Where was he?
Reality imploded. I’m not in the cage. I’m in my bedroom. On the floor again.
He looked around.
LG stood in the open door, her horrified expression telling all.
“Are you okay?”
He nodded and wiped perspiration from his face.
“Harvey left me a note. It said he’s outside with your dogs and some FBI agents. I didn’t mean to intrude, but it sounded like you were in pain. I knocked, but you didn’t answer.”
He got up. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“I’m glad I did. It reminds me of the pure hell you went through.”
“It happened. It’s over.”
“Clearly not.”
“The aftermath of burned toast. I’ve learned to deal with it.”
“Where were you just then?”
“Hanging in the cage. It rained on the third day. I got water.”
“Probably saved your life. Didn’t Fontana find you on the fifth day?”
Not knowing how much she knew, he nodded. “I’ll be right back, I’m really thirsty.”
“Sit tight, Marine. I’ll get it.”
“Thanks, LG.”
She grabbed his glass from the nightstand. “It’s the least I can do.” She stopped at the door and looked down at herself. “I’m going to need some clothes.”
“Angelica will fix you up.”
“Angelica?”
“She lives here. Takes care of the place for me.”
“You have staff?”
“It’s not like that.”
“If you say so.”
A moment later, she returned and he took a long swig. “I like your house.”
“Thanks.” He looked at the nightstand clock, 1:57 a.m. “How much do you remember?”
“I remember Glen charging down the stairs and tackling the gunman.” Her expression changed. “He’s dead, isn’t he?” She turned away and wiped a tear.
“Yeah, he’s gone. I’m so sorry. You told me what happened before you lost consciousness.” He gave her a short recap.
“When I got tased, I remembered feeling so helpless and angry. I was worried they were going to render Glen.”
“I didn’t kill the guy who injected you.”
“And you’re telling me this because . . . Wait, I asked you to kill him?”
He nodded. “You were pretty woozy.”
“I always thought it would be me, not Glen. You know what’s amazing? He was worried about our dogs. He told me to get them out of the house.”
“I’m really sorry, Linda. After Caracas, I’d only talked with Glen once, at your wedding. I liked him.”
“He didn’t have a mean bone in his body. When we saw a stray dog, he’d stop to help it, every time, even in the rain. He funded a massive endowment at Hillsdale College under its Frederick Douglass scholarship program. The interest from the endowment pays the tuition for twenty underprivileged kids every year.” She wiped more tears.
He knew what she needed and keyed his radio. “Harv, you copy?”
“I’m outside. What’s up?”
“I’m awake and Linda’s up and around. Did you get her dogs from Cantrell’s people?”
“Half an hour ago. Cantrell’s people had to carry them down the bluff’s stairs. Want me to bring them in?”
“Please.”
“Be right there.”
“Fontana’s outside with Morgen and Elsa?”
“Harv thought you’d want to be with them when you woke up.”
“When I knew you were coming, I thought about your dogs.”
Nathan smiled. “Some might say they’re more memorable than me.”
Linda didn’t return the emotion. He couldn’t imagine what she felt.
“Linda, if you need some time . . . We don’t have to talk about any of this right now.”
She didn’t say anything for a few seconds.
“I’m going after them,” she said softly. “Please don’t try to stop me.”
“Just the opposite.”
“I can’t ask you guys to do that.”
“You aren’t asking, and the decision’s already been made. You’re coming with us.”
“Cantrell?”
“Surveillance and reconnaissance. No boots but ours.”
“I can live with that.”
“It’s not ideal, but it’s all we get. How’s your head. You got stuck with Ketamine.”
“The K hole,” she said slowly.
Just then, Harv entered the room with four large dogs in tow.
Linda got down on one knee and wrapped her German shepherds up in a hug.
Her body shuddered. Their tails wagged.
Watching the action, Grant and Sherman stood near Nathan’s side, awaiting orders. Their intelligent gaze almost had him believing they understood the situation. In reality, they were probably thinking about their next meal, wondering if they’d have to share it with the newcomers.
“It’s good to see you guys,” Linda said through tears. She buried her face between them. “They’re rescues,” she said. “Ironic, isn’t it?”
Nathan didn’t say anything.
“We rescue Glen and then he ends up rescuing me.” She wiped her face with both hands.
“Full circle,” he said. “Your dogs are beautiful.”
“We’re volunteers for the German Shepherd Rescue of Orange County. We’ve had as many as six. Right now, we only have Morgen and Elsa. They’re permanent. We adopted them a few years back.”
“I like their tags,” Harv said. “They remind me of the big cross on Mount Soledad.”
“Glen had them custom-made a long time ago. The veterans’ memorial up there was one of his favorite spots.”
Nathan was impressed—he’d never seen such a thing. Each of her shepherds wore a thick, white cross dangling from its collar. They measured about two inches long by one inch across.
“Thanks again, you guys. For everything. If you hadn’t shown up, I would’ve ended up in an interrogator’s chair, or worse.”
“You’re welcome, but you did most of the work before we arrived. Do you have any idea what it’s about?”
“No, but it has to be related to one of my old ops. What else could it be?” Linda paused, her eyes clouding. “Wait, I’m remembering something. It was just before the guy injected me. What was it he said? Shit, I can’t remember, but it made my skin crawl.”
Nathan waited, not wanting to break her concentration. It was best to let her work the memory forward. He watched her expression change.
“Little Peach,” she said softly.
He exchanged a glance with Harv, but neither of them said anything.
“It’s what Tomas Bustamonte liked to call me.”
CHAPTER 13
Linda knew there were times when the truth shouldn’t be withheld, this being one of them. She trusted these men with her life. They’d never judge her. They had, after all, shared their somewhat questionable evening in a Shanghai brothel. Somewhat? What they’d described could only be considered scandalous. They’d been young, horny Marines. What more needed to be said?
They’d moved to the kitchen, where McBride’s housekeeper had brewed a pot of coffee while they awaited the go signal from Cantrell.
McBride asked, “Were you and Tomas—”
“Yes,” she said quickly. “I’d gone undercover to get close to the Bustamontes in hopes of finding Glen. You guys knew that much.”
McBride and Fontana nodded.
“Well . . . getting inside is never easy. Sometimes it requires . . . compromises. In this case, it meant earning Tomas Bustamonte’s trust. Which meant . . .”
“We get it,” said Fontana.
“It happened more than once. It had to. Before we rescued Glen. I never told him.”
“No one’s judging you, LG.”
“Tomas’s sister was furious when she found out he was sleeping with me. I heard them arguing the following morning. I got dressed an
d raced out of there. He tried to start it up again a few days later, but I told him in no uncertain terms it wasn’t happening. He wasn’t heartbroken, but he wasn’t happy either. Ursula, though . . .” Linda shook her head at the bitter memory. “She confronted me about it, started a fistfight.”
“Who won?” Fontana asked.
“Who do you think? And it felt great kicking her scrawny ass.”
“Why do I get the feeling there’s more to the story?” McBride asked.
“A few days later, she sucker punched me. I would’ve put her in a hospital, but Tomas stepped in.”
“Lucky for her,” Fontana said.
“Very. She had no accountability. None. She did whatever she wanted and never faced the consequences. I wanted to beat the living crap out of her to show her otherwise. She and her brother were responsible for untold kidnappings, human trafficking, torture, murder—you name it. If I learned one thing getting inside their organization, it was that Ursula was far more vicious than Tomas. The woman has no conscience. The amount of suffering those two have caused can’t be easily quantified.”
“I don’t doubt it,” McBride said. “We want them as badly as you do. But the question remains: why come after you now?”
“Does Cantrell have a working theory?”
“She thinks it’s related to the special election in Venezuela.”
“I’m familiar with it. Corn Hole’s favored to win by a large margin.”
“Corn Hole?” McBride asked.
“It’s what the twins called him behind his back. Venezuela’s favorite son—former attorney general, father of three, loving husband, wealthy industrialist, and closet crime boss. That guy scares me, no easy trick. Does Cantrell think the twins are working for him again?”
“Yes. Several of the dead gunmen at your house have been positively linked to them. And there have been other recent attacks and abductions in Latin America.”
“Tomas and Ursula hated Cornejo. It got so bad that they talked about killing the guy. Why would they dive into that relationship again?”
“Simple,” McBride said.
“Money,” she said softly. “Cornejo offered them a contract they couldn’t turn down . . . Cantrell’s right. The hit on me’s somehow related to the election.”
“Is there any reason Cornejo might consider you a loose end?”
“No. We were never able to prove Cornejo was behind Glen’s kidnapping. After we rescued Glen, the twins disappeared and the state department closed the case.”
“No other outcome was possible,” Fontana said. “Our rescue mission was never sanctioned by the Venezuelan government. As far as the US is concerned, it never took place.”
She nodded. “Why attack me at my home? They could’ve grabbed me anywhere.”
“The easiest answer is they wanted it done covertly. I’m assuming Glen worked out of your house?”
She nodded. “The kidnapping turned him into a recluse. He rarely left.”
“I can’t blame him. Your disappearance might’ve gone unnoticed for days, maybe longer.”
No one spoke for a few seconds.
“I wish we’d killed the twins when we had the chance,” she said.
Judging by his expression, Fontana agreed with her. “All we were authorized to do was rescue Glen. If they got killed during the process, no one would’ve questioned it, but taking them out wasn’t our primary mission.”
“It should’ve been,” she said.
“Hindsight is always like that,” said McBride. “We did as we were told. Once we had Glen, we got out of there in a hurry.”
“A big hurry,” Fontana added. “You took one through your vest. It’s amazing you lived.”
“I remember our Seahawk ride out to that Navy destroyer,” she said. “Fontana never left your side.”
“He’s like that,” McBride added. “My wound wasn’t life threatening.”
“The hell it wasn’t,” she said. “You were minutes from dying when we landed. You’d lost a lot of blood.”
“I’ve got a lot to spare.”
She didn’t say anything, didn’t trust herself to. Her hatred of Ursula was absolute. If she got an opportunity to kill that witch, she’d do it and make it look like self-defense.
“Whatever Cornejo’s reason,” McBride said, “we’re also concerned there could be a leak on the Agency’s end. It would explain how he found you. And if he managed to get your address, he could probably get Harv’s and mine as well. He could come for any of us at any time. But before the special election seems the most likely.”
“All the more reason to kill them all,” Linda said. “And sooner than later.”
“That’s not our mission. Cantrell wants them alive.”
“A pity.” She watched the men exchange a glance. “If I’m going with you guys, I’ll need my emergency duffle. No offense, McBride, but Angelica’s clothes aren’t the best of fits and I need my tactical gear.” She told them where she kept it.
“I’ll call Cantrell to arrange something.” McBride softened his tone. “She wanted me to assure you that Glen would be taken care of.”
She felt her expression go blank.
“We’re really sorry,” Fontana said.
“You did well, Linda. Not one in a million people would’ve survived that attack.”
She nodded. “Where are we going?”
McBride relayed what they’d learned from Cantrell about Cornejo’s business center in Santa Monica.
“I’d still like to get my bag right away.”
“How about this?” said Fontana. “One of Cantrell’s people can leave it at the base of the stairs below the bluff. We’ll grab it before we head north.”
“I must look terrible. That guy nailed me pretty good.”
Nathan winked at her. “You look like you were engaged in a fight to the death. A fight you won.” His phone went off. “Here we go . . .” He read the text. “Cantrell wants us on the move. Right away.”
CHAPTER 14
To save time, all three of them went on LG’s duffle-retrieval run. Since Harv’s sedan was all shot up, Nathan suggested they use his second vehicle, a big four-door Lincoln MKZ that Angelica normally drove. Linda favored his 2010 Mustang, but it was a little small and Nathan thought it might draw more attention than they wanted. As usual, Harv did the driving.
Linda’s tactical gear retrieved, they didn’t talk much during their drive north to Santa Monica. Harv attempted some small talk, but it never got too far. The shock of the attack had worn off and Linda had withdrawn. Figuratively and literally, she’d been kicked in the stomach. It was best to give her some space.
Nathan used the downtime to read aloud the files Cantrell had sent. For years, until they retired, the twins had basically acted as hired muscle for the Caracas-based cartel Cornejo had been associated with. As Linda had said, the twins had committed every kind of crime during those years: Contract killing. Extortion. Racketeering. And worst of all, human trafficking in the slave trade—including children. He found it hard to disagree with LG’s earlier assessment about just killing them. But like a good combat soldier, he’d follow Cantrell’s orders. If she wanted them alive, they’d deliver them alive.
Per texted instructions from Cantrell, they made a brief stop at the Hawthorne Costco on Hindry Avenue in southwestern metro Los Angeles to pick up the encrypted radios they’d use for tonight’s op. Cantrell had said the radios would be in an unlocked white sedan in the northeast corner of the Costco parking lot, facing Rosecrans. When he stepped out into the dark parking lot and grabbed the plastic grocery bag from the sedan, Nathan knew he was being watched, but resisted the urge to look around.
The bag contained four radios and an eight-by-ten aerial photograph. Written on the back of the photo was information about the radios. They were UHF, ultrahigh frequency, and they’d work well inside buildings. All they had to do was turn them on. Locked to a preset frequency, each radio came with a wireless, wraparound earpiece an
d boom-mike combo. The spare radio had the same capability. Nathan noticed there was no LCD or other type of screen that would produce light. The instruction sheet also indicated they could be set for auto-voice activation or manual, and they had battery lives of six hours.
The center of the aerial photo showed their target building, outlined by highlighter pen. Santa Monica Exotics occupied the northwest corner of a city block. An alley ran along the building’s eastern side, intersecting another alley that ran behind the building to the south. A large street—Olympic Boulevard—fronted the dealership, while the smaller Stewart Street bordered the building to the west. Several hundred yards south of the dealership, Stewart Street crossed a local light-rail line.
“The surrounding buildings don’t look like apartments or condos. The roofs and shapes are wrong for residential.”
“It’s probably a mix of commercial and light manufacturing,” Harv said. “It’s been a long time since I was on that stretch of Olympic, if ever.”
“Me too. LG?”
She shook her head.
Nathan relayed the additional info written on the back of the photo. Harv, Linda, and he would be designated as Kilo unit, the military and aviation phonetic word for the letter K. Nathan would be Kilo One, Harv Kilo Two, and Linda Kilo Three.
They didn’t know the CIA surveillance team’s code designator yet but would get it when they made contact. Nathan suspected they’d be talking with one of the CIA’s elite Special Activities Division teams, which meant that they’d be all business. No lighthearted banter would be exchanged or wanted, despite this being a fairly light task for such a team. Before Harv and he had retired from CIA duty, they’d done reconnaissance and surveillance many times—a mostly tedious and boring assignment.
They took a few more minutes to study the photo before heading back to the freeway.
Their drive fell into silence again until, after a few miles, Nathan said, “We’re about ten minutes out. Let’s take a few minutes and go over some hand signals.” Everyone knew radios can fail, become damaged, or get dislodged, and there could be situations where whispering might not be possible. LG seemed okay reviewing the gestures and didn’t seem the slightest bit indignant, which probably meant she needed the refresher course.
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