Wild Fire: A Suspense Thriller (A Hawk Tate Novel Book 6)

by Dustin Stevens

  Textbook placement.

  “Something like that,” I replied, cinching a Velcro strap across my chest. Securing the body armor into place atop the t-shirt I wore, I swung my arms to either side, making sure it wasn’t too tight, that I still had full range of motion.

  “When was the last time you did something like this?” he asked. Lifting a Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine gun, he held it to his shoulder. Sighting down the length of it, he pulled the magazine and checked it was full before reinserting it.

  Looping the shoulder strap over his right delt, he let it hang down, the body of it pressed along his ribcage.

  Picking up a matching weapon, I took it in both hands. Tucking my chin to my shoulder, I pulled the gun in tight, the smell of oil wafting up off the barrel.

  “Lot more recent than you’d probably believe.”

  Tightening the strap just slightly, I threaded my arm through the hole, letting it hang down by my side.

  Reaching back into the rear hold, Diggs took up a small nylon duffel bag. Barely larger than a sack of potatoes, I could hear metal clinking inside, the explosives tucked within rattling against one another.

  Looping it over his opposite shoulder, he slammed the rear hatch shut, the sound echoing across the sand before being swallowed up by the faint breeze blowing in from the west.

  Without the faint glow of the interior dome light, the world grew darker instantly, my pupils dilating, adjusting to our surroundings.

  The continued digging of Pally throughout the evening had revealed precious little. Nowhere in any databases were there any blueprints or schematics for the grounds of the Fruit of the Desert Winery. Same for any hope of using satellite imagery, the time of day making it impossible to get any sort of usable photos.

  All we were left with was a handful of snapshots, images pulled from a real estate listing before the property was purchased years before. Done long before there was any thought of turning the place into a winery, it resembled most every estate in this part of the country.

  A central structure surrounded by a small lawn and a whole lot of sand and hardscrabble plants.

  Not nearly as much data as we’d want or need. The sort of thing we were doing only reluctantly, forced into action by the ongoing presence of Jones and Smith.

  Curling his right hand up toward his armpit, Diggs grabbed his MP5. Pushing it across his chest, he took the opposite end in his left hand, the two barely more than ten inches apart, his elbows chicken-winged out to either side.

  Dressed all in black, he was little more than a silhouette staring back at me.

  “You think this has a chance in hell at working?”

  Starting with my left hand, I grasped the barrel of my own MP5. Tugging it forward, I wrapped my right around the base, matching Diggs’s pose.

  “Pally said it wouldn’t be an issue. These new cars are so automated, it’s like playing a damn video game.”

  Flicking his eyes over to the car, Diggs smirked. “Not what I meant. That’s actually the only part of this whole damn thing I know will work.”

  Whether any of this would pan out, I didn’t have a clue. Just as I had not the slightest what we were walking into. If Ruiz was waiting for us with an army, or if he was even here.

  All I knew was that the more time we let expire, the greater his odds of disappearing. Of fortifying his position.

  Of switching from defense to offense, getting antsy and deciding to come looking for us.

  In no way was this how either one of us would prefer to be approaching things, but that was no longer in our control. We would finish what we had set out to, we would avenge our friend, ensure we didn’t have to move forward constantly on the alert for Ruiz or his lackeys.

  Or we wouldn’t.

  Either way, it ended here.

  “Let’s go.”

  Chapter Eighty-One

  Sweat stung my eyes. It dripped down off my forehead, running over my cheeks and lips, the taste briny on my tongue.

  Beneath the Kevlar vest I wore, I could feel my shirt clinging to my skin.

  My lungs and thighs both were starting to burn, desert sand and lactic acid working through them respectively.

  Without having any kind of overhead visual on the place we knew Ruiz to last be, the only thing we could go off of was a basic map. Nothing topographical, no sort of indication at all about the ground we were going to be covering.

  Simply a generic road map.

  Again, something neither one of us would have ever signed off on in a different life, but now were forced into, not having any other options. Because of that, any hope of infiltrating from the perimeter was dashed. As was the ability to use our numbers, splitting ourselves, coming in at them from different directions.

  All we had was the road map, the simple schematic confirming the coordinates Pally had lifted from Ruiz and Mejia’s phones and the address we had for Fruit of the Desert.

  A spot in the sand well beyond the reach of greater San Diego. A place so remote no neighbors came up in any of the online searches.

  A location meant to be beyond prying eyes, protected by the desert and a terrain that could not be trusted.

  Taken as a whole, the sole hope for approach was to follow the road leading up to the place.

  Leaving the SUV two miles out on the sand packed dense along the side of the asphalt, Diggs and I had fallen in beside one another. Submachine guns in hand, we’d started down the road, moving as quick as we could.

  Side by side, we said not a word, the only sounds the occasional tapping of the grenades loaded into the bag Diggs carried.

  Protected by the complete darkness of our location and a gradual rise in the road ahead, we’d been able to stand at full height, jogging without fear of being noticed. Both employing long strides, we’d worked our way down the unlined pavement, the road clearly one that didn’t get much use.

  For more than ten solid minutes, we continued on. Well after the SUV disappeared from behind us and on through the middle portion, when the only illumination was the stars and a waning gibbous moon above.

  On further until we crested the small rise, spotting the dull glow of lights in the distance.

  At the sight of them, we slowed our pace to a walk. Moving to the side of the road, we fell in one behind the other, Diggs taking point as I watched the rear. This we continued for five more minutes before lowering ourselves into a slight crouch. Even then, we kept our pace steady, watching as our destination grew ever closer.

  As each step seemed to raise my heart rate, sweat continuing to seep from every pore.

  Ahead of me, I saw as Diggs lowered his left hand from his weapon. Digging into his pants pocket, he buried everything from the wrist down into the dark material, his gait twisting slightly from the uneven stance.

  “Alerting Pally now to our position,” he whispered. “Five minutes out and closing.”

  Gaze fully locked on the orbs of light ahead, I kept my head twisted to the side, total focus on any sound that might make its way across the desert.

  “Roger that.”

  Chapter Eighty-Two

  We heard the SUV long before we saw it.

  And even that wasn’t until it was almost on us.

  With the lights off and the black paint and dark window tint, it looked like little more than a dark turtle moving down the center of the road at us. Low and squat, it was positioned in the center of the asphalt strip, going at more than forty miles an hour.

  Utilizing a hybrid engine, the sound was almost undetectable, the speed kept just short of engaging the engine, maintaining a point where it was still running entirely on electricity.

  From the instant Diggs had reached into his pocket and pressed a single button on his cellphone, the signal sent for Pally to begin, we had increased our pace to almost a full sprint.

  Having almost a half mile to cover, we had crossed over to the far side of the road. Abandoning some of our concern for moving in stealth, our chief concern became rea
ching the front gate, our best chance at success predicated on arriving at the same time as the SUV.

  The idea was something Pally came up with, a practice he had employed a couple of times in his work in the private sector.

  Apparently, many of the newer cars coming out today were governed by computer technology. What had started with only high-end models like Tesla or Lexus was now working its way down to less ostentatious vehicles, anything with a built-in video screen capable of being accessed remotely.

  Or, more importantly for our purposes, accessed and operated.

  How he knew that the SUV Diggs had rented was equipped with all this, I didn’t bother inquiring. Just as I didn’t need to know the particulars of how it worked.

  Like so many things in the last couple of days – and over the last several years before that – I trusted him to do what he said he could.

  Often, that meant getting us schematics or access to video feed.

  In this instance, it meant providing us with a full-on battering ram, a way of penetrating the front gate and drawing attention, letting us slip in behind it.

  Assuming, of course, that the gate that was shown in the old real estate photos still existed. If it didn’t, Pally would simply find the closest inanimate target he could and aim for that.

  From there, however things played out was on us.

  Hearing the vehicle approaching fast behind us, we both increased our pace. Rising to full height, puffs of sand rose in our wake as we tore forward, the lights of our destination growing ever closer.

  With each stride we took, more details emerged from the darkness. What we had thought was nothing more than a stretch of desert sand looked to be closer to a tropical oasis, a dense tangle of foliage rising upward.

  Silhouetted by the bright glow of the security lights on the property, I could make out the jagged pattern of palm fronds. Mixed in were interspersed branches of other various trees, darkened fingers reaching upward, rising into the night sky.

  Standing in a tight clump, it seemed to grow out of the desert fully formed. Reminding me of Devil’s Tower in Wyoming, the spread seemed woefully out of place, springing up twenty-five feet higher than anything else in sight.

  Around the rear perimeter of it, we could see most of the lights clustered, outbuildings forming a makeshift outer wall.

  Gaze fixed on our target, trying to decipher every detail, we felt as the SUV blew by, warm air washing over us, the vehicle little more than a shadow moving past. Clutching submachine guns in either hand, the instant it was beyond us we both shoved out into the street, each of us falling in side by side.

  Propelled by adrenaline, by anticipation, by wanton hatred of the man we were pursuing and everything he had done, we both hurtled forward as fast as we could.

  Sweat poured from my body, my lungs clawed for air, as the brake lights on the SUV flared before us. A twin pair of bright red flashes, they ignited for no more than a second, an unspoken message from Pally.

  It was time.

  He was going in.

  Pounding out another fifteen yards, we shifted our position once more. Reaching the outer edge of the foliage surrounding the estate, we fell back into a single file line along the right edge of the pavement, using the thick shadows of the trees for cover. As we did so, the humidity around us rose, the air becoming thicker, as ahead of us the SUV made the turn into the main drive.

  No hesitation. No additional time for us to catch up.

  Damned sure no warning to anybody waiting outside the gate.

  Punching the gas hard, the squeal of tires rang out. A puff of smoke rose as the vehicle fishtailed from side to side, tires whirring atop the pavement before finally gaining purchase and shooting forward.

  There and gone in nothing more than an instant, it disappeared from sight, folded into a gap ahead in the trees.

  Behind it, we continued pushing on, never once slowing as we heard the sound of small arms fire begin to punctuate the night. Drawing metal, the distinctive pings could be heard as we continued moving forward, passing through the acrid smoke of the tires drifting back down the road toward us.

  Sounds that were soon swallowed up by the sound of Pally doing just what he had promised.

  Chapter Eighty-Three

  The front gate we had spotted in the real estate photos had been removed in the years since, the classic black iron replaced by one that seemed to shine like gold. Much more for form than function, it barely served as a blockade to the SUV as it smashed into it, forced backward with an angry cry of metal against metal.

  Shearing the hinges off on either side, the gate flipped end over end, the SUV barely slowing from the collision. Sparks flew into the night, their bright glow punctuated by handfuls of muzzle flashes, a half-dozen guards lining either side of the drive.

  Not one of which was looking our way as we rounded the corner, Diggs taking the lead as I fanned out wide a few steps behind him.

  Having no way of knowing what the grounds looked like, no clue what sort of manpower might be present, there hadn’t been any chance for us to form a strategy. No way to know the best approach, everything from the moment Diaz had us convene at the drop box done completely on the fly.

  So be it.

  Sometimes the best plan is no plan.

  Jerking the MP5 up in front of me, I took two steps out to the side from Diggs. Far enough to ensure I never fired his direction, but close enough that if anybody looked our way, I wouldn’t be too exposed.

  Nesting the submachine gun to my shoulder, I sighted in on the closest guard, the man’s full attention on the vehicle that had just shouldered through the gate.

  No more than twenty yards away, a quick three round burst all found center mass, his body jerking violently. Tossing his hands out before him, the Kalashnikov he carried clattered to the ground, the force of the shots tossing him sideways onto the driveway.

  Beside me, I could hear Diggs’s gun spitting out rounds in equal time, the scent of gunpowder rising around us, mixing with the lingering stench of the scorched tires.

  Eyes stinging from the sweat coating my features, I jerked the muzzle of my gun a few inches to the side, the second guard in order just turning our direction as I unloaded another cluster.

  From a greater distance and done on the fly, the aim was a bit more sporadic, the first drawing air, whizzing by to his right before the last two struck home. Smashing one into each side of his chest plate, his torso jerked straight back as he released his gun, weapon clattering to the ground by his feet.

  Trusting he was finished, that the .40 caliber rounds had done their job, I moved on to the third and final in order. The furthest away, he’d had the most time to react, twisted back in our direction, his rifle raised to his shoulder.

  Managing to squeeze off a pair of rounds, twin bright orange muzzle flashes erupted from the tip of his weapon, the rounds mashing into the dense leaves above us.

  My stride even, I bore down on him, walking up the driveway. Keeping the same spacing from Diggs, I sighted in on the man, using the flicker of the muzzle flashes each time I blinked as a target before pushing out one final burst.

  Stitching a ragged pattern across his torso, his body contorted in spastic movements, held upright by nothing more than muscle memory before gravity won out. Toppling to the ground, his body melted into a heap, not to move again.

  After firing those last three rounds, I swept the front of the gun across the far side of the driveway. Checking every shadow, looking for any other sign of movement, I came to halt, only barely aware that Diggs had stopped firing beside me as well.

  “You good?” I asked, focus still on the wall of trees nearby.

  “Good,” Diggs replied. “Three on my side. You?”

  “Same.”

  Both keeping our weapons trained before us, I took a pair of steps forward. Drawing even with him, we stood peering the length of the driveway, the pale asphalt extending ahead of us before disappearing in a wide curve to the rig
ht.

  Filling in the space on either side was more forestation, an odd mix of native and non-native plants.

  Rising behind it in the distance was what I guessed to be the central home, lights peeking through the trees.

  “Didn’t my ass just leave the jungle?” Diggs whispered.

  Thinking much the same, I raised a hand, wiping away some of the thick layer of sweat coating my forehead.

  “How you want to play it?” I asked, ignoring his question.

  In my periphery, I could see him glance my way, ambient light flashing against the perspiration covering his bald head.

  “Well, I didn’t carry this damn bag of explosives in here with us for nothing.”

  Chapter Eighty-Four

  The stucco railing along the top of the balcony was cool to the touch. Hours removed from the last rays of sunlight for the day, all residual warmth had long since faded.

  Even at that, it did little to lower Junior Ruiz’s body temperature as he stood leaning forward, his palms pressed flat against it.

  He was foolish to think he would be given even a day’s head start. To consider that he could wait until the next morning before clearing some of the unnecessary clutter from the grounds.

  Whatever lead they had, any element of surprise there might have been, had been wiped out when one of their assassins had fallen woefully short.

  And then again when Mejia’s son had decided to go off-script, leaving behind a calling card that was a neon arrow directly to his front door.

  From that moment forward, he should have known that they were coming. That their visit to Esmera was only the beginning. That even if they didn’t know exactly where he was, it was only a matter of time before they showed up.

  These were the same people that had arrived in the middle of Juana Salinas’s quinceañera, had had no qualms about using the sacred event or the gathered crowd to nab him.