Mario unfolded the paper and smiled. “As expected. He ran home.” He stuffed the paper into his jacket pocket and rolled the cigar as he puffed it. “I want eyes on his complex, twenty-four-seven.”
“Si, señor.” Fernando nodded. “I’ll see to it.”
“And the local police?”
He shook his head. “We have none here on our payrolls.”
Mario sucked at his teeth as he thought. “Then we will need a way to prevent them from responding.”
“I have people in place, señor. They have the equipment necessary to block their radios and phone calls.”
“Very well.” He closed his eyes and imagined having all of Bravo Team under his knife. “Soon enough, we will have our revenge.”
Fernando shot him a toothy grin. “Si, señor. It has been too long coming.”
33
South of Dallas, TX
“What the fuck?” DJ groaned as he stepped out of the SUV. “Are you serious?”
Laughlin dropped his bag and stared at the row of military style bunkers. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” He turned to Mauk. “He’s joking, right?”
Mauk held a hand up to stifle the comments. “I’ll talk to him.” He trotted towards Bridger, who was rifling through a ring of keys. “Hey, buddy. A word?”
Bridger turned and gave him a stern look. “What?”
“You, uh…” he chuckled. “You don’t expect us to make our last stand here, do you?”
“This is my home, David. I came for supplies.”
Mauk’s shoulders slumped visibly. “Oh, thank god. I thought you expected us to defend this…” He cleared his throat nervously. “This FINE example of efficiency and—”
“Can it.” Bridger held a key up and slipped it into the steel main entry door. “And for the record, me and a handful of real operators held off the federal fucking government here at this fine example of whatever you were going to say.” He raised a brow at him. “If you think Mario has more resources than the CIA and NSA, think again.”
Mauk held his hands up in defense. “Sorry buddy. I just…” He glanced at the others lingering near the SUV, their eyes studying him. “This is a shooting gallery, pal. Limited entrance and egress…”
Bridger laughed as he pushed the heavy steel door open. “If you think this is limited, just wait until you see what I have in mind.”
Mauk’s face fell and he felt the blood drain to his feet. “Oh, come on, man.” He fell into step behind him, pausing for a moment to take in the huge interior spaces. “Wow…”
“Steel reinforced concrete. Blast doors with hermetic seals for the underground tunnels that connect the three main units.” Bridger tossed a duffel onto the sawhorse workbench and began to stuff weapons, explosives and other equipment into the bag. “There’s a concrete sniper’s nest at the top of the middle unit and…” He paused and stared at him then shook his head. “Why am I bothering? I already lost one home to a firefight. No way I’m risking this one.”
Mauk slid his hand across the wall and felt the freshly patched bullet holes. “Nice repair work, but…” He glanced around the room. “How many did you fend off?”
“Too many.” He grabbed another duffle and began loading it. “Don’t just stand there. Grab some ammo.” He hooked his head toward the far wall and Mauk gave him a surprised look.
“Uh…what calibers?” he asked as he stared at the stacks of green and black military ammo cans.
“All of them.” He marched to the front door and set the bags on the stoop. “DJ! Load em up.”
DJ trotted to the door and nodded to him. “If we’re not setting up defenses here, may I ask where the hell we are going?”
“East,” Bridger grunted. “Middle of nowhere.”
DJ gave him an expectant look. “Care to add anything to that?”
Bridger gave him a knowing stare. “Far enough away that they can’t hurt innocent civilians.”
DJ hefted the duffels. “And you’re sure they’ll follow?”
Bridger leaned to the side and peered past his shoulder. Just outside of eye range he caught the flash of sunlight on something reflective. “Oh, they’ll follow.” He gave him an evil grin. “And they have no idea the shit they’re about to step in.”
Langley Virginia
Jameson hung up his phone and fought the urge to curse. He looked up and met Ingram’s gaze. “He won’t do it.”
“Your man? The one that owed a life debt to Bridger?”
Jameson nodded. “I’m not sure whether to blackmail him into following through or attempt to appeal to his pride. Play off his honor.”
Ingram scoffed. “If he has any left.” He sighed as he leaned back. “I say we send in a strike team.”
“That would go over like a fart in church.”
Ingram held his hands up. “Just…listen. We send in a strike team, but with explicit orders to stay on the periphery. Once the cartel fighters engage, they close on them like a clamp. Take them out from the outside in while Bridger and his people fight them from the inside out. He’ll never be the wiser.”
Jameson raised a brow at him. “And when he crawls out of that military bunker of his and sees four times as many bodies as he killed, then what? Magic bullets?”
Ingram snorted and gave him a cocky grin. “Hey, you said he was good. Besides, the magic bullet theory worked with Kennedy, didn’t it?”
Jameson glared at the man. “Don’t go there, Robert.” He sighed as he leaned back in his chair and considered his options. “I’ll try one more time with this MacDonald character. If he doesn’t come around then maybe we’ll give your idea some consideration.”
Ingram sighed as he came to his feet. “I think you should skip your single man idea and alert the strike team now.” He adjusted his tie and pulled his suit coat on. “I mean, really. What good would one man be in a full out attack?” He shrugged. “The strike team is the better option and we both know it.”
Jameson watched him walk out of
