Using the app on his phone to track her, via the pendant on her necklace, he knew she was across the border in Mexico.
The longer she wore the necklace undetected, the better. However, there was a very real possibility that her captors would find the pendant and remove it from her.
Following the route they’d taken, he drove toward the border.
He looked at his phone again. Movement on the GPS screen had stopped.
This could mean she was in a final location. Or in a final location, for now.
Ensenada.
That’s where she is now.
He took his phone and dialed Arturo, a Mexican national who had dual citizenship. Brian and Arturo had served in the Marines together overseas, and then Arturo had decided not to re-enlist, but to return home to fight corruption in the city of his grandparents and his cousins. He was now a Mexican policeman, who trained the SWAT team.
Arturo answered, “Hola.”
“Hola. Arturo, this is Barbie,” Brian said. Using that nickname, Arturo would know this was a serious call.
Instead of using Brian’s “Barbie” nickname, Arturo called Brian his “brother from another mother”, and the two of them had been as close as brothers. Only fellow Marines called Brian Barbie, a nickname he’d picked up in boot camp because his last name was Ken, and his sergeant had thought that was funny.
“Amigo, what are you up to?” The pleasure of hearing from his friend was in Arturo’s voice.
“I’m in San Diego, getting ready to cross the border,” Brian said. “Heading your way, and I need some help.”
“Anything, amigo, I owe you at least one life,” Arturo said.
“I came to San Diego with a woman who has been taken to Ensenada,” Brian said. “I have the location, and I’m heading there now!”
“I am sorry to hear this. Tell me more,” Arturo said, his tone now serious.
“I gave Cecelia a pendant necklace with a GPS device. After they took her, the GPS moved in a straight path to Ensenada,” Brian said. “They’ve stopped. I need to get there fast and find her. The clock is ticking.”
“Okay, amigo,” Arturo said. “I will pick you up in Puerto Nuevo about halfway there, and we can travel together. Then I will help you find your woman.”
“Thank you, brother,” Brian said, with a catch in his voice. Arturo would help him and would have his back.
When he reached the border, there was a line to cross over into Mexico. A long line of cars.
Of course, there was. I should have thought of that.
This was not what he needed right now.
He cursed, wishing he’d had time to get to a helicopter, so he could get up into the air to parachute in fast.
This way, he wouldn’t be able to take his weapons in.
Dammit.
He should have thought of that, too. He shook his head to clear it. Worry over Cecelia reached into his emotions, and talking to Arturo had, too. He was too close to this operation, and he knew it.
Time to get his head on straight.
Do the job. Save the girl. Like any other girl.
He told himself that and forced his emotions back down where he wouldn’t think about them again, until she was safe. There was no room for error here. He’d raced off, emotionally reacted, and that was not good.
He needed a plan.
He’d have to park the truck and walk across. That would be faster. Many Mexicans had cars on each side of the border for this very reason. It took too long waiting in the driving lines, and walking was faster and easier. His analytical brain had kicked in now, and he was thinking fast.
Rethinking his plan, he found a long-term parking lot and parked his truck. He placed his weapons in the glove box and left his backpack under the seat. Nothing to check meant a faster crossing over the border. A bag could slow him down. And he, himself, was a weapon. Other weapons he could pick up. He got out and locked his truck, stuck the keys in his pocket and started walking.
He picked up his phone and called again as he walked toward the border.
Arturo picked up on the first ring. “Brother, talk to me.”
“The lines were too long,” Brian said. “I left my truck in long term parking to walk across. I had to leave my weapons behind in my truck.”
“I got you covered,” Arturo said. “I’m already on the way to our meeting place.”
Arturo would know exactly what weapons Brian needed and which he wanted. He would also know the area and where Cecelia might be held.
“I will meet you halfway as planned,” Arturo said. “Can you take a taxi now?”
“Yes,” Brian said. “Once I get through to Mexico.”
“You will not have a problem,” Arturo said. “But if you do, you call me. When you get here, I will buy you a taco.”
They’d had a standing agreement that when Brian made it to Mexico and looked Arturo up, Arturo would buy him a fish taco and bring a bottle of good tequila.
“Thank you, my brother,” Brian said. “I may need that tequila when this is over.”
“I will help you find your girl,” Arturo said. “We will go in and get her together.”
“Thank you, brother,” Brian said.
“De nada,” Arturo replied.
They both hung up.
The GPS showed no further movement. That could be good. Or bad.
He needed to get there in time, before they did anything worse to Cecelia than they already had.
At the border, he finally reached the check point. There was a line, but at least it was moving faster than the car line, since it was quicker patting a person down than it was looking through a vehicle.
They patted him down, looked at his passport, which he always carried, noted he was a U.S. Marine, and commented on it, and as he was carrying no drugs or weapons, they let him through.
After he was on the other side, he walked to where taxis waited.
He raised his hand and hollered, “Taxi!”
Eager drivers jockeyed for position to get his business, and soon, he was headed down the highway to his meeting with Arturo.
Cecelia sat on the dirt floor in the middle of the room, her arms locked around her bent knees as she rocked and cried. The scents surrounding her were too much. Her nose was sensitive to scent, had been ever since she’d lost her sight and had to rely more upon it. Most of the time, having a heightened sense of smell was a good thing, but here, it was not. The stuff they’d injected into her had completely worn off, so now, she was fully aware of her environment.
No way was she sitting on that nasty mattress, which stunk to high heaven.
God only knows what has happened in this room.
She didn’t even want to think about that, so she pushed the thought away. But from the stink coming off that mattress, she could well imagine. She wasn’t going to touch it for any reason, unless she had to.
Her thumb found the pendant beneath her T-shirt again and she pressed it, hard, as if pressing harder would bring Brian faster.
Please find me. Please, please find me.
She repeated the mantra like a prayer and tried not to think about the possibility that she was too far out of range, where Brian couldn’t find her.
She’d just have to keep pressing it and praying, while hoping those men didn’t find the necklace and take it from her. There was nothing else she could do but pray and wait.
Chapter 8
Arturo was waiting for Brian with weapons, a bullet proof vest, a shield and helmet…and a fish taco.
Brian would have laughed had he not been so worried about Cecelia. The sight of Arturo with his trunk open, his SWAT weapons displayed, and holding a taco, was kind of funny.
“Brother,” Arturo said, “welcome to Mexico.” He handed him the taco and patted him on the back with the other arm. “You are looking good, amigo, but eat and keep up your strength.”
Before he took a bite of the taco, Brian said, “Is this taco hot, or not hot, my spicy ninja b
rother?”
Brian had often called Arturo his “spicy ninja brother”, and one of the Marines in their unit had even drawn a cartoon of him and labeled it, “The Spicy Ninja.”
“Try this. It is not hot,” was Arturo’s phrase which had tripped up many men until they’d wised up.
“Not hot” had become code between these two brothers in arms, and it meant the situation might be FUBAR, but Arturo still believed you could handle it.
So now, though it had been several years since the two men had fought together, it all came back as naturally as if they’d been born to it and never left the life. For Brian, that felt really good.
If it wasn’t for the fact that Brian’s girl was in danger, they both would’ve smiled at being back, brothers reunited, fighting together. Instead, both men were focused on rescuing Cecelia.
“It is not hot,” Arturo said. “You eat while I show you what I brought you. Then suit up and show me your GPS.”
Arturo had fitted him out.
He had a Ka-Bar knife down his back, like old times, with a 9mm handgun on his right hip, and another pistol strapped to his ankle. With the AR in his hands and extra ammo hanging crisscrossed over his chest, he looked like freaking Rambo.
Brian couldn’t have asked for more. Arturo had treated him as a brother would.
Add in the martial arts fighting skills Brian Meng Ken had grown up with, and the various styles he’d picked up in more recent years, the question was never which weapon he should use, but which of these fighting tools he would choose to use to win a battle.
He was a man who didn’t deliberate long, but who knew almost in an instant, which tool was best, and unerringly selected the correct one. As a result, he rarely lost a fight.
Had there been tapes, his fighting style would have been analyzed as similar to Bruce Lee’s, though he knew several other styles. Bruce had been the hero of Brian’s childhood that he’d most wanted to emulate.
Martial arts had gone a long way to making him strong in mind, body, and spirit when he was a child and neighborhood boys had picked on him for being half “chink.” In the martial arts community, his heritage was something to be proud of, and his father and grandfather were Chinese men he also looked up to. The Marines had simply added to his arsenal.
All this, Arturo, of course, knew, as the two of them had fought often together, to the point where each knew what the other would do without the fancy high-tech equipment which allowed communication on an operation.
But given all that, it still felt good to be fitted out with the tools of his trade again, and to be going into the fight with his brother at his side.
The GPS device showed Brian and Arturo an area Arturo knew.
“There is an old abandoned warehouse there,” he said. “The company went out of business. I don’t know who owns it now.”
Brian got into Arturo’s car for the drive to Ensenada, thirty minutes away, and they headed down the highway.
GPS had still not moved, which meant they should catch up to them soon. They spent the drive catching up with each other. Arturo talked about his wife and kids, his old grandmother who was now one-hundred-and-three, and his American cousin who had joined the Marines last year.
When they arrived in the area, Arturo drove slowly past the warehouse once, and then circled back and came in from the other side. He’d spotted a place to park near an old building where it would be less noticeable. They would be moving in heavily armed, but he didn’t want his car stolen or the tires removed.
The warehouse was in front of them, and they moved in closer. The GPS showed she was in a brown adobe building behind the old warehouse.
“Even if this warehouse is empty,” Arturo said. “There may be squatters inside.”
“Great,” Brian said.
They would have to check out the larger building before checking out the smaller one, because the larger one would be at their backs when they entered the smaller hut, and they didn’t want anyone sneaking up behind them.
The adobe building Cecelia was inside, looked like a small but long house, with a window the size of shoe box set ten-feet-high, near the tin roof, to allow for air flow in the heat. The open windows had no glass, and no screens, which also meant no air conditioning.
Brian could hardly stand the thought of her being in there and couldn’t wait to get her out.
As he watched the building, his thoughts turned to what she might be going through.
Cecelia was in that building, and she’d be sweltering in this heat, likely getting more dehydrated by the minute.
After we get her out, I’ll need to get water into her soon.
Already, he was thinking of the aftercare she might need. He had his medical kit in the toolbox of his truck and had been prepared for anything, but the truck was on the other side of the border, and he might have to get what she needed faster than he could get to what was in the truck.
Arturo might have to come through for him again, if she needed anything right away.
The warehouse was empty of people, but there were boxes stacked inside. Someone was using it for storing and shipping. There was a forklift in the middle of the building, and a folding table and one chair, which looked like a makeshift office for deals. A notepad and pen sat on the table. Arturo looked at the notepad, but it didn’t say anything and provided no clue as to who was using the warehouse.
Since no one else was inside, they used the building to get closer to the adobe building, and watched it, to see how many men they would be dealing with.
Brian counted two men inside the adobe building, who had gone inside carrying cardboard boxes of supplies, and two men outside, one casually leaning on an old Jeep, while the other sat on a chair near the door, cleaning his fingernails with a large knife.
That made four men, that he knew of, armed with guns and knives. There might be more.
Brian didn’t want to wait. He wanted to charge in.
Arturo whispered, “Wait until they finish carrying their stuff into the building, so they are all in one place and not moving around so much.”
“You know the minute they’re done; they’re going to turn their attention to her,” Brian said.
He wouldn’t say it, but they both knew one of the first things those men were going to do was rape their captive.
And he didn’t want them turning their attention to Cecelia. He wasn’t waiting for shit. “I’m going in.”
“Right behind you, brother,” Arturo said. “You lead.”
Brian moved toward the building on stealthy feet.
Chapter 9
There was one way into the building, and that was through the front door. Brian snuck to the wall next to that door and prepared to turn and shoot in through the doorway.
Now, he could see five men were in the front room, sitting around a table. Beer bottles sat on the table and on the floor next to their chairs. After carrying all those boxes in, they’d sat down to have a beer. Weapons were on the floor next to the men, and one long gun leaned against the wall.
The men who would shoot at Brian wouldn’t know he was wearing a bullet proof Kevlar vest, he and wasn’t stopping.
He would die before he’d lose Cecelia to them. But he didn’t plan on losing.
He was there to win.
And then he was taking Cecelia home.
They had his girl. They were going down. Brian charged into the room, shooting.
Brian fired a double tap at the first man who reached for a weapon, and the man fell back, the first shot in the chest, a kill shot, the second that followed, simply habit.
A man to his right rushed him with a knife, but Brian moved forward and to the man’s right flank, grabbing his wrist in a quick move, and twisting the knife away from himself, he turned it on his attacker.
Arturo had followed him and double tapped, shooting the third man, who hit the wall with a smear of blood before sliding toward the floor.
A fourth man ran down the hallway toward
a room with a closed door and was trying to unlock that door.
The fifth man’s gun jammed when he tried to shoot, and he was reaching for another gun when Brian shot him with the double tap Marines trained to do.
Knifed guy was moaning and reaching for a gun on the floor, but Arturo tapped him twice when he shot.
They were all dead except the guy down the hall, who had disappeared into that room.
Brian ran down the hall and pushed open the door.
The fourth man stood in the middle of a small room, holding Cecelia in front of him. He had a gun pointed at Cecelia’s head.
She stood frozen, her gaze looking toward the ceiling, and her lips trembling. Tears rolled from her eyes.
Then her gaze dropped and looked toward him.
“Brian,” she gasped out.
“I’m here,” he said, to reassure her that he was. “And I’m taking you out of here.”
“One step,” the fifth man said. “One step toward me, and I blow her brains out.”
“Let her go,” Brian said.
“Back away, out of this room,” the man said, his lips curling into a sneer. “I am walking out of here with her, but you have to move out of the way, first.”
Brian backed up, and then stepped out of the room, still standing in the doorway, facing the man and Cecelia.
Arturo’s head now appeared in a window along the back wall of the room. How he’d gotten up there, Brian didn’t know. But he was there, and so was the gun he aimed at the fifth gunman, waiting for a good shot. An expert marksman, he would take the shot if he had an opening.
Brian needed to keep the gunman in the room. If he allowed the man to leave, the shot would be lost.
“No, I don’t think so,” Brian said. “I can’t let you leave with her.”
“You have no other choice, amigo,” the fifth man snarled. He moved forward, pushing Cecelia in front of him.
She stumbled on her untied shoelace, and her arms went out in front of her as if she would fall. Off balance, her head went down.
Arturo took the shot.
Blind Trust Page 7
