San Rafael Jacked

by Tom Ellis

  “It could be a chemical device. But it is a weapon of mass destruction.”

  “If they set it off here Burns we’re dead. I think it’s time to stop asking questions and start shooting.”

  “Whatever it is. The terrorists are not going to set it off in this valley. There are not enough people to kill. We are dealing with terrorists they are going for a big hit. Not a few ranchers and cowboys. My guess is LA maybe Los Vegas. Phoenix is possible. They will want at least a couple million population to use it. This valley is just the point of entry. And those idiots aren’t smart enough to set it off. We’ll wait. There will be somebody else along shortly. Hopefully, it will be El Jefe. Then we do something.”

  “Burns that asshole with the donkey dick just peed on Kroll!! Damnit shoot that thing off!”

  Porn Dude was jumping up and down shaking his member and laughing. Pointing at Kroll and making obscene gestures. Burns held him in the crosshairs briefly considering Jolene’s request.

  “No, I think Kroll should have that privilege.”

  Jolene talked and worried into the night. Finally, to Burns relief, she dozed off and slept soundly. Soon the sky began to lighten. Just before sunrise over the Huachuca Mountains, Burns looked and realized the balloon was not there. It was lowered twenty-four hours early!

  Havelee wanted to look at the text that just arrived on her phone. She wouldn’t because Quarles severely chastised another supervisor for checking their phone. The ASAC was being to feel the stress of the bombings. There had already been two police shootings since the bomb went off. It would be a while before she could locate her team. One thing for certain was they were nowhere near the San Rafael. Havelee casually wondered where the Tucson Field Office and FBI would be on the Chinese Fire Drill rating scale. And she wanted to pull out the phone and look at a cute picture of Larcena and her cat.

  Vargas found time to call Estella and spend a few minutes talking to Lupe. That was when her Penelope phone started buzzing. To took a few minutes to get the child off the phone. The bonding process between Ivalou and Lupe was going well.

  Pauli Dumas gleefully slapped Numb Nuts on the shoulder.

  “I’m gonna fuck Kroll’s Mexican ho! I cracked his phone I’ve already sent her a text!” He slapped Numb Nuts again.

  “Stop it or I’ll knock the shit outta you! Boss ain’t gonna let you go to Nogales to see no whore!”

  “I ain’t going to Nogales asshole. The whore is coming to me! I sent her a text offering big bucks for an outcall to the ranch. Hell, that horny bastard Kroll even tells her how to dress! But he sure as hell ain’t thinking about pussy now! Hell, I might drag him back to watch.”

  “You mean she is gonna come to us!”

  “Not us dumb ass, me. I gotta call Willie and make sure he takes care of her pimps.”

  “You better check with Boss first.”

  “Screw him. He owes me big time for finding out Kroll.”

  “Yeah, that was good Pauli.”

  Ivalou Vargas was following orders. She drove flat out toward Nogales from Marana Arizona. The Penelope text she received was the undercover extraction code. They needed to get Kroll out ASAP. Ivalou sent a priority text to Havelee and Desmond Taylor and M&M. She didn’t have Ernie Smith’s number on the group dial. When she reached him, she learned he was in Florence AZ. He told her would get there as quickly as possible. Vargas along with Des and M&M were Kroll’s only back up. And they all had to stop and change clothes. Des and M&M would have to transfer their gear to the Escalade. Vargas arrived at the motel in Nogales ahead of the guys.

  Pauli Dumas was on the phone. He waited until Deputy Willie Hillman answered. Having been bought and paid for by Bradford and Pauli’s promise of introductions to pornography makers Willie answered promptly.

  “This is Hillman what ya want PD?”

  “Willie I got a whore making an outcall to the ranch this afternoon. She should be here in the next hour or so. I’ve seen this bitch in Nogales and always wanted some of it. She was Kroll’s ho, so I stayed back. She always has a couple of nigger pimps following her. They drive a black Escalade. How about running their black asses out of your county for me.”

  “Man, I’ll do that! No problem. Think you could save a little of it for me? That is if you don’t stretch her out too much!”

  Porn Dude let out a high pitched giggle. “Yeah, Dude I’ll film you fucking her and send to my buddy in LA. That will get you the start you need in the business.”

  “Great man! Do you know if those coons are coming over from Patagonia?”

  “Yes, she works out of Nogales.”

  “I’ll handle it PD! See you later!”

  Dumas disconnected and played with himself in anticipation.

  Ivalou Vargas was standing in the motel room wearing only a sexy lace bra and panties if you called the pink satin thong panties. Not her normal type, but if giving someone a peep show got Kroll out, it was bare butt time. Ivalou snapped the horizontal holster to her bra between the cups. It held the compact .380 pistol right under her breasts and above her abdomen. She wished she had a mini skirt and blouse with her. The blouse would make accessing the pistol easier. The mini dress was all she had time to grab. Ivalou picked up the next item she would carry.

  It was a Benchmade assisted-opening folding knife with a pocket clip. Assisted-opening was a kinder and gentler term than switch blade. Ivalou stood sideways to the mirror and slipped the knife between her buttocks clipping it to the thong. Satisfied it would carry there. She pulled the tight dress over her head and wiggled it down on her body. Once in place, she realized the knife would stay concealed if she used perfect posture and didn’t bend over. The curvature of her butt helped conceal the last ditch weapon. Ivalou would have to have a wardrobe malfunction to draw the pistol. You can’t have everything working undercover.

  She saw Desmond and M&M entering their room when she was getting into her car. Ivalou tossed a suitcase with street clothes and a decent pair of underwear in the back seat. When she got behind the wheel, she had to wiggle in the seat to get comfortable because of the knife. She thought about the time difference waiting on the guys and considered the consequences. They were behind already. She started the car and sped off toward the highway to Patagonia and the Rocking H Bar.

  Desmond looked over at M&M. “Put the gas to this beast. Lou gonna be down there by herself, and we stuck in traffic.”

  M&M was a graduate of pursuit driving school and Bondurant’s road racing school near Phoenix. He got all he could out of the Caddy SUV, making up time on the four-lane connector road to Highway 82 in Nogales. Both agents hoped the local police were on coffee break. Once on the narrow scenic highway. M&M adroitly steered the Escalade around the curves. Approaching Patagonia Desmond found his voice again.

  “Slow down! This town got cops they call marshals. They ain’t gonna look kindly on a couple of African American pimps masquerading as FBI agents.”

  Braking for a school zone, M&M grinned, “What is we first, pimps or FBI agents?”

  “Depends on how she’s dressed,” Desmond said giving the high five to his partner.

  They got through Patagonia without meeting a marshal. The road south was even narrower. Still, M&M drove as fast as he could. “Them marshal dudes they got cowboy hats and all that shit?” He asked.

  “Don’t know. I just saw the office and a car parked in front of it.”

  Soon the pavement played out, and the road turned to dirt. The dirt track was a little wider, so M&M gassed it and the SUV fishtailed. “Yahoo! Ride ‘em cowboy!” He exclaimed.

  “You gonna think cowboy if you wreck this thing. I’d hate to say who’d be worse to deal with Ivalou or Havelee.”

  Neither agent noticed the sheriff’s SUV pull out behind them.

  Willie Hillman felt the tightness in his pants. He didn’t know if it were from anticipating the forthcoming encounter with Latina whore he’d spotted a few minutes earlier. Or roughing up a couple of smartass pimp
s. He closed on the Escalade and moved into the dust cloud it kicked up. Hillman turned on his lights and siren.

  “Shit, one of the marshals you been talking about!” M&M said looking in the review mirror. He slowed the Caddy and turned on the emergency flashers. “This thing ain’t got any cop lights to turn on.”

  “Just play it cool and let him rant. If he writes a ticket, accept it. We can’t blow the cover. Kroll said they got a sheriff’s deputy working for them. Be cool man it’s a deputy.”

  Desmond watched Willie Hillman slowly exit his vehicle. Parked in the classic vehicle stop position Hillman used his PA system.

  “YOU BOY DRIVING! GET YOUR BLACK ASS OUTTA THAT VEHICLE AND KEEP YOUR HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!”

  “Oh shit, Ivalou gonna whip both our butts now,” M&M said as he carefully opened the door and stepped out.

  “ALL RIGHT BOY MOVE YOUR ASS AWAY FROM THAT DOOR AND KEEP YOUR HANDS UP WHERE I CAN SEE THEM! FUCK UP AND I’LL BLOW YOUR BACK ASS TO HELL!”

  Desmond Taylor saw the shotgun Hillman pointed at M&M. The deputy racked a shell into the chamber for emphasis. Protocol be damned Des thought as he got out his creds and opened them. He held them extended in his left hand toward the open driver’s door. Taylor would never be able to explain why he drew his Glock.

  Hillman advanced toward M&M with the shotgun shouldered and ready to fire. The deputy yelled his next command.

  “KEEP YOUR HANDS UP AND GET ON YOUR KNEES NIGGER! DO IT NOW!”

  M&M complied, never taking his eyes off Willie Hillman. M&M left his open credentials pack on the driver’s seat. He was very aware of the holstered Glock pistol under his shirt on the right side. An M4 carbine and a 12 gauge Remington 870 were in the rear seat floor board. There was no telling what would happen if this redneck deputy managed to spot those weapons through the tinted rear windows. Or what would happen if he spotted M&M’s gun before seeing the creds?

  Hillman advanced slowly, his finger on the shotgun’s trigger. Desmond watched the man move out toward the center of the forest service road and away from the side of the SUV. He was getting into a position where he could peek into the front seat and keep M&M covered. Wounds from the shotgun would not be survivable at these distances. Desmond took a deep breath.

  Willie Hillman stopped at the point where M&M was between him and the open door. Willie swung the shotgun toward the opening. Desmond yelled.

  “FBI DEPUTY LOWER THAT SHOTGUN!”

  “AIN’T NO FUCKING NIGGER WITH A BADGE TALKING TO ME LIKE THAT!”

  Hillman aimed the shotgun into the truck. Desmond shot him twice. The first bullet struck him in the left eye. The second below his nose above his lip. Desmond puked.

  M&M said, “shit shit shit.”

  M&M recovered first. He tried the radio in the car. It wasn’t working. He pulled his cell phone out and dialed the Tucson Field Office. “You all right man?” He asked.

  Desmond shook his head and puked some more. He laid his pistol on the driver’s seat next to his credentials folder. Des leaned over to the dash and prayed as he cried.

  The Tucson Field Office operator answered the phone. “FBI Tucson how may I direct your call?”

  “This is Special Agent Mickey Morris connect me to the duty agent.”

  “Duty Desk, Special Agent McGowen speaking.”

  “This is Special Agent Mickey Morris, Bad Apple’s team. We have an Agent involved shooting. A sheriff’s deputy is down and based on wounds apparently deceased. We are south of Patagonia Arizona on an unnamed forest service road. We are in an undercover vehicle, and we are dressed for undercover. A sheriff’s vehicle is behind us with emergency lights activated. You can get GPS coordinates from my phone.”

  Tucson ASAC Quarles bad day just got worse. And it wasn’t intermission time yet.

  Ivalou was focused on the ranch road when her Penelope phone beeped a text. She slowed and read it.

  Turn right by the house. Go past the truck and SUV park between the shop and in front of the bunk house on your right

  She responded with, ‘k.'

  She thought she heard a helicopter but wasn’t sure. Vargas could not see the area where Kroll lay nor the front porch. She drove up to the shop and stopped. A shadow crossed over her car. Startled, Ivalou looked in the rear view mirrors and watched a helicopter land behind her. The aircraft was on the ground blocking her view of the ranch road. Four men got out of the helicopter. The pilot remained at the controls, with the rotors idling. The men walked toward the house.

  Burns watched the chopper land and the men get out. A moment later two thugs exited the house. They all stopped where Kroll lay. There were some gesturing and two men returned to the helicopter and unloaded four large duffle bags. They carried them half the distance to the group of men and sat them down. They unzipped the bags. Bradford went over and inspected the contents. Burns increased his scope power and saw that each bag held stacks of bills. Hadfield yawned as she woke up.

  Ivalou, watched the landing and the men get out of the helicopter. She was focused on the rear view mirror and did not see Porn Dude walking softly toward her car. The open driver’s window worked well for his plan. Pauli struck her on the side of her head. He dragged the stunned agent out of the car by her hair and struck her in the head a couple of more times.

  Ivalou was barely regaining her senses when she felt her dress being yanked down below her boobs. Her arms were pinned by the straps now at her elbows. Her hands felt a hard, rough surface. Dumas had lifted her onto the work bench. She felt this on her bare butt cheeks as the hem of her dress was yanked upward.

  Pauli backhanded her and ripped her bra down. Effectively covering the pistol, he hadn’t seen. The move allowed her to free her arms. Ivalou’s breasts provided the distraction she needed.

  She leaned back her right hand on the bench trying to push him off with her left. Ivalou’s brassiere and dress were too bunched up for her to reach the pistol. Porn Dude got a look at the satin thong. It was too much for the mutant pervert. He grabbed at it with his left hand while he shoved down his sweat pants with his right.

  Ivalou saw his massive appendage and grabbed it as Porn Dude began ripping off her thong. The pink fabric gave way the same moment her right hand found the assisted-opening knife.

  Unaware of the drama involving Porn Dude, Ashton Bradford spoke earnestly to El Jefe. Numb Nuts stood nearby. El Jefe’s bodyguard exited the chopper after the money was removed and stood nearby. Three other men, all Middle Eastern were between the money and Bradford. One of them held a briefcase that according to El Jefe contained the phones that would arm and set off the device. The Iraqi torturer stayed in the helicopter, aiming an M249 machine gun at the Americans. His Diehard battery and jumper cables were under a nearby seat. El Jefe promised he might get to use them.

  “El Jefe, you correctly guessed I had a traitor on my team. Today I present him to you along with the evidence.” Bradford showed El Jefe the undercover camera and told him Kroll was an undercover FBI agent.

  “Because of your continued trust in me. I give you Ron Kroll to do with as you wish. I would like to strap him to that device and let him enjoy one last ride. However, it would not serve the purpose of warning his employers.”

  “Gracious Senor Bradford, you speak such fine bull shit. But I am pleased you found the traitor. Let me borrow the knife of one our Middle Eastern Brothers.”

  With that, El Jefe went over to one of the jihadists and asked for his knife. The man produced what looked like a small machete from under his loose hanging shirt. El Jefe smiled at the man, and he gestured like he wanted to behead Kroll.

  El Jefe gestured for the man to come with him. He told Numb Nuts to lift Kroll up to his knees. The jihadist gleefully took his place behind Kroll. He held his hand out for the knife. El Jefe spoke.

  “Senor Bradford, I wish you to do the honor of cutting the traitors throat first. Then our Middle Eastern friend will finish removing his head. In my country, we find that doing th
is slow makes the traitorous ones more aware of their foul deeds.”

  El Jefe handed Bradford the knife.

  W. Ashton Bradford grasped the knife in his right hand. He stepped behind Ron Kroll and grabbed him by his hair. Bradford brought the knife under Kroll’s chin to the left side.

  Banshees from hell could not have emitted a more petrifying sound than the horrendous scream that resounded across the prairie.

  Ivalou Vargas cut off Pauli Dumas’s dick. She slashed downward. The blade cut the pulsing muscle the full length of its edge. The drop point ripped open Dumas’s thigh and his femoral artery.

  Andrew Burns placed his crosshairs on the bridge of Ashton Bradford nose and squeezed the trigger. A thirty caliber hollow point boat tail bullet streaked through the desert air. Bradford jerked his head left the instant Burns fired. The 300-grain bullet stuck Ass Bradford forward of his right temple shattering his skull. And turning the front portion of his brain into a mass of tissue and bone spewing from the large cavity on the left side of his head.

  Burns shifted his aim as the rifle recoiled and settled the crosshairs on the jihadist. He died in a similar fashion when the next bullet entered his right eye. Numb Nuts brain hadn’t finished registering the scream when the next round struck the center of his forehead.

  Swinging the rifle onto El Jefe, Andy rushed the next shot. The drug lord was hit squarely in his neck a fraction of an inch below his head. The effect was the same as well carried out hanging, only messier.

  The WMD Tech support jihadi died still holding his briefcase when the next shot struck him in his chest blowing apart his aorta. The remaining suicide bomber was struck under his left arm as he turned to run. Both men found out the 72 virgin business was BS at the same time.

  El Jefe’s bodyguard made a running dive into the rear door of the helicopter. The pilot was spinning up the rotors. The rifle, a modified AR10 of Burns creation’ was capable of firing three shot burst via a selector switch. Burns thumbed the switch, placed the crosshairs on the pilot’s head a mil-dot high, and squeezed the trigger.