Cartel

by Chuck Hustmyre

  "No, I didn't," Scott said. "That's why I saved a copy and attached it to two emails." He glanced at his watch. "In fifty-two minutes, those emails will go out, one to The Washington Post, the other to The New York Times. Unless we all walk out of here." It was a lie, but a lie told with con-viction was hard to distinguish from the truth. He just hoped he was telling this one with enough conviction.

  "You see," Jones said, still smiling, "I knew I was right about you. And I admire your determination and resource-fulness. But you don't fully understand the dynamics of the situation you're in. And that's my fault. So let me explain. First, I have no way of knowing how many copies of this video you or anyone else has made." Jones dangled the flash drive for emphasis. "Second, I don't even know if this is the only copy that Deputy Attorney General Oscar Ramirez had. Third, and most important, I have absolutely no doubt that one day, probably one day soon, this video will show up on YouTube or Facebook or Twitter, and then it will be all over the cable news networks."

  Scott raised his hands in an all-encompassing gesture. "Then why all this?"

  Jones dangled the flash drive again to emphasize his point. "Because I've never seen it. I just want to know what all the fuss is about."

  Not knowing what to say to that, Scott just stared at Jones.

  "And," Jones said, "because I needed you."

  "Me?" Scott said. "Why?"

  "I can manage the video coming out. Reporters who think they're on to a big story are the easiest people in the world to control. But what I can't manage is you on TV or in front of a Congressional committee."

  Now Scott understood. "Because I'm the provenance."

  "Exactly," Jones said. "The proof that the video is ex-actly what it appears to be, an illegal pact, an unholy alliance, if you will, between the most powerful country on the planet and the world's richest drug cartel. But without you, it's just a leaked undercover video, showing a sincere, but ultimately unsuccessful, attempt to convince the leader of the Sinaloa cartel that he was dealing with a rogue element of the U.S. government in order to trick him into delivering tons of cocaine into the hands of American law enforcement."

  "How did you find out the video even existed?" Scott asked. Jones liked to hear himself talk, so Scott wanted to keep him talking. If nothing else, it would buy him a few more seconds to think of something to do.

  Jones shoved the flash drive into the pocket of his suit coat. Then he gestured toward Benny with his pistol. "It was your friend, Officer Alvarez, who tipped us off."

  Scott turned to Benny. She stared back at him, her eyes wide with confusion. "I swear I didn't tell them anything."

  "Don't judge her too harshly," Jones said. "She's telling the truth, as far as she knows it."

  Looking back at Jones, Scott said, "What do you mean?"

  "I don't know if you are aware of this, but she has a...fiduciary relationship with Humberto Larios and Los Zetas."

  "She told me," Scott said, feeling suddenly protective of Benny.

  "Good," Jones said. "That makes it easier to explain. So you see, when Officer Alvarez called Señor Larios and told him about the video, we..." He nodded to the G.I. Joe stand-ing beside him. "Really it was my associate here and his technical team, but in the royal sense it was we, were moni-toring Señor Larios' telephones on behalf of our client, Señor Gutierrez, and so we informed our client about the existence of the video and who had it."

  "Mike Cassidy," Scott said.

  Jones nodded. "Yes."

  A long moment of silence hung in the air. Jones looked smug, seemingly pleased with himself for being magnani-mous enough to fill in some of the missing pieces for the condemned.

  Then a new voice cut the silence. "I wondered how that fat fuck found out about the video." And Humberto Larios stepped in through a small side door to Scott's right. Larios wore jeans and a tan guayabera shirt and carried an M-16 ri-fle.

  Chapter 79

  Five Los Zetas gunmen carrying M-16s followed Humberto Larios through the side door. The last two dragged Father Rodrigo and a little girl with them. The girl wore the pleated skirt and white blouse of a school uniform. She looked un-hurt but terrified.

  "Rosalita!" Benny screamed.

  The girl saw her mother and tried to run to her, but the gunman held her back. She started crying. So did Benny.

  Rodrigo looked worse. Much worse. He'd been beaten bloody. His black priest's shirt hung loose from his pants, and his Roman collar was twisted and pulled half off. Still, his face betrayed no emotion.

  Behind Scott, the church's front door banged open. The American at his back looked over his shoulder to assess this new threat, but his pistol remained steady, jammed against Scott's spine. Scott turned his head just enough to see the silhouetted figures of two more men step into the church, both carrying rifles with the distinctive shape of M-16s.

  The man behind Scott muttered, "Shit."

  When Scott turned back, he saw Larios grinning like a jackal.

  For several long seconds, nothing happened. Nothing except that the smug look slid off Jones's face. Replaced by shock. Then by fear.

  Scott laughed.

  Everyone stared at him.

  He just kept laughing.

  The American behind him pressed his pistol deeper into Scott's back.

  Humberto Larios nodded at Scott. "Hey, gringo, what's wrong with you? What the fuck is so funny?" Larios had a smile on his face, the kind of smile a card player wears when he knows he has the winning hand.

  Scott pointed at Jones. "He is. Sixty seconds ago he thought he had won. Now look at him."

  Larios stared at Jones. Then he laughed too.

  Scott spun to his left. The man behind him wasn't ready and took a second too long to react. Scott knocked the pistol aside and knuckle punched the man in the throat. Then kicked the man's legs out from under him. They both fell. The pistol went off. Scott felt the bullet rip past his ear. They crashed onto the hard stone floor. Scott landed on top and heard a rib snap. The man screamed. Scott slammed his el-bow into the man's nose. He heard it crack and felt cartilage splinter. The man screamed again.

  Gunshots exploded behind Scott. None hit him, so he ignored them. He twisted the pistol from the man's hand. It was a Beretta M-9, standard U.S. military issue, meaning the man was probably a contractor. Scott shoved the muzzle un-der the man's chin and pulled the trigger. There was a muf-fled POP as blood and brains exploded from the top of his skull. Scott rolled away. And kept rolling until he was under the first pew.

  More gunfire erupted inside the small church. The steady pop of pistols and the earsplitting shriek of M-16s.

  Scott saw Benny on the floor, fighting the man who had been holding her at gunpoint, trying to wrestle the pistol away from him. Scott shot him in the head. Benny yanked the gun from his hand, another Beretta M-9, and slid under the first pew beside Scott. "Gracias," she said.

  Scott nodded and scanned what he could see of the church from under the pew. Victoria was sprawled on top of Jake and Samantha in front of the altar, shielding them with her body. The children were screaming and covering their ears with their hands.

  Jones and G.I. Joe were crouched behind the heavy wooden altar, firing over Scott's family at Larios and his men. Scott fired a couple of shots at the two Americans but his angle was bad. He missed and they ignored him.

  Scott did have an excellent angle on Captain Delgado, although the corrupt Mexican police commander was already dead. He had caught a high-velocity bullet in the forehead, no doubt a .223 from one of Larios' men, and it had peeled back the top of his head like a PEZ dispenser.

  Rodrigo and Rosalita were nowhere to be seen.

  Behind Scott and Benny, from just inside the front door, the two Los Zetas who had been last to the party were firing their M-16s, the supersonic bullets cracking the air overhead and splintering the altar.

  Jones and his pet G.I. were outnumbered eight to two and taking massive fire from two directions. They had no chance. In seconds the
fight would be over. Scott was al-ready wondering what would come next. He didn't imagine that he stood in any higher regard with Larios than he had with Jones. In the end, dead was still dead, and it really did-n't matter if the bullet came from the CIA or from Los Zetas.

  Then G.I. Joe lobbed something toward the front door. It was round and dark and about the size of a baseball. A piece of the thing sprang away from the main body as it arced through the air. Scott knew what it was. He'd seen plenty of them in Afghanistan, mostly hooked onto the vests and web gear of soldiers and Marines. It was an M-67 frag-mentation grenade. And in a gunfight, it could be a game changer.

  The hand grenade fell short of the two gunmen-probably just as G.I. Joe had intended, since he looked like the kind of guy who practiced tossing hand grenades in front of a mirror-and landed on the stone floor between the pews. It bounced once, then skittering down the aisle until it exploded. The blast flattened the two Zetas and blew the big wooden door and a chunk of façade into the street.

  An eerie silence followed the explosion. Then someone started screaming. At least one Zeta had survived the blast long enough to feel the pain of his mangled body.

  Movement near the altar caught Scott's eye. He turned just in time to see G.I. Joe tossing a second hand grenade through the air, this one arcing toward the right side of the church, where Larios and his other gunmen were crouched. As the grenade reached the apex of its arc, one of the Zetas actually tried to shoot it out of the air. He missed.

  Larios and the others ran.

  Scott scrambled out from under the pew firing the Beretta at Jones and his partner and managed to pancake himself on top of his wife and children just as the second hand grenade exploded. Something stung Scott's forehead. He reached up and felt a piece of metal, hot and jagged, em-bedded in his skin. He yanked it out. His fingertips and the metal shard were bloody. Looking at his family, he could see that Jake and Samantha were screaming and Victoria was crying, but the shrill buzz inside his head drowned out all other sounds.

  Jones stood up behind the altar and aimed his pistol at Scott. Scott didn't have a chance and he knew it. His gun was down at his side, way too far out of position to be of any use, and he remembered what one of his DEA Academy firearms instructors used to say: You can't outdraw your op-ponent's trigger pull.

  Then a bullet slammed into the altar and fragments ex-ploded in Jones's face. The CIA man ducked just as another bullet struck the altar. Scott glanced over his shoulder and saw Benny firing. Then he raised his own pistol and turned back, ready to finally put a bullet into Jones, but the son of a bitch was already gone.

  A Los Zetas gunman staggered out of the smoke and dust from the second hand grenade explosion, blinking his eyes and shaking his head but still clutching his M-16. Scott shot him twice in the chest.

  "We're getting out of here," Scott shouted into Victo-ria's ear, although he could barely hear his own words. Then he hauled Samantha up and hugged her to his chest. Victoria picked up Jake. "Stick close to me," Scott yelled. He looked for Benny. She was on her feet, pistol in her hands. "Follow us," he shouted.

  "I have to find Rosalita," Benny said.

  Scott read her lips more than he heard her. Then he scanned the ruined church, searching for any sign of Benny's daughter, and for a way out. He worked his jaw and felt his ears pop. It brought some of his hearing back.

  "Scott!" Victoria screamed.

  He glanced at her and saw she was pointing. He fol-lowed her finger and saw a cartel gunman rising up from the rubble the second hand grenade had left behind. The man lifted his M-16. Scott turned to shield his daughter first. Then raised his pistol, but he was too late. And so was the cartel gunman. Because before either of them could squeeze off a shot, a bright flash erupted behind the gunman and Scott heard, or more accurately, he felt, the deep boom of a large-caliber handgun. The man flopped face first onto the floor.

  Father Rodrigo stood behind the fallen man, holding the big Colt .45 revolver in his fist. A tendril of smoke rose from the muzzle.

  Chapter 80

  The priest waved the big Colt in a come here motion and shouted "Follow me."

  "Donde esta Rosalita?" Benny said.

  But Rodrigo had already turned around and was clam-bering through the gaping hole the hand grenade had blown in the wall. Scott motioned for Benny and Victoria to follow him. Then he ran after Rodrigo, squeezing his daughter close and clutching the Beretta pistol.

  "Who is he?" Victoria shouted as she trailed Scott. "He looks like a priest."

  Scott didn't answer.

  He scrambled through the hole in the wall carrying Sa-mantha, then stood in the narrow alley and reached back to help his wife and son. Benny climbed out last.

  Night had fallen and the alley was shrouded in dark-ness.

  Rodrigo was waiting for them. Benny grabbed his arm. "Donde esta mija!" Where is my daughter!

  Rodrigo nodded down the alley. He glanced at Scott, then looked back at his niece and said in English, "Rosalita is safe. She's in the rectory. But we have to hurry." He turned and loped down the alley. Everyone else followed him.

  At the end of the alley, Rodrigo stopped and peeked around the corner. He held his Colt revolver ready. Benny squeezed up next to him.

  Scott set Samantha down, and Victoria did the same with Jake. Both children grabbed onto their mother's hands. Scott dropped to one knee and spoke to his kids. "Whatever happens, hold on tight to your mom. Move when she moves. Stop when she stops. Stay quiet. I promise you I'm going to get us all home. Do you understand?"

  They nodded. Scott stood and laid a hand on his wife's shoulder. "We're going to be fine. Just stick close to me."

  Victoria nodded at Rodrigo and Benny and whispered. "Who are these people?"

  "They're friends," Scott said. "They're trying to help us."

  Scott turned around and edged up beside Rodrigo and Benny. He popped the magazine out of the Beretta. There were three holes spaced vertically along the back of the magazine. The top hole had the number "5" engraved beside it, the middle hole had "10," and the bottom hole had "15." If the head of a cartridge was visible in any of the holes, it meant you had at least that many rounds left. Scott only saw a cartridge in the "5" hole. The other two were empty. Which meant he had at least five rounds left in the maga-zine, maybe as many as nine, plus one in the chamber. Ten rounds max. He shoved the magazine back into the pistol and held it in a two-handed combat grip.

  Rodrigo looked back at him and nodded. Then the priest stepped out of the alley. Scott followed with his family close behind him and Benny trailing them as rear security.

  As soon as Scott stepped away from the alley, he saw a narrow wooden door standing open at the back of the main church building. He covered it with his pistol. "What's through that door?" Scott whispered to Rodrigo. Scott was thinking of Jones and G.I. Joe and how fast they had disap-peared.

  "The sacristy," the priest said. "Sort of a storage room behind the altar."

  A few more steps took them to the rectory. The heavy wooden door with its iron fittings made a formidable barrier, Scott thought, and the small viewing portal could be used as a firing port. Rodrigo shoved a huge key into the old lock and turned it. He pushed the door open, then stepped back and motioned the others inside. Scott stepped aside to let Victoria and the children go first. Then he nodded at Benny to follow them.

  As Benny stepped across the threshold, a bullet smacked against the door and Scott heard a sharp crack behind him. He turned and saw the muzzle flash of a second shot come from inside the open door at the back of the church.

  Scott and Rodrigo fired simultaneously at the unseen gunman. There were more flashes inside the dark church and more bullets slammed into the door behind them.

  Rodrigo's revolver clicked on an empty chamber.

  "Go," Scott shouted. "I'll cover you."

  Rodrigo turned and ran through the door.

  Scott fired twice more. Then the slide on the Beretta locked back. The gun was
empty and he didn't have another magazine.

  "Come on," Rodrigo shouted.

  Scott spun around and charged through the door just before Rodrigo slammed it shut. Then the priest shot home the thick iron bolt.

  "Are we trapped?" Victoria asked. Her voice was high and strained, on the edge of panic. She wrapped her arms protectively around Jake and Samantha.

  "That's a solid door," Rodrigo said. Then, as if to prove his point, a bullet thudded against the outside.

  "But they can get through it eventually," Victoria said.

  Rodrigo flipped open the cylinder of the Colt revolver and dumped the six spent shell casings on the floor. "We won't be here that long," he said as he grabbed a handful of .45 cartridges from the wicker basket beside the door and re-loaded the Colt. He snapped the cylinder closed and shoved the rest of the cartridges into one of his front pockets.

  Victoria wasn't convinced. "How are we going to-"

  Scott laid a hand on her arm. "Victoria."

  She looked at him.

  "We're going to get out of this," Scott said.

  After a few seconds she nodded.

  Benny was gone. Scott turned to Rodrigo. "Where's Benny?"

  Rodrigo pointed through the den into the kitchen.

  Scott led his wife and children into the kitchen, where Benny was on her knees hugging her daughter. Benny turned when she heard them enter. Tears were running down her face. "She's all right," Benny said, her voice choked with emotion. "My little girl is all right."

  "We have to go," Rodrigo said.

  "The priest hole?" Scott said.

  Rodrigo nodded.

  "What's a...priest hole?" Victoria asked.

  "An escape tunnel," Scott said.

  Rodrigo pulled open a narrow door that revealed a pan-try not much bigger than a phone booth. Shelves filled with dry goods and canned food lined the walls. A hand-woven rug covered the tile floor. Rodrigo yanked the rug aside. Be-neath the rug lay a square of wood, two feet by two feet, that fit into a hole cut in the tiles.