay on time and directly enable important aspects of my business. Look around you. The other bosses don’t live like this.”

  “Five million.”

  “This is fucking bullshit,” grumbled Chukov.

  “I agree,” said Talamanco. “Five is low.”

  Leeds needed to take a different approach. There was no way Flagg and Petrov combined were going to pay this guy more than $5 million without a guarantee of finding the suspected CLM bunker. Likewise, there existed little chance that Talamanco would accept a handshake that the money would be transferred after a successful mission. He had one more angle that might appeal to the drug boss.

  “Is it fair to assume that you’ve already warned your clients of our interest in their whereabouts? I can’t imagine you’d pass on the opportunity to squeeze more money out of them. Maybe let them stress over it awhile and try to initiate a bidding war?”

  “The thought may have crossed my mind,” said Talamanco, picking up his wineglass.

  “I guarantee they know you better than you think,” said Leeds. “They’re probably long gone by now.”

  “My people haven’t reported anything unusual,” said the Mexican before draining the rest of his wineglass.

  “Five million right now,” said Leeds. “You give us the location. Whether they’re there or not, you get the money.”

  “I don’t believe you’re in a position to—”

  “You have ten seconds to make a decision. Start counting, Chukov. Silently,” said Leeds. “I hope he can count right.”

  “This is crazy,” sputtered the Mexican. “We’re negotiating.”

  “Five million,” said Leeds, surveying the lush grounds. “Eight Spetsnaz, a former SEAL, and an ex–CIA operative? We won’t all make it out, but I like my odds.”

  Leeds took the bottle of wine on the table and topped off Talamanco’s glass, filling a second glass halfway. He raised the half-full glass. “Shall we toast to a five-million-dollar deal?” he said. “How are we doing on time, Mr. Chukov?”

  “Two seconds. One and—”

  “OK. OK. It’s a deal! But I get paid now, and you let my family go,” said Talamanco, lifting his overfilled glass.

  “You get paid one million now. Two million when we confirm you didn’t send us to a long-abandoned drug depot, and the rest when we are safely out of Mexicali. We walk out of here. Your family stays.”

  “Cash?”

  “Confirmed bank deposit,” said Leeds. “Only a tourist carries cash in Mexico.”

  “Funny,” said Talamanco.

  “And if you decide to go back on your word, for whatever reason—”

  “Hey! I said we have a deal.”

  “I’m just making the terms of our deal clear. If you fuck us over in any way, you’ll never eat a nice meal like this again without worrying about a drone raining missiles down on your family.”

  “I get it,” he said. “You have my word.”

  Leeds clinked Talamanco’s glass and took a generous sip.

  “Exquisite,” he said. He lifted the bottle off the table, gently tilting it to read the label. “Cerbaiona Brunello di Montalcino. Twenty ten,” he said, nodding his approval. “I’ll have to remember that.”

  “You won’t have much luck finding a bottle. Only six hundred and fifty cases were produced, and most of the vintage has been consumed over the years. It was considered a cult brand at the time. I’ll send you a bottle, assuming our financial affairs are in order at the end of the day.”

  “All the more incentive to get it right,” said Leeds, finishing the glass.

  CHAPTER 29

  When Leeds ducked under a thick wooden beam protruding from the low ceiling, his shoulder scraped the heavy-duty wire mesh stretched against the walls, and the Russian in front of him—and for all he knew, the entire column—halted due to his carelessness. Chukov had forbidden even a hushed whisper on the radio net.

  Several long seconds passed before they started moving again.

  He hated tight spaces, though he had to admit this tunnel was a huge step up from some of the sketchy holes he’d climbed through in his agency days. Just the thought of the cave system used by Turkish insurgents in the Kizildag hills made his palms sweaty. Regardless of the comparative luxury in construction, he was anxious to break into the CLM’s main bunker complex—even if it meant a vicious firefight. Anything was better than this.

  He leaned to one side, straining to catch a glimpse beyond the Russian blocking most of his view down the passage. Nothing. Their night-vision goggles were essentially useless in the pitch dark without activating infrared flashlights, which would be detectable by anyone wearing the most rudimentary night-vision gear.

  The group stopped again, remaining deathly quiet for another seemingly endless stretch of time, and then the tunnel brightened, exposing an open doorway that led into a low-ceilinged room.

  “The place looks abandoned,” said Chukov, peering inside the room ahead of them.

  “Abandoned for a few years or a few hours?” said Leeds from behind the massive Russian separating them.

  “My guess is a few hours. I’m getting residual heat signatures from the lightbulbs hanging from the rafters. Very faint, but it would have dissipated in less than a day. Someone was here,” said Chukov. He cocked his head. “Hold on. I’m getting a similar report from the other team.”

  Chukov had his team split in half, moving through two of the access tunnels identified by Talamanco’s street operations chief. The other group’s tunnel had originated in the secret basement of a dilapidated funeral home on Avenida Reforma; the route his team had taken had started in the roach-infested closet of a shuttered mechanic shop one street south. A third tunnel existed to the east, emptying into a fire-damaged Chinese restaurant, but the Russian didn’t want to spread his team too thin. Talamanco had a small army watching that exit.

  “PowerBar wrappers. Crumbs not yet claimed by th
e rats or cockroaches. I think it’s fair to assume this place was recently abandoned,” said Chukov. “We’re pushing forward.”

  “Concur,” said Leeds. Not that he really had a say in the matter. Chukov was calling the shots down here. Leeds and Olmos were little more than glorified observers at this point.

  They filed through the doorway, entering a cramped space featuring a chair pushed against one of the walls and two crude light fixtures bolted to the crossbeams. A hardwired camera pointed toward the doorway they had just left. A sturdy metal door sat half-open under the camera. Aside from the beam cast by Chukov’s infrared rifle light, Leeds detected no artificial sources of light beyond the door.

  A wider hallway led to a larger central room flanked by folding tables. One of the tabletops supported a sizable flat-screen monitor, its power cord still connected to a surge protector on the dirt floor. The monitor’s connection cable dangled in front of the table, however, taunting them. The rest of the team activated their IR rifle lights and spread out to cover the other entrances. Leeds triggered his light and surveyed what certainly appeared to be an operations center. It wasn’t fancy by any stretch of the imagination, but judging by the number of zip-tied cable bundles running from floor to ceiling along the room’s frame, this room had been wired for high bandwidth—an indication that it had served as an operational hub.

  Rows of chairs faced a wall that had likely held up maps a short time ago. A coffeemaker sat on a wooden table in the corner beyond the map wall, a partially filled carafe nestled into place. Several coffee mugs stood neatly stacked next to the machine.

  Chukov stepped up to the coffeemaker, feeling the carafe with the back of his wrist. “Still warm.”

  Leeds felt the sting of reproach in Chukov’s voice. If they’d arrived a few hours earlier, not only would they have fulfilled their contract to kill Fisher, but they could have handed Flagg the keys to CLM’s castle.

  A light appeared to Leeds’s left, drawing all of their rifles to the hallway entrance next to the computer monitor station.

  “The other team is coming through,” said Chukov, pointing in the direction of the approaching light. “They found six large rooms with bunk beds off that hallway. Four of the rooms were stripped bare. They left everything behind in the other two.”