“Armando?” Evan whispered. He tried to catch his breath.
An old man with greasy, matted, long gray hair and an out-of-control beard sat drinking beer while leaning forward on a crate. Armando was hugging a thick moving blanket to a huddled harem of shivering women. They were terrified and cold and wore orange jumpsuits.
“Praise God! My sweet ladies, you see, Armando told you he will take care of you! No fear! This man, he is our savior!”
Evan was speechless. He lowered his weapon and shoved it in his waistband. He watched the crying girls huddle close to their ancient friend. Evan could hear the coughing, cursing, and stumbling of men in the hall and knew they were coming. He knew it was over; he could not possibly escape with six people.
“What is going on?”
“A beer, señor?”
Evan just shook his head and closed his gaping mouth. Of course he took the beer. “Only in freaking Mexico!”
Evan turned slowly around to see what was going to happen next. He knew whoever came through the open door, friend or foe, had him outgunned and would not be happy with his booby traps. He was beat.
He coughed from the smoke, drank his beer, and rubbed his face.
When they came, Evan gave no resistance. He faced six angry, armed men, none of whom wore police uniforms. Evan was still in shock at seeing Armando surrounded by his girls.
“Who the heck are you guys?” Evan held his non-beer-holding hand up and smiled and then added, “It’s Mexican night. You guys bring the chips and salsa?”
No one except Evan was smiling. They were not amused but furious and clearly understood English.
“Is your name Evan?”
Evan assumed they were not cartel members or he would already be dead. They were also not police. And they knew his name.
“Maybe.” Evan looked from the terrified girls to Armando and then to the men with automatic weapons. The assault team began to lower their weapons as they processed the surroundings. They looked puzzled.
The smoke was dissipating. The whole scene grew strangely quiet, and Evan could only hear the cooler’s compressor.
Evan was confused; they had not killed him, and for that he was relieved.
“I came to rescue Armando. Are you cops? How do you know my name?”
No one spoke.
Then Evan saw him.
A man in cowboy boots and khakis stepped into the beer cooler. His boots crunched broken glass and ice, and he held a napkin over his mouth to block out the smoke.
Evan opened another beer offered to him by Armando, took a drink, and shook his head. “What next? Juggling midgets?” he said in English this time while casually reaching for his can of dip.
“Hi, Evan. Enjoying Juárez?”
“Hi, Nathan. Want a beer?”
CHAPTER 10
Trust Me—I Used to Lie for a Living
Juárez, Mexico, 2100 Hours
A large warehouse stood at the north end of Gonzalez Airport in Juárez. The hangar was owned by a businessman. Evan watched and admired a yellow Gulfstream 550 jet. He sipped a Diet Dr. Pepper and watched as crews in white jumpsuits moved large rolling stairs up to the tail portion of the plane. They had just finished power washing the plane and were now placing magnetic strip decals and new tail numbers. Different crews were placing Pelican cases with what Evan assumed were weapons and equipment underneath the private jet. The smell of aviation fuel, mold, and heat filled the air. Evan loved airports; he liked the smell, the noise, and the sound of jet engines. Activity filled the hangar, and everyone moved with a purpose.
Evan stood still and finished sipping his soda. He felt like the kind of guy that people didn’t like but didn’t have the guts to deal with. He would occasionally catch a dirty look or scowl turned his way. He could read their lips and their body language from across the hangar.
Evan yawned and felt exhaustion creep into his bones. He glanced at a section of the warehouse that had been designated as an aid station. From what Evan observed, there was a doctor and perhaps some medics bandaging and picking out shrapnel and stitching up minor wounds. No one had been seriously wounded, but his stunt with the glass door and grenade had shredded people’s exposed skin and damaged their eardrums. Fortunately, the assault team had worn enough body armor and protective gear to stave off most soft-tissue injuries. They had annihilated the gang members—caught them in a crossfire and shot them to pieces.
Evan had been allowed to sit in on the after-action report and put all of the pieces of the puzzle together.
Dark Cloud shooters were supposed to ambush and assault the People’s Market to snatch and grab Gerard. Evan admitted that he chucked Gerard into a Dumpster, effectively keeping him safe from getting snatched.
“Oops, sorry. Had no clue who he was.” Evan shrugged. His cavalier attitude seemed to infuriate many of the operators.
Evan had no regrets; he was just glad he had not been killed in the cross fire.
He was tired, dirty, hungry, and sore.
The police finally arrived, quickly whisked Armando and the girls away, and provided cover as Dark Cloud escaped.
He knew that later the police would claim a major victory on crime by stating something to the effect of, “Today we rescued five kidnapped girls and a Mexican national, blah, blah…”
Evan finished his soda and looked for a trash can. “Now what?”
Evan had given Armando the pile of cash that his brother had given him and strongly told him to take his brother and leave Mexico. Armando had said something that had stuck in his mind: “God has protected you.”
Evan had said his good-byes and quickly called his brother to say mission accomplished. He felt a gnawing ache in his stomach when he failed to mention this character Nathan from his past.
“I plan on coming back tonight, different flight from Armando. The police are protecting him. I seemed to have caused a little mess down here. Explain later.”
Evan had been sitting by himself, just thinking and staring.
A thick, serious-looking gentleman, midthirties, approached Evan from across the hangar. He was wearing a San Antonio Spurs hat, jeans, and a T-shirt. He had an MP5 slung over his back. His bushy beard reminded Evan of the Taliban.
“Sir?” the man said.
“Que?”
“Mr. Nathan Rock, he would like to speak with you. He is in the plane.” He spoke excellent English and seemed tired, almost bored.
Evan looked around. “Sure, sure.”
“This way please.”
Nathan Rock sat reclined in a wide-armed swivel chair in the rear of the G550 aircraft. He reminded Evan of someone who was trying to play president in a miniature Air Force One. Nathan’s eyes were closed, and he had a wet towel draped over his eyes. A woman in her midthirties massaged his shoulders.
“Ouch! Not that deep.”
“You are tight, señor. Your neck, shoulders very stiff,” she said.
Evan stood still for a moment and tried to think of something smart to say but refrained.
The shooter with the beard asked Evan if he needed anything to drink.
“Water.”
The shooter tossed him a plastic bottle and left.
Evan sipped on his water and waited for the masseuse to finish. Once she left, Evan sat in another swivel chair and spun it around to face Nathan, who still had his eyes closed.
“Nice gig you got here, Nathan.”
Nathan kept his eyes closed and did not move. He was aware that Evan was there but made no move to acknowledge him.
“Been what, fifteen…eighteen years?” Evan said.
“Something like that. Who’s counting.”
“CIA in the business of rescuing old men who have been kidnapped by bottom-rung kidnappers?” Nathan saids with a little contention in his voice and still did not open his eyes.
Evan could tell he was scared and trying to play cool and in control. Evan knew enough about Nathan to know he suffered from migraines, the result of be
ing OCD and a perfectionist. Evan thrived on everything always being out of control and having an uncontrollable variable. He expected it.
Nathan, on the other hand, was in a constant war to control everything. If he could micromanage raindrops, he would.
“So I stumbled on your little operation. Dark Cloud, eh?”
“And completely screwed up snatching a high-profile cartel member.”
Evan shrugged and looked at the calluses on his hand. “So grab another one. They are everywhere down here.”
Nathan laughed, but was not amused. He removed the cloth from his head and faced Evan with bloodshot eyes. His face looked puffy and much older than his years.
“You still never answered me, Evan.”
“I can give you that, Nathan. You followed procedure and did what I would have done. You watched Mr. Z, and as a result you found me.”
“Evan.”
“Answer is no, like I said. I really did come down here to do a payoff.”
“To get back your brother’s maid’s father?” Nathan looked amused.
“Sometimes the truest things are the craziest,” Evan said.
“Can’t argue with that,” Nathan countered.
“I could give two shits rather you believe me or not. Thanks for the lift to the airport and the free health care. We’ll call it even for all the illegals my tax dollars support.” Evan stood up, stretched, and yawned. “I got to roll.”
Nathan sat up and held his hands up in a submissive posture. “Wait, come on, have a seat a minute. Your flight doesn’t leave for about four hours.”
Evan sensed there was something else going on and did have the time to kill. He really was hoping to get a massage from the attractive masseuse. Nathan spoke quickly in a soft tone trying to lighten the tension.
“Look, after reviewing the cluster that happened today, I really doubt you are working for the CIA. No way you would ever do such a thing by yourself. That’s not even remotely a mission that—”
“Thanks for the validation. What else?” asked Evan.
“OK, here it is. You got a job right now?”
Evan laughed and almost choked on his Skoal. “Knew it. You want to offer me a job?”
“Seriously,” Nathan pleaded.
Evan shook his head slowly and said, “Nathan, your shooters out there will put one in the back of my head the first chance they get.”
“You really did not know. Just a crazy coincidence, Evan.”
“So this guy you call Gerard, how high is he?”
“Top-tier enforcer for the cartel’s military wing. The Scorpions are all contractors from other countries and defected Mexican special operators.”
Evan nodded his head and shrugged. “Mmmm, guy looked drug crazed to me.”
“He’s a high-value target anyway. I can’t get into the specifics of what I have going on, but we have something big coming down the pike.”
“And out of the blue I show up, and you want me?”
Nathan sighed with exasperation. Evan was happy that he had a hand in the return of Nathan’s migraine.
“You really aren’t making this easy.”
“I am consistent.”
Nathan laughed and shook his head. “I need a guy who can speak Russian, knows Spanish, and has been to Cuba. I need someone who can pose as an arms dealer. A guy who knows a little about subs.”
Evan looked out the window. “I’ll call you if I meet any.”
“OK. Look, I haven’t seen you in what…twenty-something years? I know you and your team never liked me, and I know you blame me on some level for the unfortunate things that happened in Colombia. I can only ask your forgiveness for being a prick. I am sorry for the past. Could we have used better security to protect them? Moved them into our compound? Yes! But we did not. The higher ups, not me, made that call.”
Evan held up his hand and remained calm. “Let’s not go there.”
“Fair enough.”
“You need a Cuban-Russian arms dealer?” Evan suddenly looked at Nathan. This sounded familiar to him.
“One who specifically knows something about submarines,” Nathan answered.
Evan cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. He looked skeptically at Nathan as if he were the big bad wolf at grandma’s house.
Evan spoke quietly, almost in a whisper. “Ivan Romonov?”
Nathan smiled broadly in acknowledgement. His teeth looked white and sharp. “It worked in Colombia—why not here?”
“You are taking a mission that I created and pulled off, what, a few decades ago and repeating it with the Mexicans?” Evan was honestly perplexed, amused, and dumbfounded all at the same time.
“Copying is the best form of flattery, Evan.”
Evan looked at Nathan and spoke more to himself than anyone. “Ivan Romonov, the Russian-Cuban engineer who was trying to get the Colombians a real Soviet sub? That operation? Only one Ivan—what a character. I put that whole thing together. I helped put that prick in prison in Moscow. The sub sank off the coast of Cuba before we could seal the deal.”
“True, but how many high-profile drug dealers did you drown? Mission accomplished.”
“No, really, Nathan, it sank on its own. I did not sink it.”
Nathan laughed. “Whatever. You were quite infamous for that. Killed some of the biggest players in Colombia and changed the whole dynamic!”
“I didn’t.” Evan felt uneasy and changed the subject. “So you need someone like Crazy Ivan to pull off a bait and switch?”
Nathan smiled mischievously. “Well, I have always said, if you are going to run a carbon-copy mission, do it right.”
“You said that?” Evan asked suspiciously.
“Well, I’m saying it now—bear with me. Yes, I copied one of your missions. I even salvaged the actual Soviet sub off the coast of Cuba. Most importantly, I bought Ivan’s freedom and hired him.”
Evan’s jaw dropped. “What? You what?”
Nathan laughed. “You heard me.”
“Unreal, Nathan! That guy was a jerk. He should be in prison!”
“You should be in prison too. Hell, so should I!”
“That’s beside the point, Nathan. Wait! You said you need a Russian…um, what happened?”
Nathan frowned but was not sad. “He met with an unfortunate accident. He got electrocuted while fixing the sub. We still have it and were supposed to sell it in six weeks. This sale, I believe, was big enough to bring the bigwig Mario himself to the scene.”
“Mario? You mean the current richest drug-cartel member in the world? The guy no one has seen in ten years?”
“The very same.” Nathan smiled. “Dark Cloud’s mission is to destroy his cartel, make them inept, broke, and just plain dysfunctional.”
“So smaller cartels can take over and start a new, bloodier war? Just like in Colombia when Pablo got wasted? C’mon, Nathan, you know how this shit will go down. Even if you get this guy, nothing will change.”
Nathan nodded in agreement. “Not my problem, Evan.” Nathan leaned forward and spoke quietly. “Elements in the government and business have some personal issues with Mario. Normally, the attitude is ‘keep the cash coming,’ and let they us make some token busts, like when you have a crop of weed that has been hurt by parasites…We will take that. This way the gringos can justify their own law-enforcement operations and ultimately pay us.” Nathan paused and drank some water.
“Only, Mario does not play nice. He wants to rule over the other cartels, bring them together, and be their CEO. This, of course, terrorizes the state and the political class. They want things to stay the same. Easier to deal with little fiefdoms than a unified front.”
“Narco insurgency. You’re talking narco state,” Evan said flatly and spat in his empty soda can.
“Yes.”
“And?” Evan asked.
“And Mario sends a hit team to the president’s niece’s quinceañera to show the president he can get to anyone.”
“OK.”
Evan was listening more intently now.
“The hit team is led by another character whose identity I will not get into. He is known for kidnapping wealthy elites’ children. Just was dealing with his handiwork in Mexico City, in fact, before you showed up.”
“Sorry to spoil your party,” Evan said, rolling his eyes.
“The hit team manages to get past the security detail and tortures the president’s niece and wounds several others.” Nathan paused and stared through Evan for a second as his eyes lost focus. “It was very sick what he did to her. I will leave it at that. In the end, fifteen police and security people were killed in the raid.”
“Revenge,” Evan muttered.
Nathan shrugged and inspected his fingernails. “Something like that.”
Evan stood for a moment and stretched and yawned. He had heard enough. He could skip the massage. “Sounds like you got a busy couple of days. I am going to roll.”
“Two more things…no three.”
Evan paused like an impatient teenager. “I need to go. Being around you is too dangerous.”
“Three things and then you can go. My guy will drive you to the terminal. You can think about it and call me if you change your mind. Four hours to think about it.”
“Three things. Go.”
Nathan grabbed his MacBook Pro off the floor and placed it in his lap.
“OK, number one, I need you to get inside, sell the sub—you know the damn thing as well as Ivan. It was your baby. I need you to do your thing and get me this bastard!”
Evan shook his head. “One down.”
“OK, OK, two, Andre Pena—he’s working for Mario. No one knows why. He was allowed to walk out of a prison in Colombia.”
Evan’s eyes got wide and he stared straight through Nathan and then at the computer. He recognized Andre Pena. He was older, but it was him. Evan stared at the man who had blown up his wife and child. Evan felt his blood heat to a mild boil.
“Piss off!” Evan grabbed his water bottle and began to walk off the plane. “I want my bags and a driver now!”
“Wait, wait. The third thing, Evan!”
Evan held up his middle finger and walked to the steps to exit the plane.
Silver Lead and Dead (Evan Hernandez series Book 1) Page 11
