“I’m only using my most trusted men in the facility. They are men with families. They know what I’ll do if I have to. Everything is going to be fine. Now, come with me. I want to show you how the process works.” The two men walked toward the freight elevator at the end of the production floor. Above them, Barquero crept farther down the platform.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Going in Hot
The school bus crept along the bank of a small stream as the members of STRAC-BOM used the vehicle’s headlights to illuminate the surrounding area of desert. They all were on the lookout for coyotes. Coming to a bend in the shallow riverbed, the bus slid to a halt. Inside the bus, Private Foxtrot cinched up his armor. The metal chest plate made of sheet steel, arm and leg greaves, and helmet with a pronounced crest on top had all come from the Padre’s collection. Hundreds of years old, it was now about to meet the Mexican desert again.
“I’m going in,” Private Foxtrot said as he adjusted his conquistador’s helmet. “Cover me, you bitches.” He stood at the bottom of the stairwell. Taking a piece of chewing gum out of his mouth, he stuck it on the window. “Don’t anyone touch that,” he said before clanking his way out of the bus with the metal detector. Flashlights duct- taped to the barrels of rusty shotguns and old deer rifles poked out from the windows.
“Clear right,” Fire Team Leader Charlie said.
“All good left,” added Team Leader Alpha.
“Bravo?” asked the General.
“Uh, yeah. Nothing in back,” Fire Team Leader Bravo replied. “Nothing but tumbleweeds.”
“Commence searching, Private Foxtrot,” the General ordered. Private Foxtrot began to scan back and forth over the area with his device. “It’s right around here, I think…pretty sure, anyways.”
“Hurry up, Private,” the General implored. Private Foxtrot tried his best to remember exactly where the spot was. In the dark, with flashlight beams dancing back and forth, it was difficult for him to remember. The Private stopped scanning and looked up. He thought he’d seen something move just beyond the reach of the flashlights’ range.
“What’s the matter, Private?” asked the General.
“Thought I saw something over there.”
“Anyone see anything?” the General asked his men.
“Nope,” Private Zulu responded.
“Negative! The correct reply is negative!” the General shouted as his face turned red. “How many times do I have to tell you, Private?”
“Sir, sorry, sir!” Private Zulu called out. “Negative!”
“That’s better. Now, Foxtrot, get back to swinging that damn detector. I want to see you busier than a one-armed monkey with two peckers.”
“Yes, sir.” Private Foxtrot resumed panning back and forth with his device. Every once in a while, he thought he saw something creeping in the distance, but he didn’t dare stop his searching. For fifteen minutes, he plodded along through the desert. The bus followed close behind him. The Private stopped in his tracks and took a whiff of the night air. “Damnation,” he said as he pinched his nose.
“What the hell is it now, Private?” the General asked.
“Something awful rank-smelling out here, sir.”
“What is it?”
“Don’t know. Think it’s over there a piece.”
“Check it out.” The Private wandered in the general direction of the noxious odor.
“Holy crap,” Fire Team Leader Charlie said. “That stink could knock a buzzard off a gut wagon.” He tied a camouflage bandana over his nose and mouth.
“Found it, sir.” Private Foxtrot stood over a decomposing pile of entrails and cracked bones.
“Status report,” the General said. “I want details.”
“Think it might have been some kind of animal. Maybe a goat.” Inside the bus, Private Zulu swallowed hard.
“Team Leader Charlie?” the skinny private asked.
“Yeah.”
“You know what dead goats mean?”
“Now, don’t you go getting all riled up about those chupacabras again.”
“You seen the look in the eyes of those coyotes. They weren’t natural-looking eyes. They had the devil in them.”
“Like, he has a point, man,” Ziggy added.
“No more talking about chupacabras!” the General ordered. “Private Foxtrot, keep going.”
“Maybe I ought to switch out with someone for a spell. I’ve got a blister the size of a half dollar on my foot, and this Spanish armor ain’t helping anything.” The private adjusted the heavy helmet on his head. The helmet’s wide, downward-sloping curved brim impaired his peripheral vision.
“Negatory. Move out.”
“But it’s pretty fresh, sir.”
“Irrelevant, Private. Find me my treasure.”
Private Foxtrot reluctantly resumed his search.
Cesar briefed the men in his vehicle on what to do when they arrived at the target location.
“No more waiting around for the Padre. This time we’re going in hot. I want you to take down anyone who looks like a threat. You see someone with a gun, you have my authority to shoot first.”
“Do you have a ghillie suit I can borrow?” Avery asked. “I left all my sniper gear at home.”
“You’re not going in with us,” Cesar said. “I want you to stay in the vehicle. Keep listening for transmissions.”
“No fair.”
“That’s enough from you.”
“You wouldn’t even know where this guy was if it weren’t for me.”
“And I can still have you locked up for being in this country illegally. Get ready, men. ETA to target, one minute.”
“You guys suck.” Avery opened another Mountain Dew and went back to playing his video game. The convoy of military vehicles arrived at the scene just as two army helicopters were coming in low and fast. They stopped and hovered fifteen feet in the air as troops in black gear fast-roped to the ground. Two cartel guards by the door of the facility unloaded their weapons in the direction of the advancing troops. Using heavy machinery for cover, Cesar led his men forward.
“Sergeant! You take a squad through the main doors,” Cesar yelled over the din of the helicopters and gunfire. “I’m taking one to the loading bay.” Hunched over, Cesar ran from cover to cover, his squad of men behind him. Three cartel gunmen in the loading dock sprayed AK-47 fire in their direction. Five more of the Padre’s armed men came out of the bay to join them. Cesar pulled up behind an excavator. Sounds of heavy gunfire came from inside the building. “Ortiz, can you drive that bulldozer over there?” Cesar pointed.
“Yes, sir.” The soldier ran to the heavy machine while Cesar and his men poured automatic fire at the loading dock. Ortiz started up the bulldozer and raised the heavy hydraulic blade. Putting the machine in gear, he slowly advanced toward the cartel soldiers. Rolling across the open ground, Cesar and his men fell in behind the earthmover. A door gunner from one of the helicopters sprayed the dock with large-caliber bullets that tore apart the rear portion of the tractor-trailer backed up to the dock. Cesar pulled out a grenade and motioned for one of his men to do the same. Stepping from behind the advancing bulldozer, both men arced their grenades toward the bay. Two loud explosions sent bodies of cartel soldiers flying.
“Ortiz!” Cesar yelled. “Head straight for it!” As the lumbering vehicle approached the loading dock, two cartel members, covered in blood, threw down their assault rifles and put their hands over their heads. Cesar’s
