Ready to Kill

by Andrew Peterson

  “I’m good.”

  “NV off?”

  Estefan nodded.

  Both of them pivoted their goggles up and pulled their Sigs.

  Harv reared back and kicked the office door with all his strength.

  CHAPTER 29

  The door flew open with a violent bang, breaking its shaded window.

  Harv rushed inside and pivoted to his right. To their immediate left, Raven’s white shirt sprang forward from a couch to grab an assault rifle just beyond his reach.

  Estefan painted his laser on the man’s chest and yelled, “Don’t do it!” The man looked at the rifle lying on the coffee table before retreating back onto the couch. “Good boy.”

  Harv’s threat was at his two o’clock position. A small man pushed back from a huge desk and made a mad dash for the corner of the room.

  Harv knew right away. This was the bean counter.

  More importantly, an open safe loomed in the corner.

  Harv couldn’t see any contents; its partially open door blocked his view.

  Clearly, the bean counter intended to close it.

  Harv yelled, “Stop!”

  Ignoring his command, Bean grabbed the heavy steel door and began pushing with all his strength.

  Harv painted his laser on a chubby forearm and fired a single shot.

  The suppressed report sounded like a heavy book being dropped on carpet.

  Two feet above the floor, a red splotch materialized on the wall next to the safe. The meaty arm fell away.

  “Stop!” Harv yelled again.

  With one arm, Bean continued pushing.

  Harv adjusted his aim.

  A metallic clank filled the room as a second slug passed through the guy’s other forearm and careened off the green steel door. The bullet plowed into the side of the desk, splintering its wood.

  The white shirt shielded his eyes.

  Without the use of his arms, Bean’s efforts were over. He collapsed to the hardwood floor and pulled his wounded arms into his stomach. Blood was oozing but not gushing.

  The momentum of the safe’s door kept it going. It clanged against its jamb and harmlessly bounced back a few inches. Its lever arm had to be cranked to engage the locking rods.

  “You stupid motherfuckers!” Bean cried in Spanish.

  “I’ve got ’em both,” Harv told Estefan, also in Spanish. “Clear those doors.”

  Estefan rushed over to the north wall and kicked open the door. He darted inside and yelled, “Bathroom. Clear!” He yanked a second door open and pivoted to face it. “Empty closet.”

  Harv looked at Bean. “Had enough?”

  The guy hissed through clenched teeth. “If you dumbasses walk away, I’ll forget this ever happened.”

  “Get up.”

  The little man didn’t move.

  Harv aimed the Sig’s shimmering laser on the floor between Bean’s legs and fired a third round. More splinters flew.

  “I’m not going to ask again. The next one finds that uninhabited melon you call a head.”

  With a hateful expression, Bean used his elbows to gain his knees, then ungracefully labored into a standing position.

  “On the couch, next to your friend.”

  His fingers dripping blood, Bean moved across the room and plopped down, grunting from the jolt. The top of his bald head barely cleared the couch.

  “Thank you for your cooperation,” Harv said with mock sincerity. He took a few seconds to scan the room for security cameras but saw none. He had twelve rounds left in the Sig; no need to load a new magazine.

  Estefan kept his laser locked on the white shirt’s chest and moved to a better location to see the entire room. “Keep your hands where I can see them and stand up.”

  White was about Estefan’s size, but ten years younger. The wispy mustache didn’t do anything for him. The man complied, grudgingly. “Do you know who owns this place?”

  “We’ll be asking the questions from now on,” Harv replied. “Keep facing me and reach back. Lift up the cushions.”

  White extended his right hand.

  “Other hand,” Harv ordered and kept a neutral expression at seeing a Beretta 92 concealed under the middle cushion. He told White to step away from it.

  Taking a wide berth around Bean, Harv grabbed the pistol, ejected its magazine, and cycled the slide. A live round cartwheeled to the floor. After reinserting the 92’s mag, he put the weapon in his thigh pocket. He unloaded the HK assault rifle before tossing it into the corner of the room behind Estefan. Blood had already pooled in Bean’s lap. Without pressure bandages, blood loss would become critical in the next twenty minutes.

  Harv looked at White. “Take your shirt off.” When the guy just stared, Harv forcefully said, “Do it now.”

  White unbuttoned his shirt and peeled it off.

  “Toss it over.” Harv holstered his Sig, pulled his Predator, and cut the shirt into wide strips. Looking down at Bean, he said, “I’m going to tie off your wounds. If you try anything cute, I’ll let you bleed out. Are we clear on that?”

  “You’re an asshole,” Bean said.

  “Lose the tough guy attitude.”

  “Better let his sex partner apply the field dressings,” Estefan said. “There’s no telling what diseases that little runt has. Personally, I’d let him die. You’d be doing him—and the world—a favor.”

  “Fuck you,” Bean spat, then winced.

  Harv knew firsthand that bullet wounds were hideously painful. He looked at White. “You know how to field dress those wounds?”

  White nodded.

  Harv threw the cloth strips onto the coffee table, swapped his Predator for his Sig, and pointed it at White. “Please proceed slowly,” Harv said. “This weapon has a two-pound trigger, and we wouldn’t want any accidental discharges.”

  Harv ignored the safe for now; his priority was getting these two men squared away. It took a minute for White to get Bean’s arms bandaged, but the guy did a decent job.

  He ordered White to have a seat next to his buddy and handed Estefan the knife. “Cut me some strips from the sofa’s fabric, and test them for strength. Cut up as many as you need. We’re going to secure our three guests back-to-back around the wooden post in the middle of the room. I want their wrists bound in front of them with their elbow joints secured to one another. Right to left and left to right.”

  “No problem.”

  Harv used this opportunity to update Nate on their break-in and the two additional men in custody. He told Nate about the safe and Bean’s defiant effort to close it.

  “It can wait until after you’ve secured the men. Who knows, there might be something we can use against Raven and Macanas. Maybe the bean counter keeps a ledger in there. We’ll go through it later.”

  “The barracks are fifty yards away on the north side of the lumber mill’s main building. I need to send Estefan over there to verify no one’s home. If anyone’s over there, I doubt they heard our entry into the office.”

  “You shouldn’t be alone in the lumber mill’s office with no eyes outside. Sit tight. I can be there in a few minutes.”

  “Antonia’s feet are tethered.”

  “I’ll carry her.”

  Harv could only imagine her expression at hearing that. “Nate, she’s one hundred twenty pounds, and you’ve got five hundred yards to cover.”

  “You carried me through two miles of pitch-black jungle when I weighed one hundred twenty pounds.”

  “I was motivated, but it also took five hours . . . You’ll need help humping our gear. Let me send Estefan after he’s secured our prisoners. In a dead run, he could be there in ninety seconds. I’ll kill the lights and wait just outside the door where I can keep eyes on the office and the barracks. He’ll be on his way in under one mike.” Harv released the tran
smit button. “Watch them for a sec.”

  “These two piles of pig shit aren’t going anywhere.”

  “Easy, Estefan.”

  Harv stepped outside, grabbed the sentry by his collar, and manhandled him up the porch steps into the office. Estefan was slicing a second cushion and testing each strip by putting one end under his boot and yanking on it. The makeshift ties were quite strong—Estefan couldn’t tear them.

  Harv wanted to know something before Nathan brought Antonia over here. “Ask the girl if these are the guys who mutilated Mateo’s ear.”

  “Stand by.”

  “We never touched that worthless drunk,” Bean said.

  Harv told him to shut up. After fifteen seconds of silence he was about to radio Nate when his ear speaker came back to life.

  “She said no. The men who hurt her father came from Macanas’s compound in southern Jinotega. For what it’s worth, she says the small guy is Raven’s cousin.”

  “His cousin?” Harv asked, purposely repeating aloud.

  Estefan smiled, then winked at Bean.

  The little man’s hateful expression returned.

  “That’s what she said. His name is Raul Sanchez, and she hates his guts. She said he’s a complete asshole.”

  “Yeah, we kinda gathered that. Estefan’s almost finished securing our guests.” Harv’s radio clicked.

  “I’ll be right back.” Estefan ducked into the bathroom and returned a few seconds later, dabbing his lips with tissue. He shook his head. “I hate the sight of my own blood. It really pisses me off.”

  “Double-time over to the motel. Switch Sigs with me—yours isn’t suppressed.” Harv also handed him an additional mag. “My laser’s set to a fifty-foot zero.”

  “Not a problem,” Estefan said, taking a last look at the bound men.

  Harv knew his friend wanted their roles reversed so he could have some quality time with the prisoners, but they weren’t here for that.

  “Estefan’s on his way.”

  “I’m ready to move out when he gets here.”

  Harv killed the lights and activated his NVGs. “I can see all of you clearly. If you try anything, you’ll regret it.”

  “What are we supposed to do?” Bean said. “We’re tied up, you dumbass.”

  “That’s your third strike.” Harv grabbed the remaining strip of fabric and silently moved in behind Bean. In a quick motion before Bean could react, Harv looped the gag into Bean’s mouth as if using a garrote, then tied it tight. This pint-sized turd hadn’t earned any respect.

  Before stepping outside, Harv decided to take a quick look inside the safe and activated the infrared feature of his goggles. Bean’s eyes reflected an eerie iridescence.

  Moving silently across the pitch-black room, Harv approached the safe. He pulled the door and stared in disbelief. “Oh, man,” he whispered. “No friggin’ way . . .”

  CHAPTER 30

  “I’m outside your door,” Estefan said.

  Nathan let him in. “Grab those two packs and the rifles.” Nathan looked at Antonia. “If I take that gag out and untie your hands, do you give me your word you won’t scream or try anything stupid?”

  She nodded.

  “Good, because it’s going to be an unpleasant experience being carried over to the lumber mill, even worse with your arms tied behind your back.”

  “You don’t have to carry me.”

  “Afraid I do.” Nathan cut her wrists free but left her ankles bound together with the two-foot strip. He didn’t have time to chase her all over creation. He ordered her to stand and hold still. In a fluid move, he heaved her over his right shoulder, bending her at the hips. Outside, he and Estefan pivoted their NVGs down and took off in a medium-paced jog up the street. He couldn’t ignore the sensation of her breasts bouncing against his back, and he knew she was embarrassed from being carried this way.

  “You okay up there?”

  “My ribs hurt.”

  “Try to relax. This won’t take long.”

  After fifty yards, she used her arms to encircle his waist and her wrists ended up across his groin. Although awkward, it definitely created more stability. He was tempted to say something but didn’t.

  Nathan felt a good burn begin in his legs. He’d always liked physical exertion and never understood why most people tended to avoid it.

  Fairly winded from hauling Antonia across five hundred yards, Nathan reached the lumber trucks and turned right.

  “I’ve got you,” Harv said.

  At the office, Nathan set the girl down on the top step of the porch and took a few deep breaths. “Estefan, double-time over to the barracks. Make sure no one’s home. Surveillance only. Do not engage. If you see anyone, come up on the radio. One-mike check-ins.” Nathan saw Estefan was in great shape. The three-minute jaunt hadn’t phased him. He took off and disappeared into the blackness.

  Harv nodded at the open door of the office. “There’s something you need to see in there.”

  “On your feet,” Nathan said to Antonia. “We’re going inside.”

  “But that creep’s in there,” she whispered.

  “He won’t be a problem,” Harv said. “I’m turning on the lights. NV off.”

  Nathan powered his goggles off and pivoted them up.

  The bound men squinted at the sudden brightness.

  Harv pointed to the open safe.

  “Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?” Nathan asked.

  “Indeed you are.”

  “Unbelievable,” he said under his breath.

  “It’s no wonder I had to shoot our little friend over there. Twice.”

  Sitting on a thick plywood shelf, twenty-six gold bars the size of chalkboard erasers loomed like pirate’s treasure. There were six columns, stacked four high, with a seventh column containing only two bars. The ingots were pitted and crudely made, but he had no doubt they were solid gold. Unrefined, but gold just the same.

  Nathan ignored the two men secured to the post and looked at Antonia. “Did you know about this?”

  The bitterness in her expression told all.

  “Do you still think you and Franco were going to live happily ever after?”

  Staring at the safe, she pursed her lips.

  He heard muffled groaning and turned. The little man with blood-soaked bandages was whipping his head back and forth in a frenzy. The other guy looked on the verge of tears. Understandable, Nathan thought. He escorted Antonia over to the safe where he could keep an eye on her. Nathan hefted a bar. “Feels like two pounds.”

  “Probably one kilo each,” said Harv. “That’s a little over two pounds.”

  “How many ounces is that?”

  Harv thought for a moment. “I think a kilo’s around thirty-five or so.”

  Nathan tried to run the calculation in his head aloud. “Twenty-six bars times thirty-five ounces, what is that?”

  “There’s a calculator on the desk.”

  Nathan picked it up. “If we’re right about each bar being . . . thirty-five ounces, then there are nine hundred ten ounces in there. Multiply that by $1,400 and you get . . .” Nathan made a whistle sound. “We’re looking at more than $1.2 million. That’s at spot price for gold bullion, so it’s not worth that much, but it’s still a small fortune.”

  “We can’t let Macanas keep it.”

  Nathan lowered his voice. “We’ll hump it into the jungle and use our special phone to take a GPS reading. What about Estefan? He’s going to want some of this.”

  “We’ll deal with that when the time comes.”

  “We’re telling him about it, right?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “If Raven’s been skimming, it’s possible this is his private loot.”

  “That’s a boatload of skimming. Either way, we don’t—”
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  Estefan’s voice cut in. “It’s all quiet at the barracks. No one’s home.”

  “Double-time back here. There’s something you need to see.”

  “On my way.”

  Estefan arrived half a minute later and walked over to the safe. “You’re kidding me.” Estefan picked up an ingot. “These are one-kilo bars. Each one is worth about $50,000. This is a major score!”

  “We’ve only got two backpacks and they’re pretty full, but if we split it evenly, we’ll be okay. I think we can handle adding . . .” He worked the calculator again. “About twenty-eight pounds of gold each. Can you manage that, Harv?”

  “I bet I could.” Harv nodded toward Bean. “What about him?”

  Bean’s makeshift bandages were fairly soaked, but they weren’t dripping.

  “He’s not in danger of bleeding out. We’ll deal with him later after we get this gold squared away.”

  “And her?” Harv asked, loading their packs with the ingots.

  “Please don’t tie me up with them,” Antonia said, genuine terror in her voice.

  Nathan grabbed her wrist, took her outside, and lowered his voice. “I have no reason to trust you, but you have every reason to trust us. Do you doubt we could’ve easily killed you tonight?”

  “No.”

  Nathan pulled his knife and cut the tether binding her ankles. “You need to choose sides right now, Antonia. I don’t know what kind of a person you are, but if you stay on your current path, it won’t have a happy ending. I hope you don’t dismiss what I’m about to say as patronizing or condescending, because it isn’t meant to be. All the things you think are important—money, power, material possessions—none of them will make you happy. There’s no correlation between wealth and happiness. Absolutely none. It’s one of society’s biggest lies. You may not fully understand what I’m saying right now, but if you live long enough, someday you will.” Nathan put a hand on his chest. “True happiness comes from helping others who are less fortunate than you. It comes from doing the right thing. Nothing else works.”

  “What happened to you? In the office, I saw scars under your face paint.”