“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 the office and pinched at the bridge of his nose. He hated to admit that the little bastard was right, but in this case, he feared that the only way to keep his asset breathing was to send in a professional team to assist.
“Dammit,” he cursed as he reached for his phone.
Houston, TX
* * *
Mario strode across the sky bridge to the penthouse office maintained by one of his shell corporations. He pushed open the double doors to the main office and shrugged the white linen coat from his shoulders. He hung it carefully in the closet and stepped through into the living room of the “office.”
In reality, it was a presidential suite, but keeping it rented full-time was a great tax write off for the corporation and gave him a secure place to base his operations from when in the States.
He poured bourbon over ice and waded through the lush carpet towards the corner desk that overlooked the city. He sipped the premium whisky as the sun began to set and the city came to life below him.
He knew that soon the youth of the city would be clambering to the “in” night clubs and his product would begin to flow, passing from his people to eager hands. Gyrating bodies needed fuel, and what better way to fuel a hormone-laden young person than with pure Colombian blow?
He smiled to himself as more and more buildings came to life. The colorful lights of inner city nightclubs began to flash their siren call to those of means. He knew that the money to fuel his war with Esmeralda and the Sinaloa was about to go from a trickle to a full out flood as his people worked the streets turning the addictive white powder into cash.
A soft knock at the door had him leaning over his desk, studying the huge frame in the monitor. He pressed a button, giving Fernando entrance to his private oasis. “What news?”
Fernando gave him a curt smile. “I was right. Just over a hundred, if you wish to strike now.” He cleared his throat and eyed the Murillo cartel Don. “If you can give the men two days, you’ll have more than twice that. Many with combat experience.”
Mario raised a brow. “Combat experience? You mean something other than gangland drive-by shootings and turf wars?”
Fernando nodded. “Si, señor.” He seemed to squirm under the scrutiny. “Our Southside distributors contract ex-military for security.”
Mario nodded approvingly. “I find it hard to believe that US fighting soldiers would be willing to work for such a…” he paused, searching for the proper words. “Such a foreign endeavor.”
Fernando smiled. “Many of these men, work for whoever offers the most money; they have no personal loyalty past that.” He averted his eyes and seemed to waver. “There is also the East Side contingency. They have MS13 members who move product in bulk. They claim that—”
Mario held a hand up. “Uno momento. MS13 is affiliated with us? Why is this the first time I am hearing of this?” He shook his head, his mouth forming a tight line. “You know how I feel about them.”
Fernando sighed and nodded. “Si, señor. I do know. But this was the first even I had heard of this.” He finally made eye contact. “But according to the distributors, MS13 moves the majority of our product throughout the East Side. They move hundreds of kilos at a time farther north.” He shrugged. “All the way to Canada.”
Mario’s brows rose. “MS13 transports and sells in Canada?”
Fernando nodded. “This is what I am told, señor.”
Mario sighed and shook his head slightly. “So, our stateside distributors have teamed up with the most savage band of…” He sighed and pulled his chair out, sitting thoughtfully behind his desk. “I do not know how I feel about having them take part in the attack on Bravo team.”
“I understand, señor. But keep in mind, they are claiming that they can loan you over fifty men. And you know how loco they can be.”
Mario sighed and waved him on. “Two days you say?”
“Si, señor.”
He thought for a moment then turned and peered back out at the darkening city. “Fine. Two days.” He reached for a cigar. “But it is up to you to ensure that they are all aware…Bridger is mine.”
34
South of Dallas, TX
* * *
Lisa stood in the doorway, hands on hips. “It’s getting dark. I think we should hunker down here and bug out just before daybreak.”
Bridger raised a brow at her as he loaded magazines. “A half hour ago you were wincing at the thought of making a stand here.”
She sighed as she stepped inside, ignoring the construction equipment. “Yeah, well there’s a big difference in catching a few winks and being entombed here. I’m just saying we catch our breath before you bury us elsewhere.”
Laughlin nodded. “I’m with her. If they decide to attack, I like this place a lot better than what you have in mind.”
Bridger narrowed his gaze at the pair. “You don’t have to stay.” He continued pushing rounds into the magazines, his jaw set. “Every damned one of you can walk away. I’ll deal with Mario myself.”
Lisa sighed and forced herself to bite her tongue. “Let’s just say for the sake of argument, that isn’t really an option.” She huffed as he held the door open for Mauk to drag in some of their gear. “So, can we hole up here tonight and head for your graveyard first thing in the morning?”
Laughlin scoffed as he plopped onto the threadbare couch. “You do know that I have this thing about tight spaces, don’t you?”
“I don’t care.” Bridger tossed the magazine to the side and began loading another. “Any of you can leave when you want. Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out.”
Mauk stared at him for a moment then approached slowly. “I don’t know what’s put a burr under your saddle blanket, buddy, but we’re on your side here, remember? Snapping at folks ain’t exactly endearing them to your—”
Bridger slammed the magazine onto the workbench forcefully, cutting him off. He slowly turned to face Mauk and raised a brow at him. “I. Don’t. Care.” He turned and faced the others. “There’s nothing holding any of you here. I’ll deal with Mario myself.”
Gregg set his coffee cup down and approached the big man. “You know I’ve never gone against you and it has nothing to do with your capabilities or your size. I always respected the way you thought and how you could step up and take charge and…” He held his hands up and stopped himself before he burnt a bridge between the two. “But you need t
o take a fuckin’ chill pill. WE are your team. We are all here with you, ready to follow your lead on this. You don’t want to bring in Baba Yaga? That’s your call. I think it’s a stupid fucking call, but it’s YOUR call. You want to face Mario and his forces in the darkness of the tombs, fine. We’ll face the fuckers in the tombs. But you need to quench this fire inside you before you end up with nothing but a 10MM in one hand and your dick in the other.” He gave Bridger a knowing look. “And don’t say you don’t care. We don’t care that you don’t care. Just don’t push us away and refuse to listen to our input. We are ALL on the same side here.”
Bridger took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Copy.” He turned and faced the others, his face stoic. “I’m not one to apologize, so if you’re waiting for one, you’re out of luck.”
“I’ll settle for a cold one,” Gregg chimed in.
“Good job,” Laughlin muttered. “Felt like it came straight from the heart.”
DJ Squeezed the man’s shoulder hard enough to make him wince. “Clue us in, Top.”
Bridger sighed as he set the ammunition aside. “Mario has a hard on for us, we know this now. What we don’t know is why.”
“Does it matter?” Mauk asked softly.
Bridger shook his head. “Nope. Not in the slightest. The only thing that matters is that we throw him off his game.”
Lisa sat on the opposite end of the couch. “And you think that digging in at the catacombs will throw him off his game?”
Bridger nodded slowly. “Last year when the house was leveled, I closed up shop and came here. But the land is still mine, and the greenery is coming back slowly but surely.” He shrugged. “I still go to the tunnels and make sure there hasn’t been any cave ins or critters sneaking around inside, chewing on the wiring or…” He scoffed and sat on the sawhorse. “There’s three quarters of a mile of tunnels spread across forty acres. That was supposed to be my fallback if the shit ever really hit the fan around here.”
DJ gave him a knowing look. “I dunno, Top. Are you really okay with blowing it all to hell to stop Mario?”
Bridger slid off the sawhorse and nodded. “If it keeps my team alive and out of their crosshairs, hell yeah. I’d blow up half the county and most of Mexico.”
Mauk nodded slowly. “Okay. We take tonight to study the maps of your tunnels then get some rest. First rays of sun and we hit the bricks.”
“Agreed.” Lisa came to her feet and picked up the maps.
As the rest of the team slipped away to the breakfast bar to study the maps, Gregg approached Bridger. “Sorry to bust your chops.”
Bridger smirked. “I guess I needed it.” He clapped the smaller man’s back. “Thanks for slapping me awake before I did something I’d regret.”
Slippy winked at him. “I’m not just a freelance proctologist, ya know.”
Langley Virginia
* * *
“We’ve tracked the Mexican national to a penthouse in Houston,” Ingram stated as he read through the file in his hand. “We haven’t gotten a solid ID, but we’re told that he is definitely the head of the Murillo cartel.”
Jameson groaned as he reached for the file. “Is it solid enough to send local law enforcement in to pick him up?”
Ingram scoffed as he poured himself a scotch. “You want to send locals after one of the biggest cartel heads?” He sipped the burning amber liquid then smirked. “You like feeding boys in blue to the bad guys or something?”
“Fine.” Jameson shut the file forcefully. “Send in federal forces.”
Ingram shook his head. “Knowing and proving are two different things.” He sat down across from the older man and crossed his legs. “We are certain he heads the cartel, but we have no proof of anything illegal. Hell, we don’t even know the man’s name.”
“Then find out, Robert.” Jameson slid the folder across the desk to him. “It’s after hours anyway. Set up surveillance on him and have them tap the phones, bug the penthouse…hell, send in a hooker with a wire on her. Do something that moves this along, will you?”
Ingram smiled and held the crystal up in salute. He downed the last of the liquor then came to his feet. “Very well. I’ll notify the local authorities and have a federal team set up surveillance.” He set the glass on the bar then buttoned his coat. “Meantime, you might want to join me at the war room.”
“For?”
“The strike team you authorized is already set up in the woods around Bridger’s compound.” He raised a brow at him. “You’re not the only one that has people to call him when certain flags are tripped.”
Jameson sighed and rocked his chair slightly. “It will be screened here, Robert.” He raised a brow at him. “The war room doesn’t need me sitting in the back row watching it on the big screen when they can simply send the signal here.”
Robert gave him a surprised look. “And here I thought you’d rather watch it in theater.” He turned for the door. “It is high definition on the big screen.”
“Good night, Robert.”
Director Jameson watched him pull the door shut and cursed under his breath. Why he’d ever decided to help that son of a bitch steal his boss’s job was now long forgotten.
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?”
“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.”
Burning Bridges Page 22
