Her jaw opened, but no words came out.
“What’s up with your senior agent?” Roy asked. “Burkhouse didn’t seem happy to see us last night.”
Cassidy dropped into the chair beside Connor. “I don’t know. We’ve been here for two months, and it’s taken us that long to locate less grow-sites than you guys did in two days.”
“Something’s up,” Roy growled. “We need to talk. Let’s get this out in the open once and for all. You coming?”
Cassidy retrieved the newspaper article. Connor stowed his laptop. He locked the RV door behind him as the three of them headed east. By the time they walked into the DEA camp, the lights were on inside the RV, but Brigham and Denton were outside.
“Where have you been?” Brigham asked Cassidy. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“Where’s Burkhouse?” she asked instead of answering. “Still inside?”
“Where he always is,” Harold murmured. “I see you got your East Coast buddies with you. What’s going on?”
“Do either of you know anything about a DEA op gone bad last year in this canyon?” Roy intervened. “Would have been with the Sonoran Cartel.”
“Sure don’t,” Harold answered. “Why? You think you know something I don’t?”
Cassidy offered the news clipping. “Look at this.”
Connor studied the men’s reactions. Both registered shock. Brigham looked up at Cassidy. “Our men were killed last year? Are you sure?”
She handed the question off to Connor with a sideways glance.
“Absolutely,” he said. “We need your cooperation now more than ever. None of us is safe.”
Roy interrupted the amicable discussion with a loud knock on the RV door. “Burkhouse. You in there?”
The door eased open and Randy shuffled down to face Roy at ground level. “You boys are up awful early,” he grumbled.
“We get that way when we’ve been lied to,” Roy grumbled back. “And we’re not boys, Agent Burkhouse. You need to back that horse up and climb down. We’re covert operators the same as you, only we just found out the DEA had some trouble with the SC last year. You guys lost a few agents. Three to be exact.”
“Oh?” Randy said without a trace of surprise. He shot a dark glance at Connor. “And how’d you just happen to stumble across that kind of information? Don’t imagine it came in the local papers.”
“It doesn’t matter how we came by it,” Roy answered. “What matters is why no one here seems to know about it except maybe you. Do you?”
Connor felt his shoulders square automatically. Roy had just called the DEA’s top dog out. Whatever came out of Randy’s mouth next would determine the nature of the rest of the op. Harold had already moved to Randy’s left. Brigham stood undecided between Cassidy and the agents from The TEAM.
“You see, that’s where you’re wrong,” Randy said still as calm as ever. “Snooping around federal servers is—”
“Is nothing compared to this bullshit!” Roy grabbed the paper from Cassidy’s hands and slapped it in the middle of Randy’s chest. “Look at this before you pull your high and mighty crap with me.”
Randy looked at the news photo and then Cassidy. “Where’d you find this?”
“Wasatch News Online Press,” she answered. “It’s Ibarra’s handiwork. No doubt about it.”
“How do you know?” he asked. “What’s your proof?”
She rolled her eyes. “Give me a break. I’ve been working this cartel operation as long as you have. You know damned well—”
“You don’t know anything, Agent Dancer. You forget who’s in charge. It isn’t you, and it isn’t these gun-for-hire contractors Baxter had to bring in.”
Cassidy pursed her lips and kept silent.
“Oh, I get it now.” Roy chuckled in that I’m-not-really-laughing way he had. “Same old story. You feds think we’re stepping on your toes. You think we’re here to make you look bad while we’re stupid enough to think we’re here to help.” He rolled his shoulder and turned to Connor. “Let’s go. We’re working for Baxter, not these guys. We’ll do our job and let these nice folks do theirs.”
“Come with us,” Connor offered Cassidy and Brigham before he walked away. Brigham shook his head and followed Randy back into the RV. The same answer shifted through Cassidy’s eyes.
“We’ll be fine,” she said unconvincingly.
“No, you won’t. Remember what you told me last night?”
She arched a brow, her eyes unsure and less sparkly than they’d been the night before.
“These guys will kill us if they catch us,” he reminded her. “We’ve seen them, you know.”
“You saw who?” She stood at the RV steps, ready to go in.
“Three armed guards, and the empty camp we showed you yesterday was full of a dozen laborers last night. Ready or not, the cartel looks ready to harvest their crop, Cassidy. Between that and the headless gangbangers story hitting the airwaves this morning, what do you think that means?”
“More people are going to die,” she whispered.
Connor strode back to her and grabbed her shoulders. “You’re not safe here. None of you are. I don’t know what’s going on with Burkhouse, but you don’t have to die just because your boss won’t share what he knows. I kind of like you best with your head on your shoulders.”
“We’re not just a bunch of country hicks, you know,” she said quietly.
“I know that. You’re smart, but you’re not the one running this show. I’ll bet the agents who got killed last year were good at their jobs, too.” He wanted to say more, but Burkhouse shouted from inside, “Dancer. You coming in or what?”
Connor cringed. Now the gauntlet was thrown down to her. She had to choose. Cassidy did exactly what he might have done on his first job.
“Sorry I disturbed you,” she said as she climbed the steps and closed the door behind her.
“You can’t help people who think they know everything,” Roy said.
Connor didn’t answer. One way or the other, he’d be back to help Cassidy. Someone had to.
Five
“What do you think?” Roy asked as they came to a fairly level landing in a grove of quaking aspen. “Is this good enough?”
“It will work,” Connor muttered. He and Roy had returned to their RV, but only to secure the tent and other camping supplies. The time had come for them to transform into campers of the week whether they wanted to or not. By the time they’d stopped hiking, the winding road below was more a winding snake than asphalt, and Utah was once again damned hot.
With at least another trip or two to make for water and food, he unleashed the heavy backpack from his shoulders, stretched and looked below. A helpless feeling gnawed at his gut. How could he possibly keep Cassidy safe at this distance?
Roy eased his sat phone out of its hip holster and dialed Alex. And everything went from bad to worse. After Roy shared the ugly news of the day, Connor stared at the trees below, listening to the angry words fly between Alex Stewart and DEA Director Scott Sylvane. Roy had the phone on speaker in case Connor wanted to force a word in edgewise, like that was in any way possible.
“Listen, Mr. Stewart, I know who you are,” Director Sylvane said patiently. “You’ve got a real good reputation around D.C. as the go-to guy for delicate covert ops. I get it. I do, but to be honest, this is none of your business.”
“I’ve got men in the line of fire, and you don’t think that makes it my business?” Alex shot back at him.
“There’s more at risk here than what you’re seeing.” Director Sylvane was firm. “Governor Baxter should not have gotten you involved without coming through me first. He knew we had an active operation complete with boots on the ground in his state. His involving you has only complicated the work my people are sworn to do.”
“Then bring me up to speed. What are you not telling me, Scott?” Alex snapped, and the gloves came off. “Your own agents didn’t have a clue about these murders. How d
o you send men into the field without telling them straight up what’s going on?”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line before Director Sylvane growled back with, “Need to know, Alex. That’s all I can tell you. Need to know.”
“I need to know, damn it!”
Another long-suffering pause. “You mind telling me how you came by this information on alleged DEA murders? You wouldn’t have someone on your staff hacking into my DEA files, would you? You do understand that’s a federal offense.”
And that was the last straw.
“Need to know, Scott,” Alex barked. “Need to know.” He hung up on the DEA Director without having gotten the upper hand for the first time in a long time, and still mad as a hornet.
Connor glanced at Roy. At least Alex hadn’t hung up on them, a feat for the technically challenged man they worked for.
“You still there?”
“Yes, Boss,” Roy answered quickly.
“Something’s definitely going on. Scott’s a good man. Never known him to freeze me out like this.”
“Which makes it impossible to work with his agents.”
“What’s yours and Connor’s take on cartel activities?”
Roy motioned for Connor to answer.
“They’re ramping up in the violence department,” Connor said. “I’m not up to speed on when pot should be harvested, but it looks like that’s what’s happening. We’ve got day laborers in the canyon as of yesterday and two trophies in downtown Salt Lake City this morning. DEA will have their hands full if they’re only here to observe. Us too.”
“Agreed,” Alex said. “Keep track of our DEA friends. I’ll contact Tom and find out how he wants to proceed. Where are you guys staying?”
“We’re roughing it at about five thousand feet,” Roy quipped. “No more lifestyles of the rich and famous for us.”
Alex chuckled. “Feel like that op in the Kush back in the nineties?”
“Nothing like it,” Roy replied. “Hindu Kush was a lot higher altitude and thinner air. I could barely breathe.”
“Stay in touch. Talk to you soon.”
Roy stared out over the canyon floor as he stowed the sat phone. “I’ve got to go back down to meet with Mark and his guys. They should be close to the rendezvous point by now. They can pack the rest of the supplies. You stay put. Get us organized.”
“Won’t they be surprised they get to mountain climb?” Connor asked. “Where are you meeting?”
“Across from the day park. Be back in a couple hours.”
“I’ll keep an eye on our muchachos while you’re gone.” Connor had already arranged some of their supplies into a makeshift table. With his ruggedized laptop linked to all the listening and video devices they’d planted, he was as busy as he would be back at his desk in Alexandria. “Sure going to miss taking a shower every day, though.”
“We’ll work something out.” Roy thumped Connor’s arm. “All is not lost, young man. She’ll stop by for a visit. Just wait and see.”
“Yeah, whatever. Watch your back.” Connor was not going to admit anything to Roy, not about his plans for Cassidy. The less he knew, the better.
“Always do.”
As Roy walked away, Connor contacted Cassidy. When she didn’t answer her cell, he set to work analyzing feedback from the Tattle Tales. The video and audio feeds came in clear and crisp. Bad news came with it. Trouble, with a capital T.
Another camp had been set-up during the night closer to the mouth of the canyon. He listened intently to the scuttlebutt flying between whoever stood beside the unseen Tattle Tale at one of the grow-sites. Ramirez himself would be there later today, his wife and daughters too. The entire crop had to be cut, bundled and ready for transport by the time he arrived. The guard joked. It was a rush job. Ha, ha. Connor didn’t get the humor.
He hadn’t anticipated another camp, but it made sense. The lack of coverage in what sounded like the most critical place of all concerned him. He needed eyes or ears inside that base camp. Now.
Connor didn’t think twice. He pocketed several Tattle Tales, grabbed his baseball cap and headed down to do the job. It took awhile to traverse the mountainside, mostly because he paused at each grow-site along the way to note any increased activity. Two laborers now worked each site with short scythes, cutting and bundling as they moved through the rows. Armed guards watched nearby.
If that wasn’t bad enough, a caravan of tour buses pulled into one of the many parks in the canyon, just yards from an un-harvested marijuana patch. Picnickers disembarked and spread through the area. Some of the men and women were instantly busy setting up games while others pulled coolers off the buses. It looked to be a big picnic full of an overabundance of children and activities.
Connor hurried away, his window of opportunity fading fast. Before long, he stood at the edge of the cartel’s new camp. Crouched behind a clump of river willows, this was undoubtedly ground zero. The tent was bigger, a perimeter wire clearly visible, and these guys meant business. Three ATVs, the heavy-duty kind with hydraulic bed boxes for moving heavy supplies and equipment, were parked next to the tent along with a portable gasoline tanker truck.
These men moved with purpose. It was more like watching Marines landing from sea. Everyone seemed to know his duty and did it without conversation. Connor estimated his chances of getting into that camp and planting a bug without being seen. Slim to none. So he went in.
One of the most important things a scout sniper learns is infiltration, how to get close to the enemy without being seen. A proper ghillie suit decorated with local foliage, branches, grass stalks, moss went a long way towards helping a man remain invisible. Face paint helped. Connor had nothing, and a blond man from Boston definitely needed to hide the white. He edged closer, careful of the trip wire that could give him away. Nearly ready to break cover, he froze.
Several uniformed men, all of them carrying compact ARs on straps over their shoulders, came from the back of the tent in earnest conversation. The youngest one with the computer tablet in his hand argued with the others while they walked to the center of camp.
With his head down and only a few steps left to go, Connor stepped quickly from the cover of the willows to the back of the tent behind them. No one noticed. Let them argue. A single Tattle Tale could make or break this operation. He activated the bug, stripped off the adhesive backing, and listened intently to the conversation out front while he pressed it into the edge of a seam.
“I am telling you this is different,” the youngest man insisted as he stabbed his finger at the tablet. “We must do something before those men cause trouble.”
“Maybe they were just hiking like the last guy we caught?” one of his partners asked. “They look harmless enough to me.”
“They don’t,” the third insisted. “Look at the size of them. The black man alone makes two of you. They walk like soldiers, not lazy like campers.”
“He does not make two of me,” the insulted man argued.
Connor peered around the corner of the tent to watch and learn.
“This is the same problem as last year.” The youngest raised his voice. “We cannot take the chance, Carlos. Not with Ramirez due in today.”
It seemed Carlos agreed. “Then see what you can find out, Felipe, but don’t kill anyone this time. We don’t need problems with the Americans when the boss arrives. And whatever you do, don’t get caught, understood?”
Felipe grinned as he laid his tablet on the seat of the nearest ATVs. “I was hoping you’d say that. I’ll be back in an hour.” With that, he jumped in, started the noisy engine and drove east along the creek.
“That boy,” Carlos complained as the ATV roared away. “He is too eager to fight.”
“He wants Ramirez to notice how brave he is,” his friend said. “Besides, he is young.”
“And that may get him killed,” Ramirez said. The two men moved out of sight.
Bad news seemed to rule the morning. Connor ha
d no doubt they’d been discussing him and Roy, and now Felipe was headed to one of the RVs or maybe even up to their camp in the trees. There was no time to hesitate. Cassidy and the others had to be warned. Connor committed the worst error of any undercover operative. He hurried.
“Hey, you,” Carlos called to him, pointing to a stack of cartons at his feet. “Get these boxes inside the tent.”
Crap. Connor halted in his tracks alongside the tent. Carlos must’ve seen his shoulder extending beyond the edge of the tent. How exactly should a blond white boy in the middle of a Mexican army answer a superior office? He tucked the brim of his cap lower and muttered, “Si.”
Mission accomplished. Definitely time to go.
But Carlos stood waiting at the front corner of the tent. “Hey, man. Do not ignore me. I am talking to you. Do you have ears or not?”
Connor mumbled nothing in particular, tensed for hand-to-hand combat, and waited for this angry cartel soldier to come to him. It’s now or never, Maher. The second Carlos rounded the corner Connor cocked his fist back, and decked him with one fast right to the middle of his moustached and very surprised face. Carlos dropped without a sound. Connor caught him before he hit the ground and leaned the unconscious guy against the back of the tent.
“Sorry, Señor Carlos,” Connor whispered before he hightailed his butt out of Camp Tijuana and disappeared into the safety of the willows. As soon as he was a sufficient distance from the camp, he phoned Cassidy.
Still no answer. Crap. Where is she?
“I hate Utah,” Izza muttered to herself. The cool humidity of the Northwest was so much more preferable to a pregnant woman’s body, which already ran ten degrees hotter, but felt like twenty.
Mark hadn’t allowed her to carry supplies like the men. Oh no. She was instructed to climb to camp while he and the rest of the men followed with sleeping bags and other supplies. Being singled out for light duty aggravated her sense of honor and fair play. Since when had she not pulled her weight?
Okay, so maybe she was a little crabby this morning. That didn’t equate to the need for preferential treatment, and Mark better get that through his hard head. She had no doubt she could outmarch most of those guys when she was at full term and not be winded when she did it. Being a woman meant nothing to the Corps. It certainly meant nothing to her. She was tougher than most. How many times did she have to prove it?
Connor (In the Company of Snipers Book 5) Page 6
