Two quick shots later and the second shooter was down. “Clear.” Bobby raised the barrel of the carbine and scanned the trees while Gregg dropped low and scanned the area behind him.
They could hear gunshots from the front of the cabin and both men turned and made for the interior again. After a quick glance at the room, it became obvious that neither Mauk nor Lisa were exchanging fire with the other shooters.
“Sitrep,” Bridger barked.
Mauk shook his head slowly. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that was Laughlin out there.”
“Shooting at us?” Bridger stormed through the cabin and eased in close to the window.
“Negative,” Lisa replied. “It looks like he’s holding off another shooter.”
Matt Laughlin closed the door to the Jeep and looked around the small cabin. It looked more like an oversized tool shed than a vacation rental. He pulled his cell phone out once more and double checked.
“Fuck me,” he muttered. He tossed the useless device back into the Jeep through the window then turned for the front door.
He might have been rusty as a field agent, but his eyes caught the off-color of the multiple small holes sprayed across the front of the building. His hand instinctively pulled his overcoat back and gripped his Sig P226. As he pulled the weapon he noted the passenger side tires of the SUV were flat and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.
He heard a heavily accented voice screaming that somebody was running, then another, closer voice screaming to kill them all.
Laughlin needed no invitation.
He dove for the ground and did his best to use the SUV as a barricade as bullets began to fly. He rolled toward the front of the SUV and leaned back against the front wheel as the heavy “thump-thump-thump” of bullets striking the metal body reverberated into his spine.
He held his weapon close to his chest and tried to take in the situation. He was effectively pinned down with shooters on either side of him and another directly behind him.
He heard the heavy bark of a carbine echo through the forest and prayed that his curiosity hadn’t just gotten him killed. He squeezed his eyes shut then leaned to the side, peering from under the black truck, searching for any kind of target to shoot at.
The angle that the truck body sat at made it nearly impossible to see up into the hills beyond where the shooters were obviously stationed. He cursed to himself and rolled back over, assuming a squatting position.
He waited a moment, and during a lull in the shooting, threw himself up and used the hood of the truck to support his firing hand. He fired into the woods, praying that if he couldn’t hit the shooter, he could at least cause him to reveal his position.
He caught movement from the corner of his eye and was able to locate the shooter’s position as the man dove behind a tree. Laughlin could only assume he was changing magazines and hadn’t realized that the shooting behind the cabin had ceased.
He fired two rounds into the bark of the tree on the left side then planted the blade of his front sights on the right side. A moment later a man in a dark blue sport coat stepped out and Matt emptied his magazine.
He couldn’t be certain that the man was hit, but he fell down rather than slipping back behind cover.
He ejected his own magazine and swapped a fresh one in its place. He slowly slid down the hood of the SUV, his weapon shakily covering the area where the shooter had been.
“Laughlin?”
He spun and leveled his weapon on a familiar face. He felt a huge weight lift from his shoulders and his weapon fell to his side, his hand barely gripping it. “I never thought I’d be happy to see you again, Bridger.”
13
Southeastern Oklahoma
* * *
Bridger slapped the man hard across the cheek. Luis’ eyes flew open and he gasped, his eyes wide as he tried to take in his surroundings. The burning pain in his left shoulder instantly broke him into a heavy sweat, despite the temperature hovering at freezing.
“Wake up, asshole.” He smacked the man again on the other cheek and Luis tried to lean away from the large man.
“I’m awake.” Luis’ breaths were labored as he tried to regain control of himself. He groaned and set his jaw. “I thought certainly we had killed at least some of you.”
“You tried.” Bridger stood and nodded to Gregg.
“Why do you not simply kill me and be done with it?” Luis already knew the answer and he was determined that he would tell them nothing. He could feel the coarse ropes that bound him to the wooden chair and he wondered if he could break the chair in order to loosen his bindings.
The smaller man stepped into view and gave him a smile that did not reach his eyes. Gregg Soares leaned close and flashed a light in Luis’ eyes. “He’s good. We can interrogate him all we want.”
“Like it would matter,” Lisa muttered as she marched past, the hatred in her eyes flashing as she glared at Luis.
A tall man carrying a duffel walked slowly past Luis and he heard the distinct clank of metallic objects behind him as the bag was dropped to a table. “Should we start with minimal pain or go straight for the testicles?”
Bridger shrugged. “It’s up to Gregg. He’s the professional.”
The smaller man reappeared in Luis’ field of vision. He had donned a rubber apron and was snapping on heavy rubber gloves. “How big of a hurry are we in?”
Bridger shrugged. “How many more are you?” Luis squeezed his mouth tight and shook his head. Bridger chuckled then looked to Gregg. “Be quick, then, just in case.”
“I need to speak with you. It’s important,” Laughlin said, his hands still shaking.
Bridger stood and squared his shoulders. “You’re lucky I don’t let Lisa loose on you.”
Laughlin’s eyes cut across the room to the small-framed woman then darted back to Bridger. “First I need to know what the hell is going on here.”
Mauk strode past, his eyes boring a hole into Laughlin’s forehead. “Murillo is what’s going on here. He sent this damned hit squad after us.”
“And this isn’t the first,” Lisa seethed.
Laughlin held his hands up. “I know. I heard about what happened at your home.” He gave her an apologetic look. “I’m glad that nobody was hurt.”
“Nobody hurt?” Her anger flared. “My sister had never seen that kind of brutality before. Those kids will never be the—”
DJ pulled her back and shook his head. “He doesn’t really care.”
“Look guys. Murillo is dead.” He searched their faces. “He’s been dead since like ’99.”
Luis laughed a deep and hearty laugh. “His Ghost haunts you all!” He chuckled again, his head lolling to the side. “El Fantasma will have your hearts.”
Mauk gave Lisa a confused look. “El Fanta…?”
She shook her head, her eyes narrowing. “The Ghost.” She walked toward the hitman with purpose. She grabbed him by the jaw and held his head. “Who is this ghost?”
Luis laughed, drool running down his chin. “He will hunt you to the ends of the earth.” She let his face go and his head lolled to the side again.
Gregg sighed. “I may have given him a little too much sodium pentathol.” He picked up the vial and read the strength again. “Oops. Yeah. He’ll be dead pretty soon unless somebody has a portable ventilator.”
Bridger cursed under his breath. He grabbed Luis and shook him. “Tell me who sent you!”
Luis’ eyes opened slightly and he smiled. “El Fantasma. You are a dead man.” He began to laugh again and Bridger let him go.
“Can’t you shoot him up with adrenaline or something?”
Gregg shook his head. “This isn’t the 2.5% stuff. This is the stuff that they cut to make the lower dose stuff.” Gregg sighed. “I’m shocked he hasn’t stopped breathing already.” He sighed heavily. “Sorry Bridger. The print is just so small…”
“I’m sure he’s probably used to barbiturates, considering where he com
es from and what he does,” Mauk grumbled.
Bridger slapped Luis hard again and shook him. “Why? Why now?” Luis’ head lolled to the side and another string of drool oozed out of the corner of his mouth. Bridger let him go then stood, stretching his back. “Great. DJ, you and Mauk make these bodies disappear. Gregg, find that jammer. It might come in handy. Lisa, go to the other cabins, collect our gear. We’re moving out.”
Laughlin stepped closer and tried to get Bridger’s attention. “I checked before I left D.C. Everything’s quiet. There’s been no chatter, no mention of you or your team.” He motioned the large man to the side.
Bridger sighed and gave him a sideways look. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Hey, I need to know what the hell is going on around here.”
Bridger glared at him. “You know as much as we do right now.”
“Somehow I doubt that.”
Near Chapala Mexico
* * *
El Fantasma pinched at the bridge of his nose. “Are you certain?”
Raul nodded slightly. “The support team from Houston arrived and…I am sorry, Jefe. The other team didn’t show and cannot be contacted.” Raul squirmed slightly then raised his eyes. “They said that they waited far past the meeting time then found a local hotel.” He swallowed hard. “They continue to try to contact Luis’ team but...” his voice trailed off.
El Fantasma nodded slightly. “So they are dead. I told them to wait.” His voice was soft and low and it scared Raul more than if he had yelled. “Why do they not listen to me? I try to warn them that these are not people like they are used to dealing with.”
Raul shook his head. “Perhaps something happened and they had to act?”
El Fantasma slowly stood and stepped out from behind his large, ornate, hand carved desk. “You see, Raul? This is what happens when people do not do as they are told.” He sat gently on the edge of the desk and gave him a tight lipped smile. “Now we do not know where Bravo team is or what they know. We do not know what they might do next, and my people who work for the NSA won’t be able to help because now they know that we are looking for them.” He sighed and shook his head. “I have waited nearly twenty years to get my revenge and these…idiots blow the entire operation for…” He paused and shook his head. “Who knows why?”
Raul wanted to tell him that it would work out. He wanted to reassure el jefe that good things come to he who waits, but he knew better than to speak out of turn. He chose to squeeze his lips together and remain mute.
El Fantasma stood from his desk and pulled the white linen coat from his shoulders. “Very well. We start over.” He sat behind his desk then looked directly at Raul. “Contact the Houston enforcers and tell them to track these dogs. Find out where they are going and do whatever they must to kill them. I want proof of death.”
“As you wish, Jefe.”
El Fantasma sat back in his leather chair and stared at the photograph on the corner of his desk. “I am sorry, my love. They have slipped our grasp, but they are not free yet.” He leaned forward and brushed his finger along the side of the woman’s face. “We will have our revenge.”
Southeastern Oklahoma
* * *
“If you want my help then you’ll talk to me.” Laughlin glared at Bridger as the man packed the remaining gear into the load out cases.
“What makes you think I want your help?”
“You’re taking the fight to them, aren’t you?”
“That’s none of your damned business.” Bridger hefted the heavy box and let it slam on the table a little too hard.
Laughlin gave him a squirrelly stare. “I got a plane.”
“So do I,” Bridger stated.
“Here?”
Bridger shook his head. “Close enough.” He stacked the next box then nodded to Gregg. “Contact the team. Let them know we’ll be taking the Leer.”
Laughlin spun and pointed at Gregg. “Belay that order.” He spun back to Bridger. “I have a Cessna Citation sitting at the airport right here in town. We can be in the air in less than an hour. But you gotta come clean with me.” He planted his hands on his hips and narrowed his gaze. “And I mean the whole truth.”
“What’s to tell, Laughlin?” Bridger shook his head, his artificial smile slowly turning to a sneer. “These assholes waited twenty years and now they’re coming after us. We’re going to take it to them before they accomplish what they set out to do.”
“The Murillo cartel is dead, my friend.” Laughlin crossed his arms and gave him a knowing stare. “Who are you going to go after?”
“We have the location of the phone numbers that they were checking in with. We’ll go there.”
“And if that’s not the base of operation that they’re using this day?” Laughlin raised a brow at him. “Look, I may not be waist deep in the daily happenings in Colombia anymore, but I still know people.”
Bridger snorted. “Apparently you’ve been out of the game too long.” He tossed one of the larger cases to DJ to load in the truck. “The Colombians moved their bases of operation to Mexico.”
Laughlin shrugged. “Six of one, half dozen of the other…I KNOW people.”
“Good for you.” Bridger grabbed the last box and pushed past him.
“Damn it, Bridger!” Laughlin fell into step behind him. “You left me hanging back in the day. You owe me!”
Bridger froze midstep. He slowly handed the box to Gregg as everybody eased away from the big man. Mauk felt the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth before Bridger spun and cracked a solid hook to Laughlin’s jaw.
Matt had expected a reaction like this and rolled with the punch. He stumbled as he tried to avoid the swing but he stayed on his feet. He came up and spat blood to the ground. “You hit like a bitch.”
Bridger refused to be baited and stood his ground. “When hitting a bitch…punch like one.”
Laughlin ignored the snickers behind his back and shrugged off his overcoat. “Fine. You want to do this the hard way? I can get my ass kicked as good as anybody.” He folded the coat and hung it on the porch rail. He turned slowly to Bridger and squared off, his hands held up in surrender. “I’m trying to make things right here. If you have to beat me to a pulp to make that happen, then so be it.”
Bridger’s eyes narrowed. “You gotta be shitting me.”
Laughlin shook his head. “Hell no. I know that you blame me for Mario’s death.” He scanned the group then settled on Bridger again. “All of you do.”
Lisa nodded. “Hang the blame where it belongs.”
Laughlin shook his head. “You rogue types don’t understand the chain of command. I had people that I answered to. I damn near lost my job because of your antics after you left.” He stepped closer to Bridger and shook a finger in his face. “Agents under my command stealing munitions and going on the attack against whoever they thought should catch Uncle Sam’s brunt next? Yeah, that went over like a fart in church.”
“We did what nobody else had the balls to do.”
“And it’s precisely because I fought tooth and nail for ALL of you that none of you spent the rest of your lives behind bars!” Laughlin spat again, staining the earth red. “Blame me all you want, but if I’d had any inkling that Gomez was in trouble, you can bet your sweet ass that I would have moved heaven and hell to pull him first.”
Gregg chuckled. “He thinks you have a sweet ass.”
Bridger ignored him as he closed the distance. He towered over Laughlin who refused to bow down. “So what are you saying? You want to make amends?”
Laughlin shook his head. “I want the bastards who killed Mario just as much as you do. He was my operative a long time before you ever came into the picture.” He turned and pointed at Lisa. “I don’t know the exact nature of your relationship to him, but I looked the other way for far too long.”
Lisa snorted a laugh and flipped him the bird. “We weren’t lovers you asshole.”
“Whatever you were, you got too cl
ose to another operator.” Laughlin shook his head. “Then you blamed me when shit went sideways.” He shrugged. “Fine. Blame me. I don’t give a flying fuck anymore.” He spun back to Bridger. “But I want whoever is behind this.”
Bridger stared down at the smaller man. “We won’t be playing by the books.”
Laughlin nodded. “And I’m not here in an official capacity.” He smiled. “I’m on leave.”
Bridger looked the smaller man up then down. He turned to his team and raised a brow. “What say you?”
Lisa shrugged. “Up to you, boss. I still don’t like him.”
Mauk threw his hands into the air. “He can be a bullet sponge for me I guess.”
DJ shook his head and tossed the last box into the back of his truck. “What the hell ever.”
Bridger finally turned to Gregg who stared back stoically. “What say you, Slippy?”
Gregg sighed and gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. “I ain’t babysitting him.”
Bridger turned back to Laughlin and gave him a stern stare. “Where’s this plane of yours?”
14
Southeastern Oklahoma
* * *
“Jeezus.” Laughlin stepped away from the rental Jeep, his mouth hanging open. “That’s a Gulf 500. I’m not even sure they’ve been FAA approved yet.”
Bridger gave him a confused look. “What are you yapping about.”
Laughlin pointed to the sleek private jet parked near the single hangar at the airport. “That. That’s money there, fellas.”
“Just looks like a plane to me,” DJ muttered as he hefted the bags from the back of his truck.
“No.” Laughlin reached for his sidearm. “We’re in Bumfuck, Oklahoma at an airport that sees maybe three prop jobs a week and two jets land here in the same day? One of them is that?”
Bridger snapped his fingers and his group was armed and making their approach. Using hand signals he split the team and approached from the front and the port side. “Check it.”
Burning Bridges Page 9
