He checked his weapon and the two curved hand scythes in his waistband. Cesar and his men hadn’t arrived yet. That was good. He had a score to settle. Personally. He liked to work alone.
The building showed signs of decay and neglect, but there were armed men posted at locations around the perimeter. Barquero moved stealthily among the excavators and dump trucks surrounding the building. As dilapidated as the outside of the building appeared, there was clearly a great deal of work being done in and around the property. At one end of the building, an eighteen-wheeler was backed up to a loading dock. Men were using a forklift to unload pallets of materials into the facility. In front of him, two men with assault rifles waited by a door. He sneaked past them under the cover of heavy machinery, opting for a broken window on the side of the facility. Meticulously, he picked the remaining broken shards of glass from the window, one by one. To his right, he heard footsteps. Leaning up against the shadows, he reached for one of the curved blades at his back. As the man rounded the corner, Barquero attacked. It was over in seconds. The man’s quivering body spilt its blood on the dry sand at the corner of the building. Barquero returned to the window and pulled himself in. Room to room, he searched. Coming to a long hallway, he heard to men laughing. They were standing by a staircase.
“And the what?” one of the men asked, laughing.
“I swear to God, the next thing she did was…” the man said as he slumped against the wall.
“What?” his confused partner asked as a bullet from Barquero’s silenced pistol pierced his lung. “What the…” he said as he collapsed on top of his compatriot. Barquero ran down the hall and, in quick succession, shot both men in the head. He checked behind him and then went down the steps.
“I want every available helicopter in the air now!” Cesar shouted into his radio. Sirens blared and lights flashed as the long procession of military vehicles raced down the highway.
“Most commando teams sneak in without sirens,” Avery said. “Trust me, I should know.”
“Get me General Morales on the line,” Cesar said.
“Seriously, with the lights and everything, we look like a freaking neon snake out here.” Avery opened another Mountain Dew. “MI-6 would never do it this way.”
“Shut up,” Cesar said to Avery. “When we get there, you stay put.”
“Whatever,” Avery replied as he returned to playing the latest release of Zombie Slaughter on his laptop. “But can we stop for tacos on the way? No onions for me.”
“Not another word from you!” Cesar went back to his radio.
“What? No tacos here? This country bites ass,” Avery muttered.
General X-Ray and the rest of the STRAC-BOM listened intently as Private Foxtrot recounted the story of the metal detector and the positive reading he’d come across. When the private had finished, the General leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his bald dome.
“That big a reading?” he asked.
“Sir, massive, sir,” Private Foxtrot replied.
“But it was back near where we parked the bus? Near that pack of animals?”
“Yep.”
“Well, boys, we’ve found the civilian, and as far as I’m concerned, that fulfills our end of the bargain. I was planning for us to bug out back to the States once it gets light outside. But let’s face it. We’re still broke as beggars, and if there really is something down there of value, it just might be the ticket that keeps us in the militia business. It won’t be easy, but I think we can do it. That said, the mission is officially over, and you men deserve to head home for some well-deserved R&R. We’ll put it to a vote. But it needs to be unanimous.” The men looked around nervously at each other.
“I, like, vote no, dudes,” Ziggy said as Nancy squirmed in his arms, trying to bite his face.
“This is a military operation,” the General said. “Hippy votes don’t count.”
“Like, bummer, man.” Ziggy kissed Nancy.
“Anyone who wants in, say aye.” The General looked at his men.
“Aye!” said Private Foxtrot. No one else said a word. “Come on, guys,” the private pleaded. “Think of all the sweet stuff we can buy with the money. ATVs, grenade launchers, bass boats with machine guns…”
“I’m in,” said Fire Team Leader Charlie. He kicked at Private Zulu.
“Me, too,” said Zulu reluctantly.
“I’ll go,” said Fire Team Leader Alpha. “Someone has to keep an eye on Private Foxtrot.” The private gave his Team Leader a high five.
“Well,” the General said. “That means it’s up to Fire Team Bravo. What’ll it be?”
“Why not?” said Fire Team Leader Bravo. “How hard could it be?”
“Sure,” added Private Tango. “You guys need me.” The General beamed as he looked around the room at his men.
“This is going to be epic, men,” General X-Ray said proudly. “Why, if we pull this off, I’m pretty sure
“When should we head out, General?” Private Zulu asked.
“Immediately. We’ll use the cover of darkness to our advantage.”
“You sure that’s a good idea?” Fire Team Leader Alpha asked. “I mean, what if we run into those dogs again?”
“Don’t worry, Team Leader — I’m pretty sure those things don’t see well at night.”
Barquero made his way down several flights of stairs, stopping occasionally to listen for sounds. He swapped out his pistol’s magazine. One flight of stairs below him, a metal deck opened up. Fluorescent light came from below. The sound of men working came from below the platform. Barquero silently made his way down. Below him was a sprawling space filled with machinery and chemical containers. At the far end of the cavernous room, men wearing chemical suits worked to move materials from a freight elevator into the laboratory. Mixed with the slight buzzing of the light panels in the ceiling was the faint sound of the massive system venting air to the outside. Barquero used stacks of crates that were being stored on the platform to move unseen to a position overlooking the middle of the room. Peering down, he could see the Padre. He was talking to a man wearing a dark tracksuit, open at the neck. A thick metal chain hung from the neck of the stocky man. A large bodyguard stood behind him. A pistol hung from a shoulder harness the guard wore over his shirt. He wasn’t trying to conceal the weapon in any way.
“It wasn’t just the drugs that didn’t arrive,” the man with a heavy Eastern European accent said to the Padre. “I want my cars.”
“Yuri, calm down,” the Padre said. “I know you’re upset. I am, too. The incident at the harbor was only a minor inconvenience. I’ll replace the merchandise. You’re not the only one who lost something. I lost an entire container ship. They’re not easy to replace.”
“If we were in the Ukraine right now, you’d be a dead man.”
“Yuri.” The Padre’s demeanor suddenly became ice cold. “Don’t threaten me.” Two of the Padre’s men with AK-47s took a step forward and stood by the Padre. “You’ll get your product and your goddamn cars. But don’t you ever threaten me.” The Padre stared straight into the gangster’s eyes. “Ever.” Yuri looked around the facility as rest of the Padre’s men quit what they were doing and watched the two notorious drug moguls face off. “Back to work!” the Padre yelled. His men immediately complied. “Like I said, I don’t go back on a deal with a partner. And I promise you want to be a partner with me on this one.” The Padre motioned to the massive meth lab being assembled around them. “Once this is complete, I’ll make you the largest methamphetamine dealer in Europe. If you want a Lamborghini, you’ll be able to buy the company.”
“When do you start production?” Yuri rubbed his double chin.
“The lab will be complete in a few more days, but it will take several weeks to have the precursor materials delivered from overseas.”
“This site is remote, but not that remote. How will you keep it hidden?”
“I’ve had some of the best technicians in the world working on the filtration systems, and with the lab this deep underground, it can’t be spotted from the air.”
“What if someone talks? You’ve, how do you say? Put many of your eggs in a basket.”
