South of Dallas, TX
Jaime Navarro saw the lights of the approaching vehicle go out and listened for the sound of the engine and the crunch of tires on gravel. The unmarked and stolen van rolled to a stop beside the low rider that he and his crew occupied.
“What’s the word?” he asked in Spanish.
“Fantasma is waiting for the others to gather more men,” the man in the shadows replied. “If we kill this hijo de puta and any other pendejo inside first, then word will spread. All of the cartels will know that MS13, as the primary exporter, is legit.”
Jaime glanced across the darkening expanse towards the arched shaped buildings and the weak yellow lights flickering inside. Slowly, he nodded. “Let’s do this.”
He pushed open the door to the classic Chevy and popped the trunk. His crew flowed out of the vehicle and began to pull weapons from the rear. He glanced to the driver of the van. “How many with you?”
The driver smiled, flashing his gold capped teeth. “I’m loaded, cabrón. Twelve men ready to cap these gringos.” The side door slid open and Jaime watched as heavily tattooed men spilled out, each armed to the teeth.
He smiled as he slammed a magazine into the AK-47 and chambered a round. “Then let’s do this.”
35
South of Dallas, TX
DJ stood up from the chair and stretched. “I’ll take first watch.”
“Do you really think that’s necessary?” Lisa asked. “We just got here. Surely they couldn’t have rallied that fast.”
Bridger gave DJ a knowing look. “Do it.”
Laughlin stepped closer to Bridger and lowered his voice. “Not that I want to agree with Lisa, but…” He glanced at her then back to Bridger. “We’ve been back in the States, what? Three hours?”
“Are you ready to risk it over a few hours’ watch?”
Laughlin felt his face fall and shook his head. “No.”
“Me neither.” He nodded towards DJ’s retreating form. “He’s used to being in the glades. If anything bigger than a mosquito farts out there, he’ll know it.”
Mauk stared at the large bay windows at the front of the bunker. “Tell me those are reinforced.”
“What do you think.” Bridger stacked the last of the ammo on the makeshift workbench. “They’ll withstand most small arms fire.”
Mauk turned and gave him a curious look. “Define, ‘most.’”
Bridger shrugged. “Anything under a .50 caliber.”
Mauk seemed to relax slightly. “That’s not cheap. Let’s hope we don’t have to test their viability.”
Lisa chuckled. “Viability. That’s a seven dollar word if I ever heard one.” She shot Mauk a grin. “You sure you can afford to use a word that big?”
“Kiss my ass.”
“Mark off a spot, sweetie. You’re all ass,” she quipped.
All heads turned as DJ darted back inside, his face stern. “We got company.”
“You’re shitting me!” Laughlin shot from his chair, panic rising with him.
“I wouldn’t shit you, Matt. You’re my favorite turd,” DJ responded. He nodded to Bridger. “Tell me you’re wired for sound out there.”
Bridger shook his head. “Haven’t gotten around to it yet.” He tossed a carbine over Lisa’s head to DJ. “Secure the south side.”
Gregg grumbled as he came to his feet and snatched a carbine from the bench. “I really want to say I told ya so.”
“What’s stopping you?” Bridger asked as he slammed a magazine into his own rifle.
“I don’t want that to be my last words.” Gregg turned for the tunnel connecting the bunkers. “I’ll cover north.”
“Shit.” Lisa grabbed the Sig 552 from the coffee table and glanced to Bridger. “You realize that most of our gear is in the back of the truck, right?”
He growled low in his throat. “Don’t remind me.” He marched past her and held the tunnel door open. “You and Laughlin take the center bunker. Under the front windows you’ll find a spider hole. Kill the interior lights before you exit. About fifty yards out and to the north is a rock outcrop. It would make a good sniper position.”
“Eyes!” She held her hand out and he slapped a pair of night vision goggles into it.
“Stay safe.” He turned and marched to the lamp on the far wall. He quickly killed the lights then headed to the pill box on the roof. “Everybody stay on coms!” he barked as he undogged the hatch and crawled inside.
Langley Virginia
Jameson groaned as the overhead screen came to life. His intercom sounded and he punched the button. “Talk to me.”
“Sir, we have activity at the location.”
“Is it the strike team?”
“Negative sir. They’re still in transit.”
He moaned as he fell back into his chair. “Bring it up.”
He watched as the screen came into focus and fifteen or more heat signatures closed in on Bridger’s residence. “Son of a…” He exhaled forcefully and pinched his eyes shut. In the back of his mind he could hear Ingram’s voice telling him that he should have acted sooner.
He leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs, prepared to watch his potential asset meet an untimely end. He tried to relax the muscles in his neck and shoulders as the heat signatures closed the distance to the compound. He could see the bright glowing blobs of two quickly cooling vehicles parked on the county road just a quarter mile away.
“Zoom in and close the gap.”
“How tight sir?” the disembodied voice asked.
“Tight enough to encompass the players,” he responded through gritted teeth.
“Roger that, sir.”
He watched as the screen seemed to expand and the scene enlarged. He saw the men creeping between trees and around scrub brush. At the top of the screen where Bridger’s compound was, he saw two heat signatures sprint across the open ground towards stands of trees on both the north and south sides of the property.
“Don’t be a fool, son. Don’t expose yourself, even in the dark,” he muttered, his fist clenching and relaxing with each passing second.
Two more heat signatures seemed to
