Stone fired in the direction Amaya indicated but didn’t see Valdes right away.
He fired on the Ferrari as well, both he and Amaya alternating bursts of fire. Stone shifted his aim to the next car in line, a make he didn’t recognize right away, because it would be easy for Valdes to slither along the backsides of each car to reach their position.
The Mercedes rumbled to life. The headlights snapped on.
“Go!” Stone shouted.
Amaya bolted for the car while he provided covering fire, running his magazine dry and snapping in a reload as he dived into the back of the AMG.
Amaya had the back window down and her M-4 poked through as they sped along the length of the garage to the exit. She fired blindly, with no sign of Valdes, but Stone hoped the shots kept him down long enough for them to get a head start.
“Hold on!” Jackeline shouted.
The Mercedes crashed through the garage door, the thin metal bending to the will of the heavy car and breaking into several pieces. The car fishtailed a little, Jackeline bringing it back in a straight line as she shot down the driveway to the access road.
Stone glanced out the back window at the fighting in front of the house. There was less shooting now, so maybe the Alliance forces had the upper hand.
He hoped so.
Manny Valdes pushed up from the cold floor and ran for the nearest car, a bulletproof Lincoln MKZ, black in color, so it would blend into the night.
He put the SIG automatic rifle on the passenger seat and lowered the driver’s side visor. The keys slipped from their hiding place and into the palm of his hand.
How hard was it to kill somebody?
Apparently very hard, once the Americans got involved.
The engine fired on the first twist of the key. Valdes put the car in gear and left a patch of rubber behind as the tires squealed beneath him.
He raced out the opening in the garage door, shaking his head. Such wanton destruction was simply uncalled for.
He steered the Lincoln down the access road, homing in on the Mercedes like a heat-seeking missile.
The battle would end. Here.
Tonight.
Amaya spotted the headlights behind them.
“He’s behind us!”
Jackeline shouted, “What’s he driving?”
“The Lincoln!”
Jackeline cursed. Amaya’s face turned red.
“What’s the problem?” Stone said.
“Bulletproof.”
“Shit,” Stone said.
“My thoughts exactly,” Jackeline said.
Chapter Twelve
Stone glanced at Jackeline’s kids.
Both were huddled on the floor in the space between the front and back seat. Young Meghan still clung to her brother Martin, who kept her body shielded with his own.
Good man, Stone thought.
They were oddly silent and Stone didn’t blame them.
“Why aren’t we getting out of here with your main force?” Jackeline said.
“Private extract for VIPs,” Stone said. “Safer that way.”
“It can’t be worse than Valdes coming after us.”
“The thought had occurred to me,” Stone said.
“He’s gaining on us!” Amaya shouted.
Jackeline wrenched the wheel and the Mercedes screeched as she made a wide turn onto the main road, speeding up. The engine whined loudly.
“Are the Lincoln’s tires bulletproof?” Stone said.
“Run-flats,” Jackeline said.
“This just keeps getting better. Shoot the tires when he gets close.”
“Why is he going to get close?” Amaya said.
“Because if bullets can’t stop the car, he’ll use the car to ram us off the road.”
“You were right about this getting better.”
Stone plucked a grenade from his web harness. “You shoot, I’ll toss this.”
Amaya shoved a fresh magazine into M-4. “Read my mind.”
“Plug your ears, kids,” Stone said.
Stone and Amaya powered down the windows on their respective sides. Amaya leaned out with the M-4 and triggered three short bursts. Stone pulled the pin on the M26 fragmentation grenade and let the spoon fly. He pitched the grenade out the window, not haphazardly but aiming to keep the explosive on the roadway. If he could blow a hole in the asphalt and cause Valdes to wreck his car, his bulletproof machine would lose its value very fast.
The Composition B in the M26 detonated, a ball of orange fire erupting in the roadway with a thunderous crash.
The Lincoln swerved, going around the fireball, unaffected. The Lincoln swerved a little but quickly regained traction. The front end grew larger as Valdes pressed the throttle, trying to get closer to reduce the effectiveness of Stone’s grenades.
Stone plucked another from his web gear and tossed, but too quickly. The grenade skidded across the lanes, off the side of the road, and the next blast only kicked up a pile of dirt.
Stone held back on his last M26 grenade. He still had buckshot and smoke charges but neither of those would be a defense against the big Lincoln. Sparks flashed on the road as Amaya’s rounds impacted; Stone followed her lead and grabbed the Colt M933, but before he could pull the trigger, the Lincoln pounded into the Mercedes. The jolt made Stone grab for passenger handle inside the car. The Lincoln backed off a bit, the Mercedes speeding up, the Lincoln powering forward to smash into the car again. Stone held tight but almost fell out the window. He let go of the M933, the weapon hanging by its sling around his chest and battering against his backside, and used his other hand to pull himself back into the car.
If they wanted to get him with bombs, Valdes had a way to deal with that.
He stepped on the gas. Not all the way to the floor, just enough for a surge of power and took him closer to the back end of the Mercedes AMG. He shifted slightly, aiming for the rear quarter panel. His heavy front end would make a hard impact and if he could hit the panel just right, the force would cause the Mercedes to spin out of control and then everybody inside would be at the mercy of his SIG-Sauer MCX and the .223 tumblers within its 30-round magazine.
Amaya was leaning out the window and shooting at his tries. How cute. She couldn’t hit a damn thing with the wind smacking her in the face. She might score a hit eventually, but not before he scored the kind of hit he wanted.
He pressed the gas pedal a little more.
Closer.
He pounded into the Mercedes once, twice, smiling as he saw Stone nearly fall out the window on the right side but Amaya Olmos held steady, as if planted in the doorway, her weapon wavering ever so slightly. He could almost look into her eyes, and what he saw scared him. She meant to kill him and no mistake. As he started to back off just a bit, she fired. Flame flashed from the muzzle of the M-4 and the Lincoln shuddered as the front tire took the blast dead-on. There were run-flats on the wheels, yes; but they were not designed for the near triple-digit speed at which the Lincoln was traveling.
But he had to take the risk.
The front end swayed a little, Valdes correcting with the steering wheel. Foot on the gas. Bam! Into the Mercedes once again. Back off. Surge forward. Bam!
And then the AMG’s rear end slipped, the car beginning to fishtail as Valdes slammed into the rear quarter panel one more time. Rubber screeched as the Mercedes spun 360 degrees, across lanes, and off the road. The Lincoln flashed by, Valdes looking in his rearview. A large cloud of dust covered the Mercedes. It did not overturn, and they might make it back onto the road, but as Valdes slowed the Lincoln and powered through a U-turn to go back for the coup de grace, he knew he’d have to go all the way to take the option of escape away from them.
Which was fine. He was going to kill Jackeline anyway. Amaya Olmos and the American were bonus kills.
But now he’d have to wipe out the kids, too.
Stone and Amaya collided with each other as the Mercedes left the road and bounced violently across the rough de
sert floor. Jackeline screamed as she fought the wheel, and the loud clang that filled the car as it finally came to a stop told Stone that something had broken underneath and they weren’t going anywhere anytime soon.
The engine stalled. Jackeline pressed the started again and again but nothing happened.
“We gotta get out!” Stone shouted. The kids were crying. He couldn’t deal with them at the moment, but Amaya swooped in to try and calm them as he pushed open the back door and helped Jackeline out of the driver’s seat. She was shaken but not injured. She then hauled out her daughter, and then her son, and helped Amaya out of the back.
The straining engine of the Lincoln drew nearer.
Stone looked around. The terrain wasn’t flat. Hills, mounds, rocks, boulders, and plenty of bushes and trees.
Jackeline stood with her kids, checking them out. They were upset and tears stained their cheeks but they appeared unharmed. Stone went to the front seat and retrieved Jackeline’s bug out bag and AK-47. He handed her both. She slung the bag and gripped the gun and told the kids to follow her. With a look over her shoulder, she said to Stone and Amaya, “Make him go away!”
“With pleasure,” Amaya said.
Stone checked his M933 and told Amaya to stay behind the car. He dashed around the front of the vehicle into open ground, weaving around boulders to a tree where he dropped prone just as the Lincoln skidded to a stop where the Mercedes had left the road.
Amaya opened fire, her rounds bouncing harmlessly off the body of the MKZ before Valdes even exited. Stone thought Valdes might have time for a sandwich and let Amaya use up her ammo before he exited the car.
But Valdes did exit and roll onto the asphalt, using the bulletproof sedan for excellent cover. They couldn’t shoot through the car to get him. Either he or Amaya would have to get close. And that meant leaving their own cover and concealment to get at him face-to-face.
The odds were all in his favor.
Valdes clutched the SIG MCX close to his body as he sat against the driver’s side of the Lincoln. A quick peek over the hood allowed him to see Amaya Olmos behind the Mercedes. No sign of Jackeline or the American. They must have spread out to try and create a cross fire. And then he realized there was no way Jackeline would abandon her kids, so she had taken them away from the fight and was their only protection.
So, two shooters to start, then only him and Jackeline.
And the way Amaya was shooting, he could just sit and wait for her gun to run completely dry.
Then she must have realized the same thing because she stopped firing.
He expected the American to start shouting commands, but heard nothing.
They waiting for him to do something.
He had the advantage and wasn’t the only one to realize such a thing. He shifted onto his belly and crawled to the front of the car, stopping at the punctured tire. The white Mercedes sat still in the dirt. He could shoot through the car to get at Amaya Olmos, but it wasn’t a sure bet. The hard metal of the German car could deflect his bullets. But he had a better chance of hitting her than she had of hitting him.
He needed grenades. Why hadn’t he packed any grenades?
You play the hand you’re dealt.
And Valdes already held three aces and he was looking for the fourth.
Stone thought he saw movement between the ground and the bottom of the Lincoln, but not enough for a shot.
He had another idea, though.
Stone rolled onto his left side to take inventory of his grenades. The night’s darkness didn’t make it easy to see so he felt each one as it hung on his chest rig. One last M26 high explosive, one smoke, one buckshot.
Back on his belly, his mind quickly put a plan together. He’d have to carry it out without signaling Amaya; in fact, he needed her to keep Valdes busy.
As if on cue, Valdes opened fire. His rounds smacked the Mercedes, punching through the metal, snapping off trim pieces, shattering windows. He was firing for effect, trying to scare Amaya into the open. She returned fire. The pair seemed locked in their own duel. The worse obstacle Stone faced was getting hit by one of Amaya’s rounds. But damn the torpedoes, as the captain once said. Stone plucked the smoke grenade from his harness, pulled the pin, and pitched.
The grenade arced high before dropping solidly on the ground between the Lincoln and Mercedes. The grenade popped, thick smoke billowing from either end. The hiss overpowered the gunfire, and soon the shooting stopped as neither Amaya or Valdes had anything remotely resembling a target any longer.
The lack of wind kept the smoke cloud centered between the cars and Stone took every advantage. He left the tree and circled around the edge of the cloud to drop prone directly in line with the Lincoln. Better, he was in line with Valdes’s prone form at the front of the car.
The wanna-be cartel kingpin must have sensed the movement, because he quickly rolled onto his back, brought around the muzzle of his automatic rifle and let a burst go as Stone rolled left. The shots zipped by, audibly whistling as they sliced through the air, and Stone answered with his compact carbine, the M933 bucking against his shoulder as the three-round burst left the muzzle.
The bullets struck Valdes’s body with wet slaps, punching through flesh and tumbling end-over-end as they plowed through bones and organs. Valdes screamed, his body tightening up and the rifle falling from his grasp.
Stone rose to a knee, keeping his sights on Valdes.
“I got him, Amaya!”
Before the words had even left his mouth, Amaya Olmos ran around the front of the Lincoln. She paused a moment, almost enthralled with seeing Valdes’s face twisted in agony, and she casually held her M-4 at the hip and pulled the trigger until the weapon clicked empty. By the time that happened, Valdes was nothing of his former self. His corpse was a mass of open wounds leaking blood and turning the brown desert ground into a red-brown mud.
Amaya lowered the M-4 and remained standing over the body.
Stone slung his carbine and went to go check on Jackeline and the kids.
After what she had been through, it was best to let Amaya have her moment.
Jackeline looked at Stone with wide eyes as he approached. The pink AK-47 was aimed at his belly. He started talking, reassuring her that all was well, and she lowered the rifle. The kids were safely in a wide ditch behind her, and when she told them it was okay to come out, they ran into her arms. She squeezed them tight.
Best thing Stone had ever seen.
It was time to go home.
Chapter Thirteen
San Diego, California
“And then what happened?” Brad Preston, Director of the Eagle Alliance, frowned at Stone as the younger man sat across his desk.
“Majors and some of his crew drove out to where we were, having heard the gunfire. We hopped a ride back to the mansion and then the extraction site.”
Preston nodded.
“Well, we had a good day. Heavy damage at both the Plancarte and Beltran-Leyva estates, and three growing fields and processing plants wiped out.”
“How many did we lose?”
“Four men total. Several more wounded.”
“That’s a heavy price for material that can be easily replaced.”
“You’re still using a narrow-focus on this, Devlin. With Guardado and the Olmos woman now in our custody, the information they’ll continue to provide will help us smash the Mexican cartels for good. Maybe even make them as weak as the Columbians.”
Stone admitted that sounded reasonable enough
Then: “Will I get to see them one more time?”
“Change of heart?”
“Let’s just say,” Stone said, “that they proved me wrong.”
“You won’t be able to see them,” Preston said. “They’re already in the custody of the U.S. Marshalls who will help them transition into Witness Protection. The good thing is, they’ll be kept together in the same area. They decided it was best for the kids and I dare say the women will appreciate
having each other to help with the difficulties. Did you ever figure out their relationship?”
“People will do a lot for each other when circumstances get out of control,” Stone said. “They’re essentially like war buddies. They have a bond only a soldier can understand.”
Preston nodded. “Well, it’s done, we got paid, and you can take a few days’ rest. If you’d like. I hear Victoria has extended the rent of the beach house you two were sharing.”
“Actually, I’d like to go back to Nogales.”
Preston raised an eyebrow.
“The cop who was supposed to be our liaison, Phillip Morales. He ratted us out to the cartel. That’s how they knew to hit the safe house.”
“What are you going to do? Go there and kill him?”
“The thought had crossed my mind.”
“I should say no, but I think you need the learning experience this will provide.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You’ll see when you get there. Off you go. No more talking. See you in a few days.”
Stone eyed his boss warily as he left the chair. The old man had something up his sleeve. Stone was just curious enough to play out the hand and see exactly what Preston meant.
Nogales, Mexico
Phillip Morales of the Nogales Police Department lived in a modest house at the corner of Los Tobosos and Los Chatinos. Easy access to and from, Stone noted, as he parked his rental across the street and exited the car.
It was dark, street lamps flickering as they lit the way; the warm temperature didn’t require a jacket, so Stone wore a long shirt to hide the SIG-Sauer P-225A1 tucked in an inside-the-waistband holster on his right hip.
Morales was the worst kind of cop, one who pretended to carry out his duties and assist his fellow officers, while at the same time undermining everything they tried to accomplish and risking their lives. Stone and Majors could have died in the safe house attack. The fact that they didn’t owed more to luck than anything, since they’d been undermanned and outgunned.
Cartel Queen Page 9
