“Which is why we have to do this right,” Cliff said.
46
When he was brought to the ranch, Ty was blindfolded and barely conscious. He was unfamiliar with what lay outside the barn where he’d been kept. He hurried to the outside corner of the metal structure and paused to look around. The sun was blinding, making his battered skull ache. In the distance, perhaps five hundred yards from his position, was a low, sprawling dwelling that had to be the main house. There was some decorative fencing, a watering trough, and some scattered red boulders along the road separating them, but not enough cover to make Ty feel safe. It was an exposed approach with very little cover if things got ugly.
Numerous other structures were within sight and he suspected some of them had to contain people. When he’d been interrogated by Luis, the man had backup. Ty couldn’t assume the men he’d seen had been the extent of Luis’s forces. There could be several times as many men as he’d seen.
He also had to assume these men would not hesitate to use the weapons they carried. These weren’t ten dollar an hour security guards like Ty had once been. These were killers used to pulling the trigger and burying the evidence in the vast Arizona desert. This was dirty cartel business, the world of black magic, skinned bodies, and decapitation. Ty had seen some ugly things over his years of deployment but this was a match for any of it. The Taliban had nothing on the cartels when it came to brutality.
Deciding the only thing that might break up his silhouette was the fence, Ty ran alongside it. The heat was ruthless, the sun pounding on his neck. Running along the ranch road, his adrenaline high and his mind laser-focused, he kept flashing back on Iraq. With such a callous, cruel enemy and such inhospitable terrain, that was exactly what it felt like. In fact, it was almost easier to believe he was back there than to think he was in the US again. He was not in the land of superstores and fast food. He was on a mission, and missions were part of his old life, not his current life. That was where he was in his head and it became harder with each passing second to overlay reality onto the situation in which he found himself.
Somewhere between that barn and the house, he quit fighting it. He let the struggle go. What did it matter where he was? What did it matter if this was the United States, Afghanistan, or Iraq? The mission was the same either way. Find Gretchen Wells and get her home. If he had to kill people, he’d done it before. If he faced dying himself, he’d done that before too. With that realization, that acceptance, he felt freer than he had been at any time since leaving the military.
Ty spotted a few men as he moved along. The place was a functioning ranch and men were working with horses or loading stock trailers. They didn’t spot Ty and he pushed on, head down. As he neared the house, he crouched amidst a cluster of tall cacti and a pinyon pine, taking stock of his surroundings.
He realized that once he passed that point, the landscape opened up and there was even less cover. When he ran for the house, he’d be committed. There were no approach angles shielded from the view of the house. Once he bolted, he was exposed and there was no turning back. If this turned into a firefight, it would be a face-to-face gun battle with both luck and skill having a say in the outcome.
As he prepared to launch himself into the open, a black Suburban came from the back of the house and parked around front. A man Ty recognized from his interrogation got out, disappearing through the front door of the house. Deciding it was now or never, Ty bolted from cover and sprinted toward the house.
When he reached the driveway, he flattened himself against the Suburban, pausing to listen for activity. When there was no indication he’d been seen, he eased around the vehicle. He continued up the short sidewalk and stopped at the front door, intending to listen for signs of life, but doubted he’d hear any through the massive door and thick walls. He put a hand to the lock and pushed down on the ornate iron thumb lever. There was a solid click and the door unlatched. Ty shoved and let it swing open of its own accord, his body concealed behind the fixed panel of the double door.
When no one reacted to the opening door, he peered around the edge and into the house. The deep foyer area was empty. Ty slipped inside, then eased the large door closed behind him to cover his tracks. The floors were polished concrete and he placed his feet carefully so he made no sound beneath his shoes, no squeaks to give him away.
He took one step, then another.
Loud talking came from behind a door to his left. He paused to listen. It was only one voice, not two. The speaker was beseeching. Pleading. Ty wondered if Luis was getting ready to kill someone and they were begging for their life. Then Ty realized it wasn’t talking.
It was praying.
His pistol at high-ready, Ty walked toward the sound and pressed his ear to the cool surface of the wooden door. The voice was definitely coming from inside the room. He took a deep breath, turned the knob, and stepped inside. He opened it casually, hoping that whoever was inside would think he was someone with a legitimate reason for entering the room. He kept his gun close to his body in case there was anyone ready to make a grab for it, but there wasn’t. The only occupant of the room was the woman standing behind a desk.
Although she had her back to him Ty could tell it was her. It was Tia – Fidelia Mendoza – the woman he’d chased across the country. He recognized the hair and the shape of her. She was even wearing the same type of cheap sweat suit, just in a different color.
Her hands were clutched together in front of her chest and she emitted a wailing prayer in Spanish. Uncertain of exactly what she was doing beyond praying, Ty circled to the right, never taking his gun off her. As he moved, the body on the floor came into view. He was shocked to see that it was Luis.
Tia’s prayers ceased. She had detected his presence, possibly heard his footsteps, but her eyes remained shut. “I asked to be alone with my son, Alvarez.”
“It’s not Alvarez, Tia,” Ty replied.
The unfamiliar voice startled her. Tia’s eyes popped open and she staggered over Luis’s body, nearly tripping. She threw a hand to her chest. “Who are you?”
“I’m the man who followed you here from Virginia,” Ty said. “I’m the man who’s come for the girl you kidnapped.”
Tia recovered some of her composure. “You’ve come a long way and wasted a lot of your time. You’ve also caused me a great deal of trouble.”
Despite her age, her eyes were alert and full of menace. They were the eyes of an animal preparing to attack. “You’ve caused me some trouble too. Not to mention what you’ve put the girl’s mother through.”
Tia shrugged. “In this business, somebody always has to be on the bottom. Someone is always getting hurt. The trick is to make sure it’s not you on the bottom.”
“You’ll know all about that soon, Tia. It’s over for you. You’ll probably die in prison and I doubt anyone will shed a tear when you do.” He cast a glance at Luis. “It looks like the only one who might have is dead.”
Her mouth tightened at that comment. “I have money. What would it take to make you go away?”
Ty shook his head. “I’m not for sale.”
“The girl has already cost me more than she’s worth. All I have left is my freedom and that’s worth a lot to me. How about I give you fifty thousand dollars and you walk out of here? You go on with your life and forget you ever saw me.”
“Not happening,” Ty said. “You’re taking me to the basement, to the girl. On the way, I’m going to decide if I turn you over to the police or if I go ahead and kill you myself.”
“You think you can live with that blood on your hands? It’s one thing to talk hard but another to live it.”
“There’s already a lot of blood on my hands. One more body won’t make me sleep any worse.”
Tia squinted at him, studying him intensely. “There’s some darkness in you, isn’t there? Would you like to come work for me? A man willing to kill is always in demand.”
Ty wondered if she saw the struggle inside him.
Did she sense the trauma? The pain? Then he realized it was nothing like that. Her eyes were on his chest. Ty looked down and saw the beads he’d been given at the botanica were dangling from this pocket. The Santa Muerte prayer beads.
“Have you asked the Holy Death for assistance?” she asked. “If so, we’re more alike than you might imagine. She’s the only saint who cares for our kind. The only one who hears our prayers. She forgives the darkness, protects our endeavors.”
Her voice had an almost hypnotic quality that disoriented Ty for a moment. Was she right about the darkness? The psychologist at the VA clinic said one of the symptoms of PTSD was a detachment from emotions. He’d certainly experienced nothing when he’d jabbed the knife into Ramon in the barn.
Ty snapped out of it, closed the distance, and Tia recoiled at his approach. “We’re done talking,” he said, pointing the gun at her face. “Take me to the girl now.”
Tia smiled. “It’s too late. She’s leaving with my friend Alvarez. He’s taking her into town.” She nodded toward the window.
Ty looked outside and saw a large man loading the girl into the passenger seat of the Suburban. “Fuck!”
With Ty distracted, Tia took the opportunity to grab for the pistol in her waistband. It was a chrome .32 automatic, her Saturday Night Special from the old days. Ty caught the movement, the reflection of light off the shiny gun. It was nearly pointed at his center mass before he reacted.
“NO!” he bellowed, sweeping her gun with his left hand as he pushed himself to the side.
The gun fired and the sound exploded in the confines of the room. The hot slug ripped along the underside of his bicep, nearly punching a hole in his chest. She grabbed at the gun with both hands as Ty attempted to twist it from her grip. When she didn’t let go, he smacked her in the temple with his handgun, knocking her to the floor.
Tia rolled onto her side, clutching at her face. Blood streamed between her fingers. Ty looked out the window and saw Alvarez had heard the shot. He’d hustled the girl into the vehicle and was deciding his next move. Ty shoved Tia’s automatic into his back pocket and raced for the front door. He flung it open and sprinted onto the porch.
The appearance of the armed and enraged man running in his direction helped Alvarez choose his course. He hurried around the front of the Suburban and scrambled into the driver’s seat.
Ty threw his gun up and leveled it on the vehicle. “Dammit!” he shouted in frustration.
There was no way he could fire. With those tinted windows, he couldn’t see his target. The last thing he wanted was to injure the child he’d come this far to save. He dropped his point of aim to the front tire and sent a round into it. There was a pop and hiss.
He closed on the vehicle and grabbed at the passenger door handle. Alvarez started the engine and floored the gas pedal. The door handle yanked free of Ty’s hand and he reacted out of pure instinct, grabbing at the roof rack, the only thing he could reach. He pulled his legs onto the running board and tried to swing himself onto the roof but Alvarez, with the flat tire’s assistance, was swerving all over the place.
Ty attempted to shove the handgun into his waistband so he could hold on with both hands but the vehicle veered wildly and he nearly lost his grip. His legs and free arm were waving in the air, one white-knuckled hand all that kept him from falling. When he got four points of contact firmly back on the vehicle, he found he’d lost Ramon’s gun. That wasn’t optimal but he had Tia’s pocket pistol.
Having trouble steering with the blown tire, Alvarez whipped the vehicle back and forth, trying to shake Ty free. When that failed, he aimed the vehicle at the landscaping, intent on using a ten foot cactus to scrape Ty from the side. Ty could only imagine what that might feel like.
He dropped a hand and opened the fuel filler door. Using it as a step, he launched himself onto the roof. He drew his feet up just in time, barely missing the vicious cactus spines raking the side of the vehicle like claws.
Ty rolled onto his stomach, spreading his feet to brace himself into the roof rack. Alvarez kept trying to shake him free. With his left hand locked onto the roof rack, Ty dropped his right to his back pocket and came up with Tia’s automatic. He crawled forward and aimed the gun down through the roof, directly over the driver’s seat.
He figured he had one chance at this. Once he started firing, Alvarez would likely attempt some type of evasive maneuver. Ty opened fire with the tiny pistol, pulling the trigger as fast as he could. Ty managed to get off three puny rounds before the driver locked the brakes up.
It wasn’t the type of action a dead man took. Ty had either missed the guy or the ineffective .32 caliber rounds had failed to incapacitate him. Ty had no time to react to the change in direction. He sailed off the roof, bounced heavily off the hood, and face-planted on the dusty gravel road.
He lay there stunned, dust whirling around him, wondering if he should just roll into the ditch and let the man go on his way. Any second he was going to stomp the gas again and that would be the end of Ty, snagged beneath the vehicle. The mission would end in failure. He raised his face from the road and felt the burn of hundreds of scrapes and gouges. The gravel had chewed him like sandpaper. Blood from his flattened nose poured into the dust beneath his face.
The door swung open.
47
Alvarez shoved open the door and stumbled out, struggling to get his gun from his holster. He carefully touched his left hand against his stinging head and it came back drenched in blood. His ear was mangled, nearly ripped loose by the bullet now lodged in his shoulder. He took a single step and pain exploded through his leg. He grabbed the door to right himself. One of the bullets that tore through the roof had buried itself in his thigh. Blood soaked the leg of his jeans but it was not gushing. While none of his wounds would be fatal, each brought its own bouquet of pain and suffering.
He was going to repay the favor when he caught this cabron. This ended here and it ended now. He wasn’t fleeing the property. If he did, what the hell would he do with this girl? Where would he take her? Children were not his business.
No, he was finishing this man and then he was returning to the house to finish that crazy Tia. This was all her fault. She’d killed her own son and Alvarez wasn’t letting her him kill too. To hell with the old woman and her witchy bullshit.
He limped to the front of the vehicle, gun at the ready, and swung around the bumper. The man wasn’t there. Alvarez sucked in a breath when salty sweat ran over his wounded ear. It stung like crazy.
He examined the ground. The man had been there. Alvarez had seen him sail off the roof, and there were droplets of blood all over the ground. Had he circled the vehicle? Was he coming up behind him now?
Alvarez spun wildly, ready to start blasting. There was no one there. Could the man have run off into the desert? Alvarez sagged against the grill of the Suburban and mopped at his face with the tail of his blood-stained shirt. He threw back his head and yelled, “You can’t get away, you bastard! I’m going to find you!”
Alvarez gave a sudden intake of breath when he felt a strange impact on the back of his legs, then two sharp stings. He looked down, thinking he might have been bitten by a snake or stung by a scorpion. Instead, he found a bloody knife in motion, having just severed his Achilles tendons. Alvarez screamed and dropped to the ground, the pain finally penetrating his already pain-drunk mind.
Then the man was on him, scrambling from beneath the vehicle. He climbed onto Alvarez’s chest and held the bloody knife to his throat. He wrenched Alvarez’s gun from his hand and shoved it into his own belt. Alvarez caught a glimpse of the bloody face, the gritted teeth, and the determined eyes, but could find no words. Another spasm of pain seized his body and he cried out.
48
Ty hastily searched the man but was unable to keep him still. The pain from the severed tendons was too intense and he writhed on the ground like a man possessed. Ty found a spare mag for the Kimber .45 he took from him and a .22 magnum revolver
hidden in an ankle holster. Although getting the ankle gun required a serious effort due to the contortions, there was no way he was going to leave it with the guy.
Gasping for breath and unsteady from the adrenaline dump, Ty got to his feet and stashed the weapons on his body. Blood ran into his eyes. He was certain his left thumb was broken and possibly his collarbone. There was so much pain it was hard to separate out the individual sources. With a hand on the fender to steady himself, he limped to the passenger door and threw it open.
Time slowed down.
The seat was empty but there was a body slumped on the floor. A blood-stained face with flat, expressionless eyes stared back at him.
Ty reeled. Not again.
He threw back his head and screamed.
A roar filled his head and dust blinded him. He fell onto his back and screamed at God, forgetting even to breathe. Bloody spittle flew from his mouth and he pounded the earth with his outstretched arms, clawing at the ground. He thought of the gun in his belt and reached for it. He’d once wondered how much he could take before he broke and now he knew. He was there.
This was the end.
Then there were hands on him. He assumed the main body of Luis’s men had caught up with him. They were going to kill him and he didn’t even care. As long as they did it soon, they were welcome to. The roar he’d assumed was in his head diminished as a chopper lifted off and headed in the direction of Luis’s house.
In the absence of rotor wash, the desert breeze swept the dust away and Ty saw men in camouflage fatigues tending to him. They had medical kits and were assessing his wounds. Ty imagined he was back in Helmand Province again, the medics tending to his blood-soaked body after they pulled him from the van where the Pakistani girl had died. Any minute these men were going to pull Gretchen’s body from the vehicle and he’d see those accusing eyes again.
Hard Trauma Page 24