“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 appear from nowhere and zig-zagged across the front of the compound towards what appeared to be a small hill or rocky outcropping along the edge of a stand of trees.
“Easy. Easy…don’t put yourself in a relative crossfire with your own people.” He realized he was attempting to direct the firefight with people who couldn’t hear him and cursed himself under his breath.
He watched as another heat signature, fading in and out, seemed to appear in the middle of the main bunker. “What the…” He leaned forward and stared at the image, unsure how to read it. “What I wouldn’t give for a real time view of what the hell is going on in there.”
He continued to study the fading heat signature and raised a brow when it suddenly flared to life. Whoever it was simply appeared in the middle of the bunker and an obvious rifle shape extended from the front of the signature. He chuckled to himself. “Somebody has a sniper nest set up.”
He glanced at the other heat signatures and realized, they ALL had sniper nests set up. He smiled to himself as he rocked back in his chair. “This should be interesting.”
South of Dallas, TX
* * *
Jaime Navarro waved his men forward and crept low along a line of scrub. He paused and cursed to himself as something snagged at his clothes and tore at his skin. “These fucking Texas thorns,” he swore as he gripped the limb and pulled it from his arm. He could feel the warn trickle of blood as it ran down his forearm.
He bent low and advanced, keeping the AK-47 close to him as he closed the distance on the bunker shaped buildings ahead. He paused when the lights died out inside and noticed that his men froze in place. “They know we’re coming,” a disembodied voice whispered.
Jaime considered the possibility then shook his head. “It’s late. They probably went to sleep.” He smiled at him. “No worries, vato. We kill them in their beds.” He came up from his crouched position and waved the others forward. “Save the big one for El Fantasma.”
He stood taller and slowly pushed through the thorny brush. He didn’t hear the subsonic, suppressed round that dropped his compatriot directly behind him.
Jaime continued to advance as his men were picked off, one by one. Those who used the trees to hide their positions found themselves entering the cold darkness of death as soon as they revealed themselves, their associates unaware that their numbers dwindled with each step.
Jaime stopped and held his fist in the air like he’d seen on television and in the movies. “Hold,” he whispered.
A quick glance to his side and he noted the van driver standing directly behind him and to his left. He scanned past the man and assumed that the others still hid in the shadows or behind cover. “Split the men. We’ll hit them from both sides,” he whispered.
“I don’t think so,” DJ replied loudly. The bark hiss of his carbine dropped the van driver and Jaime felt his sphincter tighten when the red dot of multiple lasers panned across his torso. “I think you need to drop the weapon and step forward.”
Jaime swallowed hard and felt his body begin to shake. “I ain’t afraid to die, gringo. My men will cut you to pieces with dull machetes!”
DJ laughed and Jaime turned to see a dark figure emerge from the shadows. He was about to turn and face him when Mauk’s baritone voice cut the air. “I wouldn’t.” He emerged from his peripheral view and Jaime noted the rather large rifle in his grip. “Your men are all dead.”
“It’s just you and us now, cabrón,” a woman’s voice stated from directly in front of him. “And you wouldn’t be the first gang banger I’ve cut down.”
“I wouldn’t do it, junior,” Laughlin added as he came into view. “Like they say in the Spaghetti Westerns, we got you surrounded.”
Jaime felt his anger rise and he slowly turned to peer behind him. “No. There are…” His voice cracked as he realized that he stood alone.
Jaime Navarro was never considered a large fellow. He had an evil streak in him that was fueled by the mob mentality of the cutthroat gang he had sworn his life to. Yet, here, alone in the dark, surrounded by these gringos, he suddenly felt very small. His only real regret was that he wasn’t able to die on the street, as their brotherhood preferred.
He slowly lowered the AK-47 and tried to bring the barrel up under his chin. He found that his grip was clumsy and he couldn’t find the trigger guard in the darkness. Before he could slide his hand down further, a large and imposing figure snatched the weapon from his grip and pushed him to the ground.
“Nope. Sorry, squirt. You ain’t taking yourself out just yet,” the baritone voice stated.
“We have questions for you, ese,” the woman quipped.
He felt a rough hand snatch the back of his shirt and he was unceremoniously lifted from the ground. At the very moment he decided to fight hand to hand, to inflict some kind of damage on these pendejos, he felt the sharp crack of something solid against the base of his neck and the world went completely dark.
36
South of Dallas, TX
* * *
“Wakey-wakey, hands off snakey,” Mauk teased as he slapped the thug’s face.
Jaime Navarro shook his head slightly, trying to wake up and focus when cold water splashed in his face, jerking him upright, spitting and gasping for air.
“The fuck…?” he snapped as he slung his face away.
Mauk pressed his finger to the man’s cheek. “I like this teardrop tat.” He pushed Jaime’s face away. “Ain’t that supposed to mean you killed somebody in prison?”
DJ scoffed. “This piss-ant? Must’ve snuck up behind them and shanked them in the back. He’s too little to hold his own in a real fight.”
“Untie me and find out, pendejo!” Jaime shouted.
Bridger chuckled as he sat across from the young man. “Don’t tempt me, sport. I just might do it.”
“Do it, cabrón. I’ll cut you all into tiny little pieces. Feed you to my—”
Mauk squeezed his shoulder tightly, cutting off his reply. “Easy now, tiger. Don’t let your Bulldog mouth get your Pekingese ass in trouble.”
“Fuck you!” he screamed as he tried to squirm away from Mauk’s grip. “I’ll bring you a world of pain.”
Lisa scoffed as she strode by. “Your breath already is. Did you have to eat a shit sandwich before you decided to get your men killed?”
“Fucking puta! Somebody tipped you off!”
Bridger sighed and shook his head. “Hey.” He snapped his
fingers in front of the man’s face. “This way. I need your attention.” Jaime glared at the man, his face twisting into a snarl. “That’s better. Now tell me, where do we find Mario?”
For a brief moment, the gangbanger’s face registered confusion. “I have no idea who you’re talking about.”
Bridger sighed and glanced away. “El Fantasma. The ghost.”
Jaime’s face twisted into an evil smile. “I’m not talking. I want my lawyer.”
Mauk burst into laughter and slapped the punk on the back of the head. “This goofy turd thinks we’re the cops?”
“What a loser,” Laughlin groaned as he bit into a ham sandwich. He sat back and propped his feet on the coffee table, earning a harsh look from Bridger.
“He doesn’t know. Too many movies,” Lisa quickly chimed in. “I say we snuff him and haul balls.”
Gregg stood up abruptly. “About time. Let me get my blades.”
“Sit down!” Bridger barked. He turned and gave an exhausted look to Jaime. “I don’t really know how much time we have, so I’m afraid I’m going to have to let my people do what they do.” He slowly stood and shook his head at the little tattoo covered drug dealer. “It would really save you a lot of pain if you’d just tell us.”
“I don’t know,” Jaime stated defiantly. “And if I did, I still wouldn’t tell you.”
“Fuck him, Top,” DJ replied softly. “Let’s kill him and take off. You know that Mario will follow. He’s too stupid not to.”
“Murillo’s ghost is anything but stupid, cabrón. Si, he will track you, but he will do it properly. And he will make you hurt so badly that your ancestors will scream in their graves.”
“Yeah, yeah, pain and anguish, we get it,” DJ mocked him. “But unless you want your ancestors screaming in their graves, you might tell the man what he wants to know.”
Gregg dropped the leather roll-up bundle and untied it. Brightly polished stainless steel instruments reflected the low light as he unrolled it. He smiled to himself then locked eyes with Jaime. “I know how much you treasure your tats. I’ll do my best to make clean cuts so you can keep them when we’re through.” He gave him a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Without teeth or fingerprints, they’ll need some way to identify the body.”
“Fuck you, gringo! Do your worst!”
“Sounds like an invitation, Slippy.” Mauk patted the smaller man’s shoulder. “Happy carving.”
Bridger stood and stretched his back. “Try not to nick any arteries, will ya? I don’t want to have to paint in here again.”
Jaime glanced down and noticed the painter’s tarps under his feet. He swallowed hard as he looked back at the gringo selecting his torture devices.
Gregg gave Bobby a hurt look. “Dude, I AM a professional.”
“That’s why you read the bottle wrong and overdosed the last guy we gave you,” Bridger grumbled.
“That was an honest mistake!” Gregg argued. He watched Bridger step out of the room then glanced at the others. “Jesus! ONE lousy mistake.”
DJ smirked at him. “I know, right? Just suck a dick ONE time and they’ll call you a cocksucker for the rest of your life.”
Gregg stared at him open mouthed then shook his head. “There is something fundamentally wrong with you.”
Mauk stretched and laughed, holding a fist up and twisting it. He reached for the door. “I need a beer. Want me to bring you back a gag so his screams don’t bother you?”
Gregg shook his head. “Music to my ears.” He pulled a rather sharp and wicked looking device from the roll and turned to Jaime. “I would say that this will hurt me a lot more than it does you, but I’d be lying.” The glimmer left his eye as he approached the man. “This is going to hurt. A lot.”
Langley Virginia
* * *
“Tactical team’s ETA is thirty minutes, sir.”
Jameson sighed as he stared at the dark screen. “I’m tempted to call them off.”
“Sir?” the tech asked, unsure that he heard him correctly.
“It would appear that our target asset has already defused the situation.” He sighed heavily and rubbed at his neck. “I should be home in bed.”
“Sir?” the tech repeated.
“Call them off. Have them stand down, but remain at the ready. Maintain the track on the phones, and if you get even an inkling of activity towards the assets, activate the team. There’s no sense in having them staged in the woods forever waiting on something that may never come.”
“Copy that, sir.” The tech turned to leave and Jameson groaned as he came up from his chair. He stared at the darkened video feed and sighed heavily. “Dammit, Bridger. You are testing my patience.”
He reached for his coat as the door opened and Ingram stuck his head in. “I hear you’re canceling the strike team?”
Jameson raised a brow. “So much for security at an intelligence agency.”
Ingram held his phone up. “The strike team commander just informed me that it came across the cipher.”
Jameson groaned and hung his coat back on the hook. “Yes, Robert, I did cancel them.” He sat back behind his desk and keyed the remote for the screen. He played back the thermal images and let Ingram watch from beginning to end. “Are you satisfied, Robert?”
Ingram stared at the screen with narrowed eyes. “They left one alive?”
“Most likely for interrogation.”
“To learn what? They already know who is after them. They know that the bad guy knows where they are. They also know—”
“You’d have to ask him yourself, Robert,” Jameson interrupted. “I have better things to do than sit around and second guess why Mr. Bridger does anything that he does. He zigs when he should zag. He makes a stand when he should run. He runs when he should hold and make a stand. Somehow, he always does what they don’t expect and he makes it work to his own advantage.” He leaned forward and gave the man a look he couldn’t read. “Which is precisely why I need him.”
Ingram broke his gaze and stared back at the screen. “Do you think he’s going after Murillo?”
“Murillo is dead.”
“You know what I’m asking. Is he going after the head of the Murillo cartel?”
Jameson shook his head. “I have no idea what he has planned, but rest assured, if Bobby Bridger thinks it’s a good idea, the bad guys won’t have a clue what coming for them.”
Houston, TX
* * *
“Jefe?” Fernando stuck his head in cautiously. “Señor?”
Mario stepped out from the small kitchen with a drink in his hand. “Come in, Fernando. What brings you back so soon?”
Fernando broke eye contact and stared at the ground. “I bring bad news, señor.”
Mario held his breath for a moment. “Tell me.”
Fernando looked up and his jaw tensed as he prepared to speak. “I just got word from one of our distributors.” He swallowed hard. “It would seem that one faction of the MS13 decided to go after Bravo team by themselves. They took a couple dozen men and…”
“And?” Mario’s brow rose and his voice held just a fraction of the anger he felt.
“And they failed, señor.”
Mario set down the glass and gripped the edge of the bar. “They failed.”
“Si, señor. We…assume.” Fernando stepped further into the penthouse. “They were supposed to check in with their compatriots at a certain time.” He slowly shook his head. “They are hours overdue.”
Mario felt his teeth grinding and had to force himself to calm down. “So…it seems that Bravo knows we are coming for them. And that we know where to go.” He closed his eyes and tilted his head towards the ceiling. “Prepare the men.”
“Señor?”
He turned and gave him a stoic look. “We cannot allow Bravo team to dig in. We must strike while the iron is hot.”
Fernando nervously nodded. “We will be undermanned…the distributors haven’t had time—”
“I
know what it means, Fernando. But it seems that our associates with MS13 have forced our hand. We must act and we must act now.”
37
South of Dallas, TX
* * *
“He don’t know nothing.” Gregg tossed the bloody gloves onto the table and pulled the rubber apron from his chest.
“There is a trash can, ya know,” Mauk grumbled.
Bridger ignored him as he leaned back in the chair. “You’re certain?”
Gregg raised a brow at him. “I pulled dirty tricks from the book of El Mukhabarat. If Egyptian counter intelligence techniques don’t work, nothing will.”
“So I take it he’s finished,” Lisa stated.
Gregg popped a beer and took a long pull. “I hope there’s a spare body bag handy.”
Bridger gave DJ a knowing look. “Take David.”
“Gee, thanks Top,” DJ groaned as he patted the big man’s shoulder. “I get the feet.”
“They’re in the corner,” Gregg added with a belch.
“Looks like we stick with plan A,” Bridger stated flatly. With a shrug he added, “It was a better plan than taking the fight to them, anyway.”
Lisa sighed as she picked up the ammunition. “You don’t think Mario is sending more people here, do you?”
Bridger raised a brow. “You finally admit that it’s him?”
She stiffened and refused to face him. “I’m not ready to commit to it, but everybody else seems convinced. It’s just easier to play along.”
Laughlin finally stood. “They had to get here somehow. I say we ditch their cars someplace that nobody would look. It might buy us more time to make a clean get away.”
Bridger slowly came to his feet. “No.” He glanced at the others. “We take their cars. We set up and prep the battlefield. If they have the vehicles Lojacked, they’ll know exactly where to go.”
Burning Bridges Page 23
