Counterblow (A Rogan Bricks Thriller Book 2)

by Steve Richer

  In the other section, there was a long rectangular vat made of cast iron. Steam rose from it. It was low enough so that you could see what was inside.

  It was boiling oil.

  “No, please! Stop it, please!”

  “It’s the best part, Rogan. Shut up and enjoy!”

  He struggled against his shackles, desperate to get out. No dice. The moment he got underneath the receptacle, it was tipped slowly and oil unhurriedly dripped down on him.

  “Ugh no! Aaaaaawww!”

  It was the worst pain of his life. It burned, seared his skin where it was exposed. He moved his head around hoping to deflect some of the falling oil and it worked, after a fashion. It circumvented most of his face, landing only on his neck.

  But there were burns on his hands and on his chest. Tears were coming down freely, mixing with the blood. For the first time in his life Rogan wished for death.

  That’s when everything went black.

  Chapter 58

  “Wake up,” he heard.

  He was lying on the concrete and the powerful stench of ammonia brought him back to life. Smelling salts. He was still tied up.

  “You’re just a weakling!” Vazquez barked, towering over him. “How dare you lose consciousness when we still had two stations to go?! You missed the dogs. You missed the flamethrowers. You think you can cut short my entertainment?”

  “Burn in hell,” Rogan said. He realized that Shiloh had probably gone through the same thing before. He had nothing left to live for. “Just kill me, get it over with.”

  Vazquez leaned down. “You have to be punished for what you did.”

  He spat on his face and seconds later the guards started kicking him everywhere. He was aching all over and it became so intense that within a minute he again became unconscious.

  Shiloh had remained immobile ever since her last attempt at making an escape. The very best weapon in a war had always been intelligence, gathering information. The more you knew about the enemy and the better position you’d be in to fight them.

  So with the realization that she couldn’t con or claw her way out, she had focused on keeping still. She forced herself to rest, to gather her strength for whatever was waiting for her. And more than anything, she strained to listen to any sound that could give her a warning about what was to come.

  For all the good it did her.

  Her cell was well insulated, mostly soundproof, and the only thing she heard had been very distant. There had been some footsteps, as if an entire battalion was on maneuvers nearby. And then there had been screams. The sound had been faint, in the distance and struggling to get through the thick walls of her dungeon. But she could recognize torture every time.

  And now came more footsteps, growing stronger.

  She perked up, sitting back against the wall, her legs tucked under her so she would be able to spring up quickly if needed, as if she was ever given the opportunity, which she doubted. But it couldn’t hurt to be ready. What was going to happen now? It certainly wasn’t time for another meal. So what then?

  The deadbolt was rotated and the door was opened. Shiloh braced for the worst, balling her hands into fists. Two guards she’d never seen before showed up and they were holding up someone. It was a man, his clothes in tatters, the face bloodied and bruised.

  She gasped in horror when she realized who it was.

  “Rogan!”

  She threw herself forward but was swiftly stopped by the chains around her wrists. She shrieked, her voice twisting into the panicked scream of an animal.

  Vazquez appeared behind the guards, going around them. Following a whispered order they released the limp body, letting it fall to the ground.

  “What did you do to him? What the hell did you do?!” She turned her attention to her boyfriend, pulling against her bonds, no longer believing that they were unshakable. “Rogan! Rogan!”

  He groaned and shifted on the floor. He was so close to her, only a couple of feet, but it was still too far away for her to reach him.

  “Rogan, look at me! Look, it’s me, Shiloh. Come on, luv, just look at me.”

  He groaned once more and tilted his head. His right eye was swollen but she could tell he was gazing at her. Tears streamed down her face, he was alive! There was hope.

  She was torn between being relieved at seeing him again and anguish that just like her he’d been caught. How could they do this to them? And she didn’t even know why…

  “Such a touching reunion,” Vazquez said, now dressed in brown slacks and a peach button-down shirt. “Isn’t it touching, Quintana?”

  The henchman snorted, halfway between derision and agreement. He then turned around and snapped his fingers. Moments later, a guard came in with a wheelchair.

  The guards heaved Rogan into it, making sure to put his feet properly on the footrests so he wouldn’t fall off. Still, Rogan slumped, out of strength. Shiloh didn’t know what was going on. They were right outside her cell, they wanted her to witness this.

  A new man showed up. He was wearing latex gloves and with him was a first aid kit. He crouched next to Rogan and started to examine him, looking at his pupils, asking questions which Shiloh couldn’t make out.

  Vazquez came closer, into the cell. He was clearly amused by all this.

  “Relax, Shiloh. He looks worse than he is.” He turned to the medic and spoke Spanish. “Is that right?”

  “Si,” the man replied.

  “You see? This was just a little taste.”

  Shiloh was openly crying now, unable to hide her emotions although she knew she should try.

  “Why are you doing this to us? Please let us go, we’ll do anything you want. I swear.”

  Vazquez chuckled. “I’m so proud of myself. I gambled correctly.”

  “What?”

  “I am very good at judging people and I made the right choice. The love you two have for each other, it’s beautiful. It’s perfect. It’s what is going to be your downfall, both of you.”

  “Go fuck yourself,” Rogan said faintly.

  “Ha, he’s back from the dead!” Vazquez said.

  Shiloh was agape, holding her breath. Indeed, Rogan seemed to be getting a second wind. The medic had wiped the blood from his face and put a few bandages on his hands where he’d been burned.

  “Rogan, are you all right?” Shiloh inquired, her eyes riveted on his.

  He nodded and managed a wink. She knew him to be tough, to be able to take a beating, but even now she thought he was being brave for her sake.

  “Why are you doing this?” Rogan asked. “You put me through this shit, the least you can do is tell me why.”

  Vazquez nodded and closed his eyes like he was savoring a fine wine. He leaned against the doorframe so he could watch both Shiloh to his left and the FBI agent to his right.

  “More than 20 years ago you took away something from me and now I’m having my revenge.”

  “What? What did I do to you?”

  “You don’t even remember? That’s even worse, Mr. Bricks. This hurts me very much.”

  “Then remind me. You’re gonna kill me anyway, aren’t you?”

  All of a sudden, the delight in Vazquez’s face vanished. “Two decades ago me and my brother Ramon were coming up in the organization. We were both young and ambitious. I was on the ground dealing with the chain of supply and Ramon was a pilot, flying shipments up into Texas.”

  “Oh God…” Rogan mumbled.

  “Yes, you remember everything now, don’t you? You remember his plane crashing in the cotton fields. You remember it being on fire. You could have saved him, you could have pulled him out of the wreckage. But no! Instead you stole the money he was bringing back and you let him burn alive. Agent Bricks, you killed my brother.”

  Shiloh watched impassive. She knew the story, Rogan had confessed this to her before because he’d felt guilty about it since the beginning. He’d been only a teenager at the time. A simple mistake, a split-second decision, and he had l
ived with this burden forever.

  Between saving a drug dealer and taking his money, he’d chosen the easier alternative. That’s why he’d tried to make amends by joining the Marines, becoming a federal agent, eventually giving his entire fortune away.

  But there was no escaping fate.

  Vazquez bent until he was face-to-face with Rogan in his wheelchair. “You need to experience the same loss that I have experienced.”

  It was time for payback. For revenge. For the counterblow.

  Chapter 59

  Juárez was located smack dab in the middle of a desert and it rained on average only three days a month in October. It was raining now.

  Rogan had been wheeled up the stairs and after that he discovered that he could still walk even though he was unsteady on his legs. Two guards propped him up, with Castro and Vazquez next to them.

  They went outside on the terrace and climbed to a higher level which gave a great view of the ranch grounds. A servant was holding up a large black golf umbrella over Vazquez and Castro but Rogan was standing in the rain.

  He didn’t mind. The water cooled him down and made him feel fresh, rejuvenated. The longer he stood, the stronger he felt. This said, he wasn’t strong enough to put up a fight. His captors understood this, it was why he wasn’t even tied up anymore. It amused them to taunt him this way.

  His head, arms, and skin still throbbed but it was nothing against the pain of being reminded of what he had done 20 years ago.

  For a moment he had felt he deserved whatever came his way, whatever punishment Vazquez wanted to inflict on him. But Shiloh being involved changed everything. She certainly didn’t deserve any of this. For that reason alone, Rogan had to find a way to retaliate, to save her.

  “Look, she’s coming out,” Vazquez said with glee.

  They all peered down from the raised terrace. On the far left of the house, on a lower level, two guards were marching out Shiloh, one of them was Quintana. Her hands were tied behind her back and as much as she wiggled, trying to fight them off, she couldn’t.

  “This is going to be so much fun, Rogan. I’ve had dreams about this moment for years.”

  They watched Shiloh down below, about 200 feet out. She had been dressed in an orange jumpsuit, just like a prisoner. She was also gagged. They passed behind a cluster of trees and bushes and came out the other way. She was squirming even more now, doing what she could to scream even though she couldn’t really do so.

  “I suppose I should thank you,” Vazquez continued. “The pain you made me suffer gave me the drive to climb the cartel hierarchy until I became the boss, the leader. But I loved my brother Ramon. Not a day goes by I don’t think about him.”

  “I’m sorry,” Rogan said, actually meaning it. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Being sorry stops being a valuable excuse when you’re a child, Agent Bricks. You’re no longer a child. You must pay for your mistakes. Everyone has to pay for their mistakes.”

  Rogan tracked Shiloh, following her against the green field as they headed right through the rain. There was a huge red plastic tarp, creating a sharp break in the landscape. Two men were there already.

  “What is this?” he asked.

  Vazquez grinned before lifting a radio to his lips. “Okay, do it.”

  Without even replying, the two men went about untying the top and pulling it off. They left afterwards.

  Rogan squinted as he tried to identify what it was. Then it dawned on him. It was a white single-engine Cessna aircraft, flipped over.

  “Does this remind you of anything, Rogan? I wasn’t sure of the model my brother was flying but it had to be something like this, no?”

  “What are you gonna do? Tell me, I’ll do anything. Just let Shiloh go.”

  “Rogan, I have suffered. You must suffer.”

  “What are you doing? What are you gonna do to her?” Rogan struggled but the two guards were holding him firmly. “Please, Mr. Vazquez. I’ll do anything you want, I promise. Anything!”

  The drug lord chuckled. “I want you to know what it’s like to lose a loved one, to see them in pain knowing that you can’t do anything about it. Then I want you to know what it’s like to live with this, to feel the sadness. Stop begging, it’s not going to change anything.”

  Rogan’s eyes watered. “Please, not her…”

  “Look, it would be a shame if you missed anything.”

  Shiloh was finally brought to the wreck, obviously staged to be like the accident Rogan had encountered at the age of 17. He wanted to look away but couldn’t.

  The two guards shoved her inside the plane kicking and screaming. While one was holding her down, Quintana strapped her in. It wasn’t easy to do, the seat was upside down after all.

  Next, the two men pulled out. Rogan caught himself wondering how Quintana could tolerate this, working hard in the rain which fell harder now. He seemed so prissy with the dyed hair, the fancy suit.

  “Please don’t,” Rogan said weakly, beginning to understand what was going to happen. “Do it to me, she has nothing to do with this.”

  “She has nothing to do with this? She has everything to do with this! You love her, that’s your fault. You’re the one who put her in this position. How do you feel about that, Rogan? It’s your fault, it has always been your fault. Look, look what happens next.”

  Quintana reached inside his jacket. It was hard to see at this distance but it looked like a plastic squirt bottle. He bent to one knee and started squeezing liquid, making sure everything inside the aircraft received some.

  When he was done, he backed up and turned toward the terrace and the spectators on top. He was waiting for instructions.

  Vazquez lifted his radio and Rogan stared at him.

  “No, don’t do this. Vazquez, please! I’ll do anything you ask. You want me to sneak drugs back to the US? I’ll do it. You want me to kill a politician for you? I’ll do it in a heartbeat. But these don’t hurt her!”

  “It’s very touching but my way is more amusing.” The drug lord thumbed his radio. “Fuego.”

  Out in the field, Quintana nodded. He turned around, produced a road flare from a pocket, and lit it, making it burn bright red. Without hesitation, he threw it inside the plane.

  The cockpit burst into fire immediately. The whoosh could be heard all the way here on the patio.

  In spite of the gag, Shiloh screamed with sheer terror, with extreme agony.

  “No!” Rogan yelled in return.

  His heart broke because he knew there was no way to save her. He saw her through the windshield, her body ablaze, thrashing with absolutely no hope of surviving.

  Rogan melted in tears. His legs buckled and he fell to his knees. His guards didn’t feel the need to hold him anymore. Besides, Rogan had obviously given up. He was sobbing. He was no longer a threat.

  “No, no, no…”

  He had just lost the one thing in life he’d ever really cared about. Rogan found himself praying for a quick bullet to the head.

  Chapter 60

  Vazquez started laughing. It wasn’t in a psychotic way either but rather like he was watching a funny movie.

  “I got you! Rogan, I really fooled you!”

  But Rogan barely heard him. He was still crying. He wanted to die right now and not have to deal with this anymore.

  “You should see your face, it’s hilarious. You amuse me so much, Agent Bricks.”

  At last, the FBI man looked up, unable to hide his confusion. “What?”

  “It was a little appetizer for things to come.” Vazquez brought the radio to his lips. He spoke in English. “Stop it and reset the stage.”

  “What’s going on?” Rogan asked.

  “Do you like that, reset the stage? I feel like a movie director. Put him back on his feet, let him watch.”

  Before Rogan could reply, the guards were boosting him up. He saw men in the field rushing to the flaming aircraft and a second later they trained their fire extinguishers on it. A white clou
d engulfed it and the fire went out.

  “Pull out the corpse,” Vazquez said in the radio. “And make sure she’s dead.”

  Quintana stayed on the sidelines and watched the others do the heavy lifting. The men were wearing gloves and choking in the smoke but soon they were hauling out a charred body out of the plane. Quintana shot her in the head, making Rogan shudder at the finality of it.

  Vazquez was laughing again. He stepped out from under his umbrella and came closer to Rogan.

  “It’s not your precious Shiloh. Here…”

  He gave some binoculars to Rogan and the younger man was hesitant to take them. What Vazquez was saying made no sense. Was this just a ploy for him to look at Shiloh’s corpse, to make his pain even worse? But what if he was telling the truth?

  He raised the glasses to get a better look. The body was burnt beyond recognition. Yet, the guards were still working. Once the fire was completely out, one of the men went about installing new straps inside.

  “Look to the left.”

  Rogan twisted but didn’t see anything. Finally, coming from behind the cluster of trees and bushes, he saw her.

  Shiloh. Alive.

  She was also dressed in an orange prison jumpsuit and she was being marched toward the plane. She was no longer gagged.

  “How… What…”

  “I’ve waited 20 years for this moment,” Vazquez began. “You think it’s going to be over in two minutes? No, I want you to go through it again. You know how it feels to lose someone and now you get to live it for real. This time it’s really going to be your woman.”

  Rogan’s lips quivered although he was no longer crying. What a twisted son of a bitch! He kept his eyes on Shiloh. Her hands were locked behind her back.

  She was flanked by two men and she had no room to maneuver. He knew how skilled she was, how she could easily take someone out. The fact that she wasn’t making a move right now meant that there was no hope.