Bursts of automatic fire from the remaining gunmen in the buildings began echoing around the pit. A few of the bullets clanked off the Humvee.
Nathan opened the other door on the protected side of the vehicle to free the acrid smoke, then went inside and stood on the plate under the roof’s hatch. He glanced at the ammo can feeding the M2 and saw about half of the one hundred rounds remained. He needed to fire in short, controlled bursts to avoid blowing through the rest of the can too quickly. Reloading this weapon wasn’t like changing an M4’s magazine; it could take five to fifteen seconds, especially since he hadn’t done it in over twenty years.
In truth, there was no reason that he, Harv, and Grangeland couldn’t leave at this point. Technically, their mission was accomplished, but bugging out without emptying the remaining trash wouldn’t sit right with him, and Nathan was determined to be a good janitor.
Anger flared at Alisio, for all of this. None of this would be happening without the man’s bloodthirsty love of money. He relaxed his jaw and steeled himself for the living hell he was going to unleash. Nathan hadn’t known Special Agent Hutch, but from everything he’d learned, Hutch had been a good man and loyal public servant and certainly hadn’t deserved to be tortured to death and hung from a streetlamp. As payback for that heinous act, Nathan planned to kill everyone associated with Alisio, which meant killing everyone in this forsaken pit.
So be it.
Nathan looked beyond the burning SUVs and saw the office building had partially materialized through the white smoke. Occasional bursts of machine-gun fire emanated from its windows. He pivoted the turret and lined up on the prefab building, the closer of the two.
Nathan tapped the trigger to be sure the weapon answered the call.
It did.
The short burst tore into the structure.
All his senses were instantly assaulted, worst of all his eardrums. Damn, this thing’s loud!
In response, the South Koreans fired back. Some of their nine-millimeter bullets clanked off the turret’s faceted armor and whistled away.
Okay, suit yourselves.
He pushed the thumb trigger, and this time kept it depressed.
Even though the weapon was firmly anchored to the turret, Nathan’s body shuddered. A smile touched his lips at the visual of his father up here, hammering away at Alisio’s men. He emptied the remainder of the can, walking the barrage back and forth across the length of the wall. He battered the wood-framed building like there was no tomorrow, which was true for most of the men cowering inside. Being on the wrong end of John Browning’s invention was a wholly unpleasant experience. If anyone were hit and remained alive in there, he wouldn’t be for long.
When the gun stopped firing, he went to work reloading it. He tossed the empty can to the ground, reached into the interior of the Humvee, and grabbed another. He unlatched the lid, secured the can to the left side of the weapon, and fed the belt into the breech.
Three cranks later, the Browning was good to go.
He rotated the turret to the cinder block office building, but held his fire.
In a move that surprised himself, he yelled, “Everyone come out with your hands in the air!”
Nothing happened. The only sound was the crackling of the burning SUVs.
“This is your last chance, Alisio. You and your men come out.”
A few seconds later, someone yelled, “No hablamos inglés.”
He pushed the trigger.
The supersonic slugs delivered their kinetic energy with frightening efficiency. Lining the weapon up at knee level, he watched chunks of concrete explode off the wall as baseball-sized holes materialized. It looked as though the building were imploding from dozens of invisible sledgehammer blows.
He ceased fire and yelled, “Cómo sobre ahora?” (How about now?)
“Sí, hablamos inglés!”
“Then drop all your weapons and get your dumb asses out of there.”
Looking like tattered war refugees, Alisio and two other men came out of the office building. Taking up the rear, Alisio had a pronounced limp. Even though the man looked out of the fight, Nathan watched him closely. He wouldn’t put it past the crime boss to make a move once he got closer.
The orange glow from the burning SUVs illuminated the men’s faces and added to the battleground feel of the place.
“Grangeland?”
“I’ll be there in ninety seconds.”
Keeping his eyes on the three men walking toward him, he yelled, “Dad, are you okay?”
“You tell me . . . ”
Startled, Nathan turned and saw his father standing next to the Humvee with Mason’s M4. The bandanna on his calf wound was soaked.
“Are you trying to bleed out? Sit down. A fall at your age could be fatal.”
His dad didn’t budge. “I’m still in this fight, Son.”
Nathan refocused on Alisio’s group. “Keep coming and keep your hands where I can see them.”
Alisio looked over both shoulders, probably wondering if anyone else was still alive.
Nathan heard a rifle report somewhere above the rim.
Harv’s Remington.
Alisio stopped and cringed.
“Keep moving,” said Nathan.
“Hahn’s toast,” Harv said.
“Good work, old friend. We could use some help down here, but head over to Lyons’s last known position and make sure she’s dead.”
“And if she’s not?”
“No comment.”
“Understood. It sounds like your dad needs a ride to the nearest hospital. After I check Lyons, I’ll beat feet over to the Bell and fly her into the pit.”
“Be careful approaching her, Harv. Assume nothing.”
Grangeland said, “I’m just reaching the flat area of the pit. I can see you in the Humvee.”
“Stay sharp and keep the Humvee between yourself and Alisio’s men.”
“I’ll be careful. Remember my cell phone buzzing earlier? I just checked. It was a text from your father saying he and George Beaumont were on their way in a Humvee and not to shoot at them.”
“Expect the unexpected,” he said.
“I need to make a call.”
“Lansing?”
“Yes.”
“That’s far enough,” Nathan yelled. “Everyone turn around.” When no one complied, he aimed the Browning to their left and fired a short burst. The staccato roar echoed around the pit for several seconds. “Cada uno da vuelta alrededor. Ahora!”
The men turned around, and as Nathan suspected, Alisio had a small handgun tucked into the small of his back.
“Alisio, keep your back to me, reach back, and lose the gun.”
In slow motion, the crime boss complied. Nathan felt hatred radiate from the man like heat from a stove. Part of him hoped the murderer would try something. If Alisio ended up in a Mexican prison, he’d probably manage to bribe his way out eventually. If that ever happened, he would certainly come after Nathan.
“Keep walking toward me,” Nathan yelled.
M1A in hand, Grangeland arrived and stood next to Nathan’s father.
“Special Agent Grangeland, I presume?” Stone asked.
“It’s nice to meet you, Senator.” She glanced at the damaged Humvee. “I’m very sorry about Mr. Beaumont.”
“George was a good man. He died fighting for something he believed in, not a terrible way to go.”
“Grangeland, I’m covering the office and Alisio’s men. Hustle over to the prefab building and make sure no one’s hiding out in there, then check the office. Stay sharp. Let me know what you find.” He glanced down at his father. “Dad, you need to get off your feet.”
“I will as soon as Special Agent Grangeland returns. I—Grangeland, get down!”
She hit the deck at the same time one of th
e South Koreans fired from a window of the prefab.
“Fire the launcher!” Nathan yelled.
The M203 made a loud thunk. The wall of the prefab ignited in a blinding flash. Grangeland used the detonation time to sprint the remaining distance. She’s got brass, Nathan thought. Handgun blazing, she dashed into the smoking building and disappeared.
Alisio’s two cohorts used the opportunity to bolt in opposite directions. One ran toward the conveyor, and the other toward the derelict vehicles. It seemed pointless; there was no place to go.
Nathan was about to fire the Browning when a single report echoed across the pit. The man running toward the derelict cars did a face-plant and slid to a stop.
“Hold your fire, Dad. Just watch . . . ”
Two seconds later, another loud crack shook the pit. The other man stopped running and fell to his knees.
“Finish him, Harv.”
“Copy.”
A third report rang out. The kneeling man’s head jerked before he slumped sideways and lay still.
“How about you, Alisio? Want to give it a try?” When he didn’t move, Nathan yelled, “Then keep walking.”
His dad was looking at the smoking end of the grenade launcher. “I’ve always wanted to do that. I guess I can cross it off my bucket list.”
“Prefab’s clear,” Grangeland said. “It’s a bloody mess. Two are still alive, but they won’t be for long. I’m heading over to the office.”
Nathan wiped blood from his chin and mouth from Lyons’s earlier rifle shot that had exploded in front of his face—a close call.
In defiance, Alisio stopped short. “I don’t know who you are, but you obviously have no idea who you’re fucking with. You and that old-timer just committed multiple murders. I own the Mexican government and the courts. I’ll be free in a few days.”
“This old-timer is none other than Stone McBride, the senior senator from New Mexico. He’s chairman of the Committee on Domestic Terrorism and a member of the Committee on Finance and Homeland Security and Governmental Affairs. Oh, and he’s also my father.”
“And I’m supposed to be impressed?”
Nathan held up a hand, silencing Alisio.
Grangeland reported no one alive in the office.
“Good work; hustle back here.”
“What?” Alisio said.
“I wasn’t talking to you.” Nathan climbed out of the turret and walked up to Alisio. He towered over the crime boss by at least a foot.
“Am I supposed to be intimidated?” Alisio laughed. “Maybe you should read me my rights now.”
Nathan turned toward Stone. “Do you remember how that goes? Isn’t it something about remaining silent and something being used against someone?”
“Some cop you are,” Alisio said.
“I’m not a cop.”
Alisio’s expression changed from smug to uncertain. “Then who the fuck are you?”
“Please watch your language. We have a lady present.”
Alisio turned toward Grangeland as she jogged back over and stood next to Stone.
Nathan stared at Alisio without saying anything.
“Ooh, I’m scared . . . What? You think I can’t get to you? You think you’ll all be safe in your pathetic little houses? I’m going to enjoy watching you and your families die slow deaths. You’ll be screaming for mercy, biting your tongues off. I’ve seen it hundreds of times. You’ll be no different.” He pointed at Grangeland. “We’ll keep that blond bitch alive for months.”
Nathan felt his face flush. An image of Special Agent Hutch being slowly tortured to death by this vile being invaded his mind. He hoped Hutch hadn’t sobbed in agony, pleading for his life.
Grangeland stepped over and put a hand on Nathan’s shoulder. “It’s too bad Mr. Alisio was killed in the firefight.”
Nathan’s expression brightened. “Yeah, that is too bad.” He painted the Sig’s laser on Alisio’s forehead.
“A horrible shame,” Stone said. “May I quote our president?”
“By all means,” Nathan said.
Stone cleared his throat. “‘It should be noted that while on American soil, Mexican nationals engaged in the wanton murder of US citizens do not fall under the umbrella of our Constitution and therefore do not enjoy the protections thereof.’”
Nathan nodded in agreement. “Elegantly stated. No need for reading his rights anyway, then.” He kept the gun trained on Alisio’s head.
“Wait! I have cash and diamonds. It’s right over there. Gold too. Lots of gold!”
“He has lots of gold,” Nathan said. “Do you see any gold, Special Agent Grangeland? How about you, Dad? Do you see any gold?”
“Not a nugget.”
Nathan pursed his lips, shook his head.
Alisio pointed toward the burning cars. “Wait! It’s right over—”
Nathan pulled the trigger.
A blank expression took Alisio’s face, as if his scrambled brain were unable to comprehend the damage it had just sustained.
Nathan raised a brow and looked at Grangeland.
She shrugged as if to say, That wasn’t so bad.
“I had no idea you knew all that about me,” Stone said.
“Well, don’t let it go to your head.”
His dad looked at Alisio’s lifeless form. “I wasn’t sure you’d do it.”
“Honestly, neither was I. Then I thought about Mara and all the other deaths and misery surrounding this man and said: Screw him. God can be his judge; I’ll just be the conduit for the introduction.”
“That’s a rather unorthodox approach to being a Christian, isn’t it?” Grangeland asked.
“Yeah, I suppose it is.”
She gave him a long, tight hug. “In a different life,” she whispered.
“Dad, you okay with what just happened?”
“That hug? I think I should’ve gotten it.”
Grangeland stepped over and wrapped him up.
“Easy, Grangeland, you’re gonna give that old jarhead a heart attack.”
“It’s not every day I get to hug the chairman of the CDT.” She kissed his cheek.
“Don’t you have a call to make?”
“Special Agent Grangeland is doing just fine.”
“Dad, need I remind you that you’re leaking? Grangeland, would you mind grabbing the first aid kit from the Hummer and putting a few more wraps around that wound? I’ll be right back. I’m gonna do a quick head count. Everyone stay sharp; there could be a straggler.” He turned to go, but stopped. “I’m really sorry about George. I shouldn’t have doubted him.”
His dad nodded.
Nathan took off toward the burning SUVs and the buildings beyond. It took a couple of minutes to do the survey. Including Alisio, he counted seventeen in the pit. The three men Lyons killed at the top completed the tally at twenty.
Harv checked in and said Lyons had managed to crawl fifty feet before expiring. Nathan affirmed, unwilling to mourn her passing any more than that of the other criminals here. They’d made their choices.
When he returned to the Humvee, Grangeland told him his dad was on the phone to Lansing, doing his best to explain how he and George had managed to get their hands on a Marine Corps Humvee and why they thought it necessary to insert themselves into the fight. All in all, it sounded like the call was going fairly well.
He heard his father say something along the lines of “the results speak for themselves.” Lansing wanted to speak to him, as evidenced by his father extending Grangeland’s phone.
“Director Lansing, it’s Nathan.”
“I want to personally thank you. And like I said before, please call me Ethan.”
“We couldn’t have pulled this off without Special Agent Grangeland.”
“She’s got a solid future with us
.”
“Good to hear. Don’t be too angry with my dad. He showed up at a critical time and helped turn the tide of the fight.”
“I’m very sorry we lost George. No one knows what I’m about to tell you because he wanted it kept confidential, but he had metastasized pancreatic cancer. He might’ve lived another year, but it would’ve been a slow, drawn-out ending. He died serving his country. He’ll get a full Honor Guard service at Arlington, and I hope you and Harv will be there.”
“Count on it.”
“I’ve got an FBI bird on the way. It’s been standing by at Imperial County Airport. It would be best if you guys weren’t around when it arrives.”
“No problem; we’ve got our own ride. My dad’s got a pretty serious calf wound. It’s not life threatening, but he needs an ER visit.”
“Let me make a call. I may want you to take him to the flight surgeon at NAF El Centro. Can you receive cell calls in your helicopter?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, get in the air and head west.”
“What about local law enforcement? They’re on their way by now.”
“Attorney General Ames and I have that covered. It’s best if you don’t know the specific details. The BSI personnel won’t be found. They were never there, and neither were you.”
“Good enough. Mason’s two accomplices are up on the rim and three more bodies are near the top of the switchbacks.” Nathan used the stadium references and gave Lansing their exact locations. He also reminded Lansing about the cash, diamonds, and gold coins.
“Got it,” Lansing said. “I want to thank you and Harvey again. It seems the IOUs keep adding up.”
“We aren’t keeping them.”
“You’re a lot like your father.”
“Thanks, Ethan. I consider that very high praise. Will you do me a favor?”
“Sure, name it.”
“Please tell Holly we’re okay.”
“Consider it done.”
EPILOGUE
One week later
Under a flawless La Jolla sky, Chief of Staff Holly Simpson parked her rental car and climbed out. The two men she’d met at Harry’s Coffee Shop pulled in behind her and joined her on the sidewalk. Across the street, the pop of tennis balls mixed with a mockingbird’s song. She liked this neighborhood—it triggered a childhood memory of walking to school. Draper Avenue held a nice mix of small residences, apartments, and retail shops.
Contract to Kill Page 32
