“And if they aren’t?” Laughlin asked.
Bridger scoffed. “That hasn’t stopped them from tracking us so far.” He looked at the others. “Objections?”
The others all shrugged. “I hope the heater works in it, whatever it is,” DJ muttered as he unfolded the body bag.
Mauk and DJ escorted Jaime’s remains outside and added him to the stack of bodies in the woods. When asked if they should bury them, Bridger grumbled something along the lines of, “Let the buzzards have them.”
Laughlin and Lisa drove the gang members’ vehicles to the main building and the weapons and munitions were transferred to the “shitmobiles.”
“It will be dawn soon,” Lisa said, staring at her watch. “We should make tracks.”
Bridger tossed the lowrider keys to Laughlin. “You drive. Lisa, you’re riding shotgun.” A sharp word was on her lips but she swallowed it before spinning on her heel and following Matt out to the car.
As the pair walked out, DJ leaned close. “Tell me, Top…you trying to get Laughlin killed?”
Bridger let a slow smile creep across his features. “Those two will either kiss and make up or kill each other.” He shrugged. “I hope they both live.”
“You’re playing with fire,” Mauk replied as he hefted the duffle and walked outside.
“I think it’s sweet,” Gregg said. “I didn’t realize you were a matchmaker, you big softie.” He scooped up his computer bag and headed for the door.
Bridger took a long look at the half finished home and pulled the steel security door shut. He locked it and prayed that he’d be coming back to finish it.
He pulled out the roll of duct tape and ripped off a piece. Holding the white piece of paper to the steel door, he carefully taped the edges then stepped back and studied it.
“Perfect.”
Langley Virginia
* * *
Director Jameson had just opened the door to his office when a technician entered the foyer. “Ah, Director, just the man I was coming to see.” He smiled at him. “You weren’t answering your phone.”
“That may be because I just stepped into the building.” He entered his office and peeled his suit coat off. “What is so urgent that you felt the need to come directly to me?”
“Well, sir,” the tech began, “we had to pull the surveillance drone for refueling. There was a twenty-three minute window of non-coverage before we could get the satellite into position.”
“And?”
“Well, sir…” The tech cleared his throat. “During that twenty-three minute window, the two vehicles that were parked outside the subject’s property have been removed.”
Jameson raised a brow. “And the subject’s SUV?”
“Still in its original position, sir.”
Jameson sat down behind his desk and pondered the possibilities. “I suppose he could have moved the vehicles to throw off the cartel members.”
“Sir?”
He held a hand up. “Nothing. Just…thinking out loud.” He looked up at the tech again. “Can you tell if the subjects are still inside the compound?”
“Negative sir. The place is too well insulated to discern body heat from within.”
“Microwave?”
The tech shook his head. “The satellite isn’t capable, sir. For walls as thick as we suspect, it would need to be within a hundred meters.”
Jameson raised a brow. “At that distance, even our quietest surveillance drone would be heard.”
“That’s affirmative, sir.”
He scratched at his chin. “I hate to do this…” He picked up his phone then looked back at the tech. “That will be all.”
He watched the man leave then punched the buttons and waited. “This is Director Jameson. Assemble the strike team and have them deploy.”
He waited a moment for verification then nodded. “I need confirmation that the subjects are still within the compound. Tell them to bring the Doppler microwave unit. I need a current head count.”
He hung up the phone and looked up at his office door. He half expected Robert Ingram to pop in with a nickel’s worth of free advice.
He actually sighed with relief when the spindly man didn’t appear. “This might turn out to be a good day after all.”
Houston, TX
* * *
Mario paced the lush penthouse waiting for word that his army was prepared. He continued to flick the ashes from his cigar into the carpet and would pause to look out upon the city only to resume pacing.
He knew that the sun would soon be up and Bravo team would clearly see them coming. He felt his body tensing until he forced himself to consider the numbers. Over a hundred men compared to Bravo’s handful. The odds were easily twenty to one in his favor.
If only the numbers were the deciding factor.
“Jefe?” Fernando called quietly. “The men are assembling.”
Mario stood and squared his shoulders. “Then it is time.” He turned and marched to the bedroom, stripping his silk shirt as he went.
He emerged a moment later in faded fatigues, a bullet proof vest strapped to his chest. Fernando stared open mouthed as he tugged a BDU shirt over it and began to button it.
“Señor?” He cleared his throat. “Surely you do not intend to—”
“This is my fight, Fernando,” Mario stated plainly. He tugged a utility belt around his middle and buckled the straps to a drop leg holster. “I cannot expect my people to fight a battle that I am not personally ready to fight myself.”
He slid the .45 caliber pistol into the holster and two tactical knives into the sheaths on the belt.
Mario stepped back and studied his image for a moment. He snapped his fingers then turned back to the closet. He pulled down a faded boonie hat and slipped it on, adjusting the edges to curve up then snapping them into place.
“I am ready, Fernando.” He turned and faced the man. “My AK?”
Fernando swallowed hard and nodded, “It’s in the car, señor.”
“Then let’s bring an end to this nonsense, shall we?”
Mexico City, Mexico
* * *
Raul Ortega stood over the rustic table and studied the papers spread out upon its surface.
“Señor?”
He lifted his weary eyes and nodded to the man who entered the makeshift war room. “What is it?”
“We have received word from el jefe. He wants us to send all of the men we can spare to Texas.”
Raul stared at the man blankly. For a moment, the enforcer feared that he had fallen asleep or didn’t hear him. He was about to open his mouth and repeat the order when Raul stated simply, “No.” He lowered his face to study the papers again.
“Señor?”
Raul lifted his eyes once more and shook his head. “No. We have too much to do here and the timing must be perfect.” He slid the paper away and pinched his eyes shut. “We are this close to either destroying the Sinaloa or being destroyed ourselves. I won’t risk everything that Don Murillo built for this…” He sighed and gently sat down. “This vendetta.”
“But, Señor Ortega, he is still the head of the cartel. Don Murillo himself—”
“And he placed ME in charge!” Raul stood so suddenly that the chair shot out from under him. “We will not be sending assistance to him, do you understand?”
The enforcer nodded quickly and backed away. “Si, señor. I will pass the word.”
Raul gave him a weary stare. “Tell the men to prepare. We strike the Sinaloa this morning. If our intel is correct, and with any luck, Esmerelda will be there. We can cut the head from the snake and absorb their assets in one fell swoop.”
“And if she is not there, Jefe?”
“Then we were betrayed and we will fail.” Raul rubbed at his eyes and bent to pick up his chair. “Our people will be killed, our own assets will be absorbed by that lying puta and our distributors will be spread amongst the remaining cartels.”
The enforcer swallowed hard
and nodded. “How can we be certain that we were told the truth?”
Raul scoffed. “The only way to know for certain is to act on the information. We attack. If we succeed, then El Fantasma returns to a fresh start with the Sinaloa removed from chess board and our cartel stronger than ever before.” He sighed and gave the man a worn smile. “If we fail, then he has nothing to return to.”
“Understood, señor.”
Raul watched the man leave then slowly lowered his head to his arms and closed his eyes. This war that el jefe left behind had worn him down in so many ways that he was almost ready to accept the peace of death.
Almost.
38
Near Quitman, TX
* * *
“Wait, where’s the compound?” DJ asked.
“You’re looking at it,” Gregg mumbled. “At least, what’s left of it.”
Even Mauk had to give Bridger an incredulous stare. “Dude, there’s nothing left but a few burnt trees.”
Bridger rolled his eyes and stopped the van. “You’re looking with your eyes,” he grumbled as he stepped down from the utility van. “You should know me well enough by now to realize that things aren’t always what they appear.”
Laughlin appeared at the front of the van. “What are we doing here?”
“Grabbing our gear,” Bridger stated flatly. “And watch your step. They might have dropped enough munitions on this place to flatten it, but there are still active boobytraps.”
Gregg chuckled and muttered under his breath, “I love how he says, ‘booby.’” He snorted as he scooped up his laptop bag and the duffle at his feet. “I call dibs on the deepest grave.”
Lisa groaned. “You’re not funny.” She turned to Bridger. “Where’s the tunnel access?”
“Which one?” he smirked as he hefted the munitions. “Grab your gear and meet me at that hill over there.” He nodded with his chin.
The others grabbed their gear and made their way up the washed-out gravel driveway. The fallen trees had made the trip dangerous by foot and impossible to navigate in anything smaller than a military grade Humvee.
Bridger reached for a small, dead tree and pulled it away from the concealed door. “This used to be my house.” He raised a brow. “Until an asshole decided to bomb it to oblivion.”
He kicked the door open and the others followed him inside, giving their eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness.
“You want us to defend this?” Laughlin asked. “This is worse than the bunkers.”
Bridger ground his teeth as he pushed through the living room and into a rear bedroom. He barely glanced at the plate steel covering the gun cabinet under his bed before dropping his gear on the mattress. He kicked at the floor board next to a dresser and pushed the dresser aside. With a free hand he pushed the wall back and to the side. “We use this.”
Lisa bent low and peered into the darkness as battery operated lights flickered and popped to life. “When you said ‘tunnels,’ I was thinking more like a trench, or…”
DJ smiled broadly and clapped Bridger’s back. “Top, I thought I went off the rails. You got me beat.”
“Shut up.” Bridger snatched his bag from the mattress and pushed past the others. “I’ve got a map for you in here.”
The crew glanced at each other then entered the dimly lit tunnel. “I still call the deepest grave,” Gregg murmured under his breath. “As pretty as I am, I wouldn’t want the bad guys to molest my corpse.”
Laughlin pushed past him. “You are seriously twisted, you know that?”
Gregg shot him an evil smile. “You have no idea.”
The tunnel emerged into a larger, round area with work benches and shelves lining the walls. Stacks of books and reloading equipment were covered with a fine layer of dust.
Mauk ran his finger along the edge of a bench and raised a brow at Bridger. “I take it you let the cleaning lady go?”
“I haven’t been back since I moved to the bunker.” Bobby dropped the bag on the central table and stepped back. He tugged at the corner of a sheet and revealed a crude map. “There is approximately three quarters of a mile of tunnels.”
DJ let a low whistle loose. “How? I mean…didn’t the bomb that flattened the woods cave them in?”
Bridger shrugged. “I have no idea what parts are still standing. I would assume most, since these were carved out of a solid layer of sandstone.”
“There’s no way you could have done this by yourself.” Laughlin stepped closer and stared at the diagram.
Bobby sighed. “I spent nearly three years and wore out a perfectly good Bobcat skid-steer with a jackhammer attachment.”
Lisa turned and gave him a worried look. “What the hell?” She tilted her head as she studied him. “Why?”
Bridger leaned against the workbench. “After I left operations, I went to a really…dark place.” He gave a slight shrug. “I always felt that my past would come looking for me.”
“So you built an underground house and a mile of tunnels?”
He took a deep breath as he considered his reply. “Yep.”
Mauk tossed the duffel he carried onto the workbench. “Work with what we have, I always say.”
“You never say that,” DJ prodded. “You just thought it sounded good.”
“There are four surface accesses. Poured concrete stairs that lead down here. They’re marked with green Xs on the map.”
“You want them wired?” Gregg asked.
Bobby squinted as he stared at the diagram. He slowly shook his head. “No. I want them to think we rushed down here. No time to set trip wires.”
“They’ll need a reason to think that,” Laughlin said, rubbing his chin. He glanced to Bridger and raised a brow. “I think they’ll need some kind of incentive to just rush in.”
“What are you thinking?”
Laughlin took a deep breath and fought to keep his voice even. “I’m thinking bait.” Lisa gave him a sidelong glance but held her thoughts to herself. “I wish we had eyes in the sky to know where they were or…some kind of intel as to when they plan the attack, but I think if I took that lowrider back towards your old place, I could lead them here quick enough.”
“What’s to stop them from killing you on the road?” Mauk asked.
Laughlin gave a slight shrug. “My incredible driving skill, I hope.”
Bridger shook his head. “No. They’ll track us here soon enough. I have no doubt.”
Laughlin turned and gave him a stoic look. “I’m with the agency, and I had no idea you had this shit out here. How are a bunch of coke dealers going to know?”
Bridger gave him a crooked grin. “The same way they knew how to track DJ in the ‘glades.” He pushed off the workbench and unzipped the bags. “They’ll buy off the right people.”
Lisa finally turned to him and planted her hands on her hips. “For these tunnels to have done their job, I doubt anybody knows they’re here.”
Bobby shook his head. “But the house is. And everybody within ten miles of this place knows about it now. Before they blew the hell out of the surface, only the Sheriff, the mailman, and me knew that anybody lived here, and only the Sheriff had ever seen the actual house.”
“I still don’t see them coming here, buddy.” Mauk added.
Bobby finally sighed heavily and looked up to meet their gaze. “So, maybe I left them a note on the door of the bunker.”
“You what?” Gregg asked incredulously.
Bridger nodded. “I left them the GPS coordinates to this place.” He gave him a tight lipped smile and shrugged. “And maybe I dared him to come and find me.”
Mauk began to chuckle and it rolled into a full blown belly laugh. “You cocky son of a bitch.” He wiped the tears from his eye then nodded. “Let’s boobytrap this bitch and kill us some bad guys.”
Gregg chuckled again. “He said ‘booby.’”
Langley Virginia
* * *
Director Jameson nodded as the man on the phone
talked. “Can you patch me through to the unit commander?”
“Negative, sir. They’re radio silent at the moment.” There was a slight pause then he said, “They’ll be checking-in once they’re in place. He wants his snipers nested before anybody dares approach the main dwellings to look for signs of life.”
“Can they use the microwave to detect them? We can’t risk exposing the team to the asset.”
“Negative sir. From what we’ve gathered, the dwellings are steel reinforced concrete with a fine copper mesh embedded in the exterior.”
“Copper mesh?”
“A Faraday cage, sir. In the event of an EMP.”
Jameson shook his head in disbelief. “How could…he wouldn’t be able to receive calls or…”
“Satellite dish for entertainment and a mobile phone relay is all that’s needed, sir.”
Jameson groaned as he sat back and shook his head. “The paranoia of these people astounds me.”
“It’s not really paranoia, sir. Solar activity could cause an EMP large enough to—”
“Did I ask for your assessment?” Jameson snapped.
“Uh, no sir,” the man seemed to stammer on the phone. “The unit commander should be checking in within the next ten or fifteen minutes. Do you want to wait or shall I call you back and patch him through?”
Jameson groaned. “Call me back.” He slammed the phone down and swore under his breath. “If they reveal themselves…”
South of Dallas, TX
* * *
Mario sat in the car and waited while his men scoped the area. A wiry fellow appeared at the driver’s door and Fernando rolled down the window. “Señor, we used the drone to go in close. There’s something on the door.”
Mario raised a brow and rolled down his own window. “Define ‘something.’”
The man stepped back to his window and held up a small screen. “It looks like a piece of paper.”
Burning Bridges Page 24
