by Brent Towns
“Why hasn’t he been taken out of circulation?”
“We’ve tried. But every time we raid him, we come up empty-handed.”
“What about the DEA?”
“They aren’t interested in little fish. They want the biggest fish in the sea. They’ve sent agents undercover to try and net Montoya, but they wound up dead.”
“I would have thought if they shut down this end then at least that would be something.”
Cara sighed. “That’s what we thought, but the DEA wouldn’t go for it. They just said Montoya would move his operation and they’d lose what they’ve already got.”
“Which is?”
“Stuff all,” she snapped. “So, all we do now is try to keep the townspeople safe and whatever we can to halt the flow of drugs.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
For a moment, she thought he was serious. “Stay out of trouble.”
“I’ll try. I start a new job tomorrow. Feller named Druce said he wanted someone to do some work.”
Cara stared at him for a moment.
“What?”
“Did anything strike you as strange about him asking you to work for him?”
“You mean apart from the fact he was so snowed under with cars and stuff?”
Cara rolled her eyes.
“He said he did other things as well. Handyman stuff. Deliveries.”
“That’s what I’m talking about. Deliveries. Who on earth ships stuff out of Retribution? There are no real manufacturing businesses here that need to. Except for –”
“—Except for Barrett Miller.”
“Exactly.”
Kane stared at Cara. “Why do I have a feeling you’re about to ask me to snoop around for you?”
She gave him a wry smile.
“Are you the Retribution Sheriff’s Department recruiting officer now?”
She shook her head. “No, tonight was about catching up with an old friend. But when something pops up that I can use, or someone, well –”
“I tell you what, if I hear or see something, you’ll be the first to know. OK?”
“Thanks, Reaper.”
“And stop calling me Reaper. My name is John.”
Cara picked up one of the last few fries from her plate and put it in her mouth. She smiled, and her dimpled cheeks showed. “I like Reaper.”
“Whatever.”
Kane slid across the seat and climbed to his feet.
“You’re leaving?”
He dropped some bills on the table, and there was sarcasm in his voice when he said, “Big day tomorrow.”
Cara’s face grew serious. “Be careful. This is no joke. You’ve made an enemy in Barrett, which means you could very well have one in Montoya.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve pissed off a cartel boss,” he allowed. “Or the mob for that fact.”
“What?”
“Nothing. It’s all good. I’ll see you tomorrow. Meet me here for supper?”
“OK.”
“See you then.”
Cara watched him go and couldn’t shake the feeling that Kane was hiding something. And what was that he had said about the mob?
The Grissom Place
The headlights on the sheriff’s department SUV swept across the front of the Grissom home as Smythe turned and stopped near the bottom of the steps. He switched off the motor and climbed out. There were lights on inside the house, but no movement could be seen.
His boots crunched on the gravel, and with the sun gone, the chilled desert air seemed to creep down the collar of his jacket.
Smythe slammed the SUV’s door to announce his arrival. He waited for a moment, but still, Grissom never showed. “Hello?”
The shout was met with silence.
The sheriff tried again. “Are you there, Grissom?”
Nothing.
The sheriff drew his .38 caliber revolver and started cautiously up the steps, pausing to listen when he reached the top. It was all silent. Then he smelled it. A mixture of blood and shit. He knew what it was because he’d smelled it many times before. There was no mistaking the putrid stench, which was impossible to forget, even after one exposure.
As he placed one foot after the other, Smythe approached the screen door. He reached out a trembling left hand to grasp the handle, his right still raised with the .38.
He eased the door back and moved into the hallway. The smell was stronger indoors. Smythe thumbed the hammer back on his gun; the ratchet noise seeming louder in the silence.
The Retribution sheriff glanced at the floor, and the light at the end of the hallway shone enough for him to see the still-tacky drag marks. His eyes followed them to the room from which the light emanated.
Smythe swallowed and took another step. And another. And another. Before he knew it, he was at the end of the hallway. He took a deep breath and walked through the doorway and into the dining room.
The .38 revolver swung around to the sheriff’s right and centered on the black-clad figure seated at the head of the table. In front of the man was an FN Five-Seven handgun. Salazar had removed the silencer.
“Who are you?” Smythe snapped. “Where’s Grissom?”
The man shrugged. “I’m sorry to say he died.”
“Did you kill him?”
“Yes.”
“Who are you?”
“Cesar Salazar.”
The blood flowing through Smythe’s veins turned icy, and he shivered. The gun in his hand shook. “Why are you here?” he asked hoarsely.
The sicario’s face was deadpan when he said, “I’m waiting for you.”
The sheriff frowned. “How did you know I would be here?”
Salazar shrugged.
Realization appeared in Smythe’s eyes. “Son of a bitch. The bastard son of a bitch.”
“Before you pull the trigger to kill me, señor, you might want to listen to what I have to say. Juan Jesus Montoya knows who you are. If you kill me, he will send more men to your house to kill you and your wife. Maureen is her name, yes?”
Smythe paled, then anger took over at the veiled threat to his wife. “Fuck you.”
“Maybe the men he sends will have a little fun with her. Take out her eyes, cut off her breasts. Maybe they all take their turns with her while you watch. First, they might cut out her tongue, so she can’t beg, too much.”
The sheriff wanted to shoot this animal so bad, his hand shook. But he didn’t, couldn’t. “What if I don’t kill you? What then?”
“I will kill you, and your wife will be left alone.”
Smythe looked for the lie in the killer’s dark eyes but couldn’t see one.
“Is that your word?”
Salazar nodded. “Sí.”
The gun in his hand seemed like a lead weight, and Smythe lowered it to lay along his right thigh. He closed his eyes.
“It is a wise choice, señor,” Salazar said. He then scooped up the Five-Seven and shot the Retribution sheriff between the eyes.
As the bullet punched through the back of the lawman’s skull, it released a thick spray of blood and gore which splattered across the wall behind him.
Smythe collapsed into an untidy heap on the floor, his .38 clattering on the boards beside him.
Salazar rose from his seat and placed his gun into the shoulder holster inside his coat. He reached down to his left side and withdrew a razor-sharp, long-bladed knife from its sheath. Then he went to work.
Chapter 5
“Reaper, we got Tangos coming through the east gate. It looks like they’ve taken out the marine guard. Am I clear to engage?”
“Wait one, Hammer.”
There was a drawn-out pause as Kane stared at the ambassador. The grey-headed Bernard Travers seemed to be fighting some inner battle. Maybe he hoped it would all go away.
Once more Kane heard the voice in his ear. “Reaper, am I clear to engage?”
“Wait one, Hammer.”
“Shit.”
Kane stared at the man seated at the desk before him. “Mr. Ambassador, we have Tangos inside the compound. We need your permission to engage if we’re going to keep you safe.”
Silence.
“Mr. Ambassador?” This time it was Cara who spoke. Her voice went up a notch. “Damn it, Mr. Ambassador!”
The U.S. Embassy was a large, two-story mansion on the outskirts of Manila. Surrounded by high steel fences, from the outside it appeared to be a fortress. The night Abu Sayyaf knocked, however, they were taken by surprise. There had been help provided by a rogue faction in the Philippine military. The Philippine soldiers that were normally stationed outside the embassy had been called away, which left only the small marine guard detachment, along with Kane’s four-man recon team.
A gunshot sounded from outside. “Tango down.”
Kane shook his head. “Christ. Lieutenant, get him and the others to the safe room. This has just gone hot.”
Kane stormed from the office and out onto a tiled area near a large pool when the evening erupted with violence. His communications seemed to go crazy for a brief time as his men called in targets. The night sky lit up with tracer rounds as automatic gunfire rang out across the compound. The difference between the attackers’ AKs and the American weapons was noticeable.
“Reaper? Grinch. I got four Tangos with RPG’s inside the perimeter to the west, headed for the house.”
Kane said, “On my way. Hammer, you see them?”
“On it.”
Hammer was the team sniper. When the trouble started brewing outside the compound, Kane ordered him to the roof of the embassy, providing a full field of fire. He heard the crack of the M110 sniper rifle as he ran toward where Grinch had set up a post in a raised gazebo.
Another crack and Hammer’s voice came to him. “Two Tangos down. Lost the other two behind one of the hedges.”
“I got them, Hammer,” Grinch said. Then, “Shit!”
An almighty explosion was followed by an orange ball of flame that rose from behind a large clump of hibiscus.
“Grinch, sitrep.”
Kane heard a cough followed by, “Son of a bitch blew the top off the gazebo.”
“Where are they?”
“Moving toward the—”
Another explosion. This time the embassy had taken a hit. “Damn it!”
Kane came to a sliding halt as two Abu Sayyaf terrorists materialized from the gloom in front of him. He brought up his Colt M4 Commando and stroked the trigger twice. Both attackers jerked and dropped to the ground. Another terrorist appeared, and before Kane could fire again, the sound of Hammer’s rifle rang out, and the third attacker was blown off his feet.
“You owe me a beer, Reaper.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Kane moved again towards the gazebo. All over the compound, he could hear the marine detachment engaged with their attackers. Another explosion roared to the north.
“Reaper? Cowboy. A bunch of these crazy fuckers just blew a hole in the fence on this side,” there was a pause and gunfire rang out. Then, “I got me upwards of ten Tangos now infiltrating the compound.”
“What about the marines?”
“I got one with me, and the rest are at the main gate where we thought they were going to break through.”
“Hammer, you copy that?”
Kane heard the M110 fire two fast shots, and then Hammer’s calm voice came over the net. “I’m kind of busy at the moment, Reaper.”
“I got it,” came a familiar voice.
“Lieutenant Billings? Where are you?”
Cara said, “On the roof. I can provide cover for your guy.”
“Roger that.”
When Kane reached the gazebo, he found Grinch extracting himself from the rubble where the roof had collapsed on top of him. He had a torn shirt and a line of blood running down the side of his face.
“You OK?”
“I’m fine.”
“Reaper? Hammer. There’s movement along the street leading to the front perimeter. You might want to check it out. I think they’re getting a car ready to ram the gate.”
“Shit! On my way,” he glanced at Grinch. “Are you right to go?”
“Fighting fit and ready to rip, boss.”
“I’ll send a couple of marines over there to back you up.”
“Roger that.”
Kane whirled about and hot-footed it towards the front gate. As he ran, he said, “Lieutenant? Reaper. I want you to designate a couple of your men to back up my guy over on the west side. Copy?”
“Roger that.”
“And find out how long before we get reinforcements in here?”
“Wait one.”
He was almost to the main gate when Cara came back to him. “Reaper? Billings. Word is thirty minutes. Abu Sayyaf has thrown up roadblocks, and the Philippine Army are trying to break through.”
Kane cursed under his breath.
He circumnavigated the large fountain in the main driveway and almost walked into a hailstorm of lead as the terrorists outside opened fire.
One of the marine’s waved to him. “Over here, Gunny!”
Bullets ricocheted off the fence and the large concrete pillars on either side of the gateway. Kane took a knee behind one of the concrete bollards beside the pedestrian gate, and the soldier joined him.
“What’s up, Corporal?”
He started to speak when a round spanged of the bollard and caused him to duck. He gathered himself and tried again. “About a hundred and fifty meters along the street you’ll see a car.”
Kane rose just enough to see and then lowered himself back down. The car was an old Toyota.
“What about it?”
“We think they’re getting ready to ram the gates with it.”
“You think it has explosives in it?”
“Yes.”
“Hammer? Reaper. Can you see much of that car?”
“Wait one.”
“Reaper? Billings. I’ve just got a report from my guys at the house. They’ve got some Tangos trying to breach.”
“Roger.”
“Reaper? Hammer. There are three Tangos around the car. I can’t see inside it, but I’d bet my left nut it’s packed with explosives.”
“Any chance you could put a couple of rounds into it and make it blow?”
“You know the answer to that.”
“Yeah.”
“We got that AT4, Reaper, in case you’ve forgotten.”
Through the firing, Kane heard the roar of the Toyota. He looked over the top of the bollard and saw it coming along the street. “Too late. Corporal, pull your men back to the embassy. Grinch, Cowboy, fall back on the embassy. Lieutenant, get your men to do the same.”
“Copy.”
“Hammer, put some fire into that damned car.”
They fell back towards the embassy. Gunfire ripped through the compound. When they reached the main entrance, there were two marines already there. The two terrorists who’d broken through with the RPG were dead at their feet. Smoke poured from a hole in the wall on the second floor where an RPG had blown through it.
A sudden roar tore the night apart, and a giant ball of fire rose into the sky. The concussion from the explosion buffeted the soldiers.
“Reaper? Hammer. Gate’s gone, and there must be about thirty Tangos rushing for the breach.”
“Copy that, kill as many as you can,” Kane replied and then looked at the two marines and asked, “Is anyone dealing with the fire?”
They shrugged their shoulders.
“Christ. Get up there and see what you can do. If there’s nothing, we’ll have to evacuate the building.”
Cowboy emerged from the darkness outside the glow of the lights, marines trailing along behind him. He was a big man from Texas and his voice matched. “I see you all beat us here.”
“Set up here,” Kane snapped.
“Roger.”
A burst of automatic fire blazed out of the blackness, an
d one of the marines went down. He howled in pain from a bullet buried deep in the muscle of his upper thigh. Kane and Cowboy were the first to react when three terrorists appeared to their front. They fired with precision and dropped them on the driveway.
Kane indicated to the wounded man. “Get him inside.”
Two of the fallen marine’s comrades dragged him through the door.
“Right, set up a perimeter around this building. Cover all entry points. Not one damned Tango gets into this building.”
The sound of gunfire to the west grew in intensity. “Grinch? Reaper. Where the hell are you?”
“We’re pinned down, Reaper.”
In the background, Kane could hear the rattle of weapons. “Hammer? Reaper. You got eyes on his position?”
“Wait one.”
“I’m coming up.”
Kane ran inside and made for the internal staircase. He took them two at a time until he burst out onto the roof. “Sitrep, Hammer.”
Heavy fire sounded from down below in the large drive area. He saw Cara using one of the other sniper rifles like a pro as she picked her targets and dispatched them with surety.
“Grinch and the few from the guard are pinned down by the tennis court. They’ve got Abu Sayyaf assholes crawling all over them.”
Hammer fired at an unseen target, and chips flew from the concrete when a fusillade of bullets slammed into the rooftop.
“What’s the time on the relief force, LT?” Kane asked Cara.
“Fifteen minutes.”
“Grinch ain’t got fifteen minutes, Reaper,” Hammer said.
“Fuck!” Kane snarled.
Suddenly, an unfamiliar voice came over the net.
“United States Embassy, this is Eagle two-niner, how copy? Over.”
“Roger two-niner, read you loud and clear, over.”
The sky above the embassy roared to life as a Blackhawk swooped in low over the compound. The voice came back over the net. “Someone down there holler for a Marshal? Over.”
A smile split Kane’s lips. “Mighty happy to see you, two-niner. Things are starting to get mighty sporty down here, over.”
“Roger that. You have multiple targets converging on your position from various points. If you can light up your positions, we’ll take care of the rest. Over.”
