“What are we doing?” Dan asked.
“You’re going to drop off Jenson and Parker on that dirt road ahead of the truck. Have them roll a spike strip on the path. Then have them ready to make a nest up in the trees ten yards apart. When the truck hits those spikes, I want Parker to take a shot at the gunman in the truck bed. Then have Jenson take out the driver.”
There was a pause on the line while Nick and Stevie watched the helicopter follow a northwestern flight path.
“Nick,” Dan said. “That’s pretty risky for the hostages.”
Nick understood the behavior of terrorists; once those gunmen realized the hostages were simply cargo-they were dead. They could see the truck in the distance, flying over potholes, a trail of leaves floating in its wake. Nick’s chest tightened. “Dan, they killed Jennifer Steele. I trust Greg to take the shot.”
There was another long pause, until Greg Parker’s voice came over the phone. “I’ll get him, Nick.”
Of course it wasn’t the gunman Nick was worried about taking a bullet and Parker knew that. The helicopter was following the dirt path now, low to the ground, approaching the red X.
“Slow down, Dan,” Nick said. A moment later, he announced, “Right there. Drop them off right there.”
The chopper hovered for a moment while the two men scrambled out and rolled a spike strip across the narrow dirt path. The helicopter’s nose came down and moved along the road directly at the truck which was coming around a corner a hundred yards away.
Nick knew what the pilot was doing; he was attempting to distract the driver so he wouldn’t spot the snipers waiting for them.
“Don’t get cute, Dan,” Nick ordered. “You’ve got their attention, now get up high and out of range.”
A pool of sweat gathered around Nick’s ear where the phone had been fastened. He switched ears and wiped the damp one with his shoulder.
Stevie and Nick watched the truck take the final turn too fast. They watched it almost tip over, coming up on two wheels before recovering and slamming back down on all four. The sweat continued to drip down the side of Nick’s face as the vehicle approached the spike strip lying across the road.
Stevie put his hand on his forehead as if waiting for a head-on collision between two passenger trains.
“Lord, be with them,” Nick murmured, the tightness in his chest growing stronger.
As the driver spotted the spike strip, he did what every criminal has ever done in that situation. He slammed on the accelerator. Something about the brain which creates the belief that a vehicle going fast enough can fly over the spikes with impunity.
Nick’s lunch worked its way up his esophagus as the truck plowed over the spikes. A puff of dust emerged as the wheels scraped against the ground. The truck hobbled forward, leaning right and struggling ahead with a maniacal demand from the driver.
Watching from the satellite gave the images a creepy feel. The absence of sound gave the scene more gravity.
Julie was still holding Thomas to her chest when the gunman’s head next to her lurched back. A blotch of red instantly appeared on the back window. Julie and Thomas went down too. The driver must’ve heard the gunshot and immediately skidded the truck to a stop. Nick’s first thought was, he’s going to kill them. If they’re not already dead. There was no telling where the bullet came from and where it went after penetrating the gunman’s head.
The gunman in the truck bed lay slumped, his head unnaturally drooped to his right.
The driver jumped out of the truck and placed his hands on his head, turning in a circle, looking for the snipers. Nick didn’t trust him; he hoped Parker and Jenson didn’t either.
Julie and Thomas were still down, with no sign of movement. Nick had his hand over his mouth, while Stevie craned his neck closer to the screen.
Parker emerged from his nest, his rifle out in attack mode. He approached from the rear of the truck.
On the wireless headset, Nick heard Parker say, “You got the driver, Bill?”
From the opposite side of the road, and the front of the vehicle, Bill Jenson crept out of the woods, knees bent, rifle ready.
“I’ve got him,” Jenson announced.
It was over. But Julie and Thomas weren’t moving. Nick was paralyzed with fear. What had he done? Parker dropped his rifle and pulled himself over the tailgate. Nick could hear him breathing hard as he maneuvered around a lawnmower and got to his knees. First he examined the dead gunman, then shoved his corpse aside. He bent over Julie. Silent. Nothing. Nick’s knees were giving out. He leaned against the desk for support.
Parker placed a hand on Julie’s back. It was dark and hard to see, but there seemed to be some subtle movement.
“Are you okay?” Parker said.
Then Nick saw the most glorious sight he’d ever seen. Parker leaned back and held his thumb up to the satellite image.
“They’re fine,” Parker said into the headset.
Nick gripped Stevie’s shoulders, while Stevie clapped his hands in celebration. Nick had to wipe his eyes while he caught his breath.
The door to the office opened and Matt walked in carrying a cardboard container with three coffees as Nick and Stevie finished off a high five.
“What’d I miss?” Matt asked, with an innocent grin on his face.
Chapter 9
Garza rubbed Julio’s back while the boy lay in bed next to him taking deep, meaningful breaths. He lowered his head and gave his son a gentle kiss on the back of the boy’s neck.
“Sleep tight, Nino,” Garza said, lifting off the bed and softly backing out of the room.
Once in the kitchen, Garza found Victor sitting at the wooden table looking over his laptop computer.
“Any word?” Garza said, grabbing a bowl from the cabinet and opening the freezer.
“Not yet,” Victor said. He nodded to a brown paper bag sitting on the counter next to the refrigerator. “Emelio has paid us for the month.”
“Good,” Garza said, scooping some vanilla ice cream from a container into his bowl. “What about Hector?”
“He paid last week. He is frightened of being late.”
Garza grinned. He appreciated the power of his reputation. He sat down across from Victor and enjoyed his ice cream. A nightly ritual.
Victor’s phone quietly chirped. He picked it up from the table and read from the screen. On his face was a mixture of displeasure and approval.
“Our American contact,” Victor said. “The female FBI agent is dead.”
Garza liked the way it started.
“But Bracco’s wife and child survived.”
Garza dropped his spoon. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “And Juan?”
Victor finished reading the text message, then looked up. “Juan is in custody. The others are dead.”
Garza rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. From all the books he’d read on warfare, he knew how important it was to keep on the offensive. Even though he was virtually untouchable in his lair below the border, he wanted to conduct his business with the least amount of interference from the US government.
Garza stood and placed his bowl in the sink. He grabbed the brown package from the counter and looked inside. It seemed to be the correct amount of money. He gestured for Victor to follow him and the two men walked down a hallway to the front door. When he reached his office door, he held up a finger for Victor to wait as he went in and opened the safe behind his desk, grabbed a satchel, then returned to the hallway.
As they exited the building, a black Cadillac Escalade idled in the driveway. Garza motioned Victor to get in the back seat with him as they had done a hundred times before. Victor would play with his phone and find information for Garza while they drove to town or to pick up a payment. This time, however, as they reached the
