Silver Lead and Dead (Evan Hernandez series Book 1)

by James Garmisch

  I know you’re watching, you bastards, Tanya thought to herself. She was certain that both Dark Cloud and the cartels were still keeping tabs on her.

  “OK, let’s go.” Tanya rejoined her partners in crime and joined in their idle small talk about weather, technology, and gadgets as they rode the elevator up to Frank’s room. They had finished lunch earlier. She decided she would allow herself to relax.

  “Like tequila, Tanya?” Frank asked.

  “In moderation. Prefer wine.”

  “We have wine,” Star interjected as she dug in her massive purse for something. She was always digging, Tanya observed. She should have been a coal miner.

  “Focus on the money. Remember that Pink Floyd song?” Frank spoke while putting himself in between Elian and Tanya. Tanya turned her head to avoid Elian’s breath.

  Frank’s room overlooked the busy Mexico City streets. Tanya accepted her first glass of wine while she stared out Frank’s window. The one thing Tanya did like was heights. She loved staring at activity from afar, as if she were looking into a fish bowl. The human condition was dismal, she realized, and she was part of it.

  “I have a late flight back to the States. Never setting foot in this country again,” Star began, still rummaging through her purse.

  Tanya tuned out the chatter and just stared out of the window. She wanted to flee—get her money and go. She watched a jet climb in the distance, soaring higher and higher, pulling away from the city.

  “I am flying out tomorrow, early. Disappearing forever,” Frank said and groaned.

  “Where to?” Tanya asked. She had not given any thought to where she would go, or with whom. She was alone again yet hated company.

  Elian managed to slip up behind Tanya, lightly brushing his hips into her backside. He was obsessed with approaching her or staring at her from behind, avoiding her eyes.

  “You OK? You’re so quiet.” His voice was deep and unconcerned, almost mechanical.

  Tanya moved away from him. His breath was on her hair. She spun to face him, and he backed up, his eyes drifting over her and to the floor. “Strong wine. Can you pour me some more?” Tanya stepped away from him and moved back to where the girls and Frank sat.

  “Sure.”

  Tanya knew in a day or so she would never see any of these people again and would not have to endure Elian’s subtle advances or be so close to danger.

  The stress of the job had been tremendous. When news of Sebastian’s death reached her, she had sunken into an even deeper pit of paranoia. He was her ally. Though not strong, she could trust him.

  Soon it would be over.

  “Tanya, toast?” Star asked and giggled.

  She accepted her wine and for a second felt shaky on her feet, as if a warm, humid breeze had gently swayed her. She began to not care about anything but caught herself.

  “Um, um, ’K. To what? Throat cutters? Weasel men who deceive you? Piles of money and the people who—”

  Frank raised his hand.

  Star covered her mouth and suppressed a snort-like laugh. Elian put his hand on her hip. He reminded Tanya of Lurch from the Adams Family.

  “Dear, I was thinking of something a little more toast-like,” Star said.

  Frank giggled.

  “Like, um, to a job well done. To a leader.” Star nodded and raised her glass. Her face was red as if sharing an inside joke. “We pulled it off, like, um, the big payoff—it’s coming!”

  Tanya moved away from Elian’s hips again. Something suddenly struck Tanya as odd. They were all looking at her, as if waiting for her to say something, or was it something else?

  “I have to use the bathroom. Be right back.”

  Tanya bumped glasses with everyone, then spun around, pushed Lurch out of the way, and stumbled to the bathroom.

  “Nothing will matter soon. It will all be over,” Star said as if she were singing a song. “You’re creepy, Elian. Leave that girl alone.”

  Frank laughed. “I need some music. Where’s my iPod?”

  Tanya closed the door, locked it, and moved to the window so she could get a better signal. Her eyes were losing focus as she texted Evan. Her fingers began to feel like rubber. She sat on the toilet and braced herself. Was the bathroom spinning? The last time she felt this way, she was about to have surgery. She was slipping down a tunnel.

  Tanya sent Evan a quick text and then took a picture of the hotel brochure and card, which had the address and room number, that sat on the back of the toilet.

  “Tanya, you OK?” a voice asked, not too concerned and on the verge of giggling. It was Star.

  Tanya looked at her phone and for a second wondered why she was holding it. Suddenly, she remembered and then erased the texts she had sent to Evan. Next she dialed emergency services, 604-1240, and spoke into the phone as quickly as she could.

  “I…I have been kidnapped. I am Tanya, Tanya Mendes. Listen to me, I have been drugged. No, not on drugs, you idiot.”

  Tanya dropped the phone and felt herself slide to the floor. She could not tell if the thud she heard was the door crashing open or her head crashing downward. It did not matter, she figured.

  “I am dying,” she muttered.

  CHAPTER 25

  That Salty Taste

  Isla Mujeres, 1300 Hours

  El Coyote walked down the small pier and stepped onto the rusty fishing trawler that served as their floating operation center. The crew was still ashore gathering supplies, like beer and food, for tonight’s brief. El Coyote was soaked with sweat and could hardly wait to have a cold beer. In less than twenty-four hours, he had secured a small warehouse where equipment could be stored as it arrived by ferry. He had made and inspected the sleeping arrangements for over forty-five men spread around the island and on Cozumel. Last night he had been in contact with the submarine’s captain who assured him that the sub would be ready to pick up passengers at about four tomorrow morning. Getting men out to the sub in the dark would be the challenge. He was having issues with the Zodiac boats.

  El Coyote went into his cabin and sat on his bunk. He was exhausted. He looked at his watch and cursed. “Not enough time!”

  He had ten men out running various errands on the island.

  “One mistake, and we are all dead,” he muttered.

  A knock at his door caused him to jump. He stood up looking for his pistol.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s me, amigo, relax!”

  One of his men had returned. He had a smile on his face. “Good news, amigo, the navy is officially back on with the original plan. Tonight, at twenty-three hundred, an admiral will be here with his staff. They want to go over the plan for the assault tomorrow.”

  “Thank God! I thought the whole thing was off earlier. OK, when do they start bringing in men?”

  El Coyote’s friend shrugged and pulled two cans of beer out of a paper bag.

  “They have been arriving over the last forty-eight hours. They never stopped. On again, off again, and so on—you know how the navy is!”

  “Helicopters and boats, eh?” El Coyote took the beer, opened it, and drank half of it.

  “Yes. Just make sure everyone is here tonight by twenty-three hundred.”

  El Coyote now had a new set of problems in his head.

  “You think we can pull this off, amigo?”

  “I hope so, or we are all dead.”

  “Still no word from Nathan. I’ll text Roger, tell him things are a go.”

  Aeropuerto International de Vera Cruz Heriberto Jara, 1315 Hours

  Roger checked his phone, nodded, and then shoved it in his pocket.

  “The navy is playing again. The mission is a go. Meeting at twenty-three hundred.” He read his text to Evan.

  “Cool, always liked the navy—seagoing bellhops,” Evan teased and clapped his hands.

  Roger squinted in the intense sunlight and looked skeptically at Evan and Tommy. Heat was rising in waves from the landing strip, and a small shadow from a lonely ha
ngar in the general-aviation section was quickly losing its shadow, inch by inch.

  “C’mon, Roger, trust me!” Evan packed a dip in his mouth and winked. He placed a new pair of aviation sunglasses on his face, hefted his backpack on his shoulder, and cocked his head to the side. “What could go wrong?”

  Roger looked back at the main terminal. The airport was small by any standard, and it was a stretch to call it international. A lone, white control tower rose over a one-level, white building.

  “That’s my plane over there. What could go wrong? Ha! I am looking at what can go wrong, and it is right here!” Roger pointed at Evan and shook his head. “You are talking me into some crazy scheme of yours. We got enough stuff going on, you wanker!”

  Evan dismissed Roger with a wave of his hand. “I know operational security. Look, this is better. We get to keep our guns this way! And I get to be your pilot, and we have a bar.”

  “That’s not helping my confidence, lad!” Roger cursed and turned to look at his plane, which was taxiing away from the gate.

  “Oh! There she goes, and I could be about to take a nap right now, a little stewardess bringing me a water!” Roger declared, his anger rising.

  Evan shrugged and looked over his shoulder.

  Tommy was smiling and walking back in their direction. He gave Evan the thumbs-up.

  “Roger, what time we got to be at the brief?”

  “Twenty-three hundred. Why?”

  “Well, it’s six hundred miles to Cozumel.”

  “Aye, that’s why I wanted to ride in a jet, not a twin-prop puddle jumper! And not with you flying!” Roger dropped his duffel bag and weapons case and pointed at the aircraft they were about to board.

  Evan smiled and picked up Roger’s bags. He walked backward, talking. “Roger, it’s a Beechcraft 350I, top speed about three hundred fifty miles per hour. It’s smooth. Tommy worked his magic to get it. I think it belongs to Mario’s fleet!”

  “What are you up to, Evan?”

  Roger started following Evan, muttering under his breath. “I don’t need a bar. I need sleep. I hate small planes!”

  Evan shook his head and laughed.

  Roger caught up to Evan just as Tommy approached. The sound of Roger’s missed jet was deafening as it took off.

  “OK, Evan, we are a go! Ol’ Tommy still has his magic. The crew has her gassed up and ready. Full bar, and you’re flying!”

  “How long to Cozumel?” Roger asked and groaned. He felt his skin getting warm in the sun.

  “Cozumel?” Tommy calculated out loud. “From Mexico City?” Tommy smoothed his hair under his hat and spoke. “Altitude, air speed—a good four hours. Take us an hour to get to the city from here.”

  “What? Mexico City? We ain’t got time for a sight-seeing trip, Evan! We got a job—have you gone insane?” Roger growled and reached for his duffel bag.

  Evan backed away, out of his grasp, and winked.

  “Evan, you did not tell him that we are going to Mexico City?” Tommy turned and began to walk fast, not wanting to be anywhere near Roger’s wrath. “Why didn’t you tell him?” Tommy blurted as he walked quickly past Evan toward the safety of the plane.

  “No need. You did. Come on, Roger! We’re going to Mexico City first and then to Cozumel. We will still make our date with the admiral!” Evan picked up his pace and carried both their bags to the idling Beechcraft 350I.

  “Evan!”

  Mexico City, 1500 Hours

  Tanya gasped for air and tried to scream. Water filled her mouth, leaked into her lungs, and burned her throat. Her hands fought against the ropes that secured her wrists so tightly to her ankles that she felt like a calf at a rodeo. Hands groped her naked body. They were going to rape her and then drown her.

  Tanya suddenly felt the cold, wet bag being ripped from her head, her blindfold came off, and she was flung like a doll onto a bare, hard mattress.

  She could now see the bathtub and the filthy mattress. She heard a train nearby and smelled cows, straw, and mold.

  She was in a barn.

  Tanya knew she was about to die.

  “Ready to talk yet, sweetheart?”

  Tanya rolled herself over onto her back. Her legs were folded unnaturally underneath her as if she were doing yoga. Her back and thighs began to cramp. She wished that she would suddenly die of a heart attack or a stroke, but she had no such luck. Her fitness was keeping her alive.

  Tanya looked up to see three short teenage Mexican boys. They were bare chested, skinny, and hairless, with tattoos of Santa Muerta decorating their bodies. One of the teenagers had an eye missing and a large Mexican flag tattooed across his chest. The one who stood over her stank like sweat and weed. He had large studs in his lower lip and no bottom teeth.

  She looked for the voice that she recognized.

  She could not cry anymore and hoped things ended quickly. She thought about Siberia and cheering guards, and how she had blocked everything out.

  “Ready to talk?” The boy with no teeth ripped the duct tape off her mouth.

  She could not feel her hands or feet. “Kill me.”

  “No, you can live. If you help!” Reo stepped out of the shadows.

  “Don’t believe you.”

  “Fine.” Reo snapped his fingers. “Get her some clothes, untie her, and bring her to the table.”

  The teenagers untied her and threw some clothes in her direction. They watched silently as she painfully slid on sweat pants and a sweat shirt. She was still barefoot and limped over to the table. Tanya felt her teeth clatter, and she could not stop shaking. She was not sure if she was cold or just terrified. Everyone around her seemed to be sweating.

  “Sit,” Reo said.

  Tanya spat blood onto the floor and tried to steady herself against the table. She stood for a moment and looked at a MacBook that was connected to a twenty-seven-inch screen. She saw piles of paper and her own computer in pieces.

  “We have the Internet. Log in, undo your bullshit. I am sure Mario has more than three million dollars. We estimate he has about two billion in his online accounts.”

  “Th-th…then you know he has warehouses stacked full of cash. Euros, pounds, and dollars, about two to seven billion. It’s all in my report. How much freaking money do you guys need?”

  Tanya coughed and began to feel her circulation come back. The pain in her limbs reminded her of thousands of needles. “Why…why did you do this to me?” She sat down and groaned.

  Reo looked at her with pity. “Big plans require big money, sweetie.”

  “Who needs billions of dollars?” Tanya put her forehead on the table and her trembling hands on the wooden bench on which she sat. She reached into her mouth and wiggled loose teeth. Her nose began to drip blood.

  Reo shrugged and divulged more information.

  Tanya knew that the more he told her, the less likely she was to live. She did not care anymore.

  “Tanya, it’s like this: Dark Cloud was a false-flag operation. It was an opportunity to apply a formula, a business model if you will. Not perfect, but with some tweaking, it can be improved next time, somewhere else. Things like this require money.”

  “You’re lecturing me on, what, corruption? You’re…you’re a hack!”

  Reo dismissed her with a smug look and continued. “There are worldwide operations going on that are, well, just too complicated for your pretty little head to wrap around. Nathan has let me join his club, and we will follow our orders.”

  Tanya laughed sarcastically and pinched her nose to stop the bleeding. “I need some ice and a towel,” she demanded.

  Reo snapped his fingers and barked orders. “Paper towel, blanket.”

  “Reo, you really don’t know Nathan, do you? He is going to sell you out just like you guys sold me out!”

  “Bull! You betrayed us, Tanya.”

  “Only ’cause I don’t trust you. You proved me right. Tell me, Reo, what do you know about Nathan?”

  “I know he is part o
f something bigger than our narrow vision of reality. A global view that requires some eggs to be broken…A vision for a world without—”

  “Cut the Che Guevara shit, and get to the point. I want my death quick, by the way.”

  “Strangulation or bullet?”

  “Bullet!”

  “Want to see it coming or not?”

  “I want to do it.”

  Reo nodded and handed her a towel. He wrapped a blanket gently around her shoulders. “I respect that.”

  “Go on, Reo.”

  “Anyway,” he continued, “we have work to do.”

  “I need a drink,” she whispered.

  Again Reo snapped his fingers. “Bottle of water!”

  Tanya looked around the barn-turned-torture-chamber. The teenagers had grabbed a case of beer from a refrigerator, carried it out the massive, swinging doors, and placed it in the bed of a pickup. Tanya touched her swollen face and scanned the rest of the dusty barn. The bathtub that they had almost drowned her in was no more than a horse’s trough. There were no animals, tools, or equipment, like tractors, in the barn, yet she smelled cows and pigs.

  “What…what is this place?” She tried to stall.

  “Some gangs specialize, just like any business. Specialization is the new normal and key to getting things done in a busy world. These guys”—Reo pointed with his pinkie to the teenagers drinking beer off the tailgate of the pickup—“they are cleaners. They get rid of bodies through a variety of methods. Sometimes acid, sometimes burning. Other times they cut them into little pieces and feed them to the pigs.”

  Reo was getting bored. He gestured to the computer. “Usually a pretty girl gets special treatment. I will spare you that, and we will choose the quick execution.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Your teammates have been spying for us, confirming that you have indeed been stealing and moving Mario’s money around. That money, in the sum of a billion, needs to be rerouted.”

  Tanya shook her head. “It took me six months to hide it and move it. I can’t do it in one night! The gangsters will get alerted, and their banks will just freeze the assets! Reo, just take your two billion, or whatever it is, in cash and fly. Kill me. Get it over with.”