by JL Bryan
“Watch your ass, Brujo,” Francisco said as he left. “You don't want this to become trouble. Not for Papa Calderon, and not for me.”
“No trouble,” Alexander said. He put on his sunglasses and stepped into the hot, dusty afternoon outside the cantina.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Seth found himself back in Atlanta only a couple of days later, after receiving an urgent call from Jerome Breisgau at Hale Security Group. He'd spent most of the intervening time sleeping, eating and recovering from all the healing he'd done at the cancer ward. He'd missed two days of classes, but he didn't really care.
The receptionist took Seth to Breisgau's office as soon as he gave his name.
“Have a seat, Mr. Barrett,” Breisgau said as he shook his hand. Seth took the chair, feeling a little weird about a man decades older than himself calling him Mister. “Coffee?”
“She already offered, thanks.”
Breisgau sat across from him and seemed to study him for a moment. “Your girlfriend seems to be running with a rough crowd.”
“You found her?” His heart began to race.
“Possibly. Since you mentioned a Mexican girl was involved, we went ahead and reached out to a few associates south of the border. Someone told us a rumor about a certain person who can supposedly raise the dead. Exactly the rumor you told us to watch out for.”
“Then let's check it out,” Seth said. He was leaning forward in his chair now, impatient.
“We have. The man is called El Brujo. In Spanish, that means a sorcerer, a male witch. Unfortunately—and this where things get complicated—he's a part of the Calderon cartel.” Breisgau watched Seth for a reaction.
“What's that?”
“One of the two biggest drug trafficking organizations in Mexico today.” Breisgau set a tablet PC on his desk. It displayed a map of Mexico, with areas highlighted near the United States border. “The largest is the Juarez cartel, smuggling into Texas, run by a man named Pablo Toscano. The second largest is the Tijuana cartel, smuggling into California, run by a man named Ricardo Angel Calderon, or 'Papa' Calderon. The two cartels are mortal enemies.”
“Okay,” Seth said. “And the zombie master guy works for the...Calderon...people in Tijuana.”
“Right. Now, we had an associate in a Mexican intelligence agency reach out to him. This associate is familiar with players in the underworld down there. And our associate actually had a sit-down with this man called El Brujo.”
“And what happened?” Seth wished the guy would hurry up. “Did you find Jenny?”
“He admits that Jenny is with him,” Breisgau said. “But he will neither accept a ransom nor provide anything to show that she's with him of her own free will. It looks to us like she's been kidnapped, but the man has no intention of ever returning her home.”
He probably wants to use her power, Seth thought. Out loud, he said, “What do we do?”
“Frankly, there aren't a lot of options, Mr. Barrett. He won't let Jenny communicate with the outside world.”
“I understand that. She's his prisoner.”
“That would seem to be the case.”
“So now what? You guys are supposed to be the experts on kidnapping.”
“And normally that ends with a ransom solution,” Breisgau said. “In only a few cases do we need to consider the next step.”
“Which is?”
“Forcible extraction.”
“That sounds dangerous,” Seth said.
“It is. And highly expensive. But it looks like the only option we have left.” Breisgau touched something behind his desk, and large plasma screen mounted on the wall came to life. He stood up and began to pace. “Here's what we can do. We can put together a team of six to eight men, all highly trained—former Green Berets, Navy SEALs. We raid the house where he's keeping Jenny, and we helicopter her out of there.” On the screen behind him, some kind of Hale corporate marketing video played, the sound turned off. It showed men in black armor stamped with the Hale logo leaping from a helicopter, in a desert somewhere. They surrounded some men in turbans, who quickly held up their hands and surrendered. They escorted a white woman in a business suit back to the helicopter.
“You know where he's keeping her?”
“We have a pretty good idea that it's a property belonging to Calderon, via a dummy corporation, here in Chiapas.” On the digital tablet, Breisgau pointed to the extreme south of Mexico, near the Guatemalan border. “He must be watching the pipeline for Calderon. Cocaine flows up from Peru, Colombia, Bolivia, through Guatemala, into Mexico. From there, it goes to Tijuana, and then California.”
“So we just raid his house? That can't be legal.”
Breisgau grinned. “That's where you're in luck, Mr. Barrett. Chiapas does not exactly have a stable system of governance. The Zapatistas—local rebels, Communists—asserted themselves in the early nineties and took over several chunks of Chiapas. The Mexican national government has failed to regain control of these areas. As you can see, the government of the state of Chiapas is a very loose affair. A few well-placed bribes will be sufficient to turn any necessary heads away from our actions.”
“So that's the plan?” Seth asked. “We just go in and take her.”
“That appears to be the only way to bring her back,” Breisgau said. “We could, of course, try to get the local police down there to help us, but they are likely to be in the pay of the drug cartels, too. What I'm offering will be efficient and effective. You could have her back very soon...if you're willing to pay for it.”
Seth thought it over. He was sure his college trust account did not have the kind of money Breisgau was talking about. On the other hand, he did know where to find the index card in his father's desk drawer in the Fallen Oak house, the one where his father jotted down passwords. Seth could access his father's accounts and steal however much money Hale Security wanted for the rescue operation. Obviously, his father would kill him for it, but that hardly mattered.
“Okay,” Seth said. “But I want to come along when they go in.”
“Not a good idea,” Breisgau said. “We'd have to add an extra security detail to keep you safe. Any number of things could go wrong.”
“I know that. But I want to be there.” Seth was eager to see Jenny, but beyond that, he doubted whether Hale would be ready to deal with the supernatural aspects of this mission. If the man who'd kidnapped Jenny wanted her for her powers, it was possible that he'd tracked down others of their kind, too. Seth didn't know what they might be facing.
“It's going to cost extra for you to go along,” Breisgau said. “Significantly more. And you'll have to do exactly what our professionals tell you, when they tell you, for your own protection. And sign a full liability waiver.”
“I understand.”
Breisgau returned to his chair and grinned at Seth. “All right, then. We'll just pull together the paperwork and discuss the fee.”
“Let's get to work,” Seth said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Jenny was slumbering in Alexander's bed when she heard the approaching whump-whump-whump from the back of the house. She felt Alexander slip out of bed.
“What's happening?” she whispered. It was still dark outside. Jenny reached for the lamp.
“Leave the light off,” Alexander said. He was getting dressed.
“What time is it?”
“Almost dawn.”
The whump-whump-whump sound drew closer, and the glass in the windows rattled.
“What's that sound?” Jenny asked.
“I'm going to check it out.”
“Wait,” she said, but Alexander had already left the room through the terrace door. “Fuck.” Jenny got out of bed and hurriedly threw on a dress. She was groggy and tired. They'd only gone to sleep a couple of hours earlier, after about three hours of very intense lovemaking. The complementary nature of their powers seemed to feed both their desires and their endurance. Jenny wanted Alexander more every day.
<
br /> She followed him to the terrace outside his room, and found herself watching a black helicopter descend into Alexander's back yard, inside his walls. The hot wind from the whirling blades blew their hair back.
Alexander took Jenny by the arm and pulled her down beside him as he squatted behind the low stucco wall of his terrace.
“Friends of yours?” Jenny shouted over the thumping din.
“Afraid not,” Alexander said. He raised a walkie-talkie to his mouth. “Manuel! Get everyone moving. We are under attack this morning.”
“Is it Toscano's people?” Jenny asked.
“Could be. You better get inside.”
“I'm sticking with you,” Jenny said. “Want me to kill them?”
“No, thanks. Sweet of you to offer, though. Manuel!” he shouted into the walkie-talkie.
“Yes, yes, we're moving!” Manuel's voice crackled back.
“I want everybody with a pulse to stay inside the house and lay low. Don't shoot unless they reach the doors or windows.” Alexander said. “But get ready to move together. And somebody bring me the Thumper.”
Jenny watched the helicopter descend. It would be on the ground in less than a minute.
Alexander had ramped up his security after a recent trip to Mexico City, saying there was a growing threat from Toscano's Juarez-based cartel. He now kept eight or ten gunmen around the house at all times, under Manuel's direction.
One of the young new gunmen raced out onto the balcony, keeping his head low. He slid Alexander something that looked like a green guitar case, then watched Alexander expectantly.
“Go on back with Manuel,” Alexander ordered him. The young man frowned, cast a longing look at the green case, then returned inside.
When the helicopter was a few feet from the ground, men began jumping out of it, one after the other. They wore black armor, helmets, and goggles, and carried assault rifles. They broke out into four teams of two that fanned across the yard toward the house, moving like wildfire.
“Holy shit,” Alexander said. “Israeli Tavor rifles. That's not Toscano.”
He grabbed Jenny's hand, then pointed with his other hand at the dilapidated building where he kept his two reanimated jaguars. A row of zombies rushed out and opened fire with their AK-47s.
The men in armor dropped instantly to the ground, flat on their bellies, returning fire. Jenny saw a bullet shatter a zombie's skull, but the zombie kept advancing and shooting.
“Over there!” Jenny pointed to a pair of black-armored men that were on the move, running with their heads low. They were dangerously close to the house—a few more yards and they would be underneath the second-story terrace, out of sight.
Four zombies turned and sprayed bullets at the breakaway pair, who then had to drop to the ground and return fire. The invaders' guns slowed the ragged row of zombies, gradually chipping away at them. The zombies, for their part, depended on Alexander for directions and so weren't the most precise shooters. They used a lot of long, wild bursts.
Then a series of booms echoed across the lawn, and the row of zombies were quickly sliced to pieces. A massive machine gun on a mount had swiveled out from within the helicopter, and now it provided cover for the eight men, pulverizing the zombies with hundreds of rounds. The invaders advanced.
“What a mess,” Alexander said. He lifted the lid on the green case and drew out what looked like a sawed-off shotgun. He broke it open and cocked the hammer at the back, then slid in a single round that looked like the Bluebird juice cans Jenny used to drink in elementary school. He snapped the gun closed.
“That's a big bullet,” Jenny said.
“That's because it's a grenade,” Alexander said. He flipped up the sight and took aim at the helicopter below. There was a hollow popping sound that reminded Jenny of blowing air across a glass Coke bottle. The grenade punched the ground in front of the helicopter and detonated, throwing up a huge cloud of dirt.
The invaders hit the ground at the explosion. Alexander broke the grenade launcher open and handed it to Jenny. “Reload.”
“Um...okay.” Jenny copied what he had done, taking one of the cylindrical grenades and feeding it in. She cocked the hammer back and closed the breech.
While she did this, Alexander pointed to the dilapidated building again. A second string of zombies grabbed up the AK-47s and fired at the invaders. The rest of the zombies, seven or eight of them, charged the helicopter, unarmed.
Alexander fired another grenade at the helicopter, and this one struck the whirling blades at the top. The helicopter blades shattered and shot out in every direction. One fragment sliced an approaching zombie in half. Another skewered one of the invading men.
Jenny watched as one big chunk of blade sped towards them. “Watch out!” she screamed, grabbing his arm. They dropped to the floor together. The helicopter blade skipped off the low outer wall of the terrace, then smashed through Alexander's bedroom window.
“That was pretty cool,” Jenny said.
Alexander reloaded the grenade launcher, and this time he aimed for a pair of black-armored men. The grenade struck the ground between them, blasting the two men away from each other. They landed heavily on the ground. The two zombie jaguars leaped out of the shadows, pounced on the two blasted men, and began ripping them to pieces.
“It's fun to be a grenadier,” Alexander said. He held out the launcher to her. “Want to try?”
“Sure.” Jenny reloaded the weapon, then got up on her knees and looked over the wall. She lined up the helicopter in her crosshairs.
The zombies swarmed the helicopter like ants on a rotten squirrel. They hauled out another black-armored man and chomped on his throat, which the bulletproof armor left bare.
“Get moving, Manuel,” Alexander said into his walkie-talkie. “Clean up.”
Below, Manuel and his men opened fire on the few remaining invaders, who found themselves under fire from two directions, the house and the lurching knot of armed zombies.
“Are you going to shoot?” he asked.
“If it's not Toscano, who the hell is it?” Jenny asked. “The government?”
“Does it matter right now?”
Manuel and his men walked among the fallen invaders, shooting the wounded.
“Manuel, the helicopter,” Alexander said. “See if we can get a prisoner or two. Find out who these people are.”
Manuel's team advanced on the helicopter. The zombies stumbled out, clearing the way for them, and then Manuel and two other men stepped inside.
They hauled out another man in a black helmet and matching armor. Manuel stripped off their captive's helmet, revealing a young man with strawberry blond hair. Manuel turned him to face Alexander and Jenny on the terrace.
It was Seth.
“The healer,” Alexander said. “He's the one behind the attack.”
“That asshole,” Jenny said.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Jenny followed Alexander down to an underground room below the main house. Seth was there, stripped of his helmet and gloves and armor, his face beaten but already healing. He wore only black fatigues now, and he was barefoot. His hands were bound by ropes, each of which was anchored in a hook in the wall, so that he had to remain standing.
A folding table had been set up in front of him. On its surface were several blades and a hacksaw.
Seth's head lifted when Jenny entered, and he managed to smile. “Jenny.”
Jenny looked at him coldly. Alexander had given her the task of dealing with Seth, and now he stood back with Manuel and two of the Tijuana gunmen, while Jenny approached the prisoner.
“What were you thinking, Seth?” Jenny asked. “That you could come and take me at gunpoint? You didn't think we would fight back?”
“I thought you were kidnapped,” Seth said.
Jenny laughed. “As if anybody could force me to act against my will.”
Seth gave her a puzzled look. “Are you feeling okay, Jenny?”
“I'm not f
eeling okay. I'm feeling great.” Jenny wiped her nose—she'd just snorted up two thick lines of coke to get herself ready. “Top of the fucking world, Seth. But, you know, I have just a few questions for you, before I kill you.”
“Before you do what?” Seth asked, and Alexander chuckled.
Jenny took a scalpel from the table. She prodded the tip into the hollow of Seth's throat. “First. Who was that girl in Charleston?”
“The girl? Jenny, that was a mistake. I'm sorry.”
“It was definitely a mistake. And then you decided to attack me here. That was a mistake, too.”
“I came to rescue you.”
“Rescue me?” Jenny smirked as she dragged the blade down across his chest, slicing open flesh and muscle.
“Jenny, stop!” Seth yelled. “What's wrong with you? What happened to you?” He looked at Alexander.
“There's nothing wrong with me,” Jenny said. “I remember so many past lives now. Alexander remembers all of his, too. He showed me how. I remember what I am, and what all of us are.”
“I know what I am,” Seth said. “I'm the person who loves you.”
Jenny snickered. “You're the charmer's tool. She sent you to seduce me.” Jenny slashed the blade diagonally across his stomach, and Seth gasped in pain. “You thought you could trick me.”
“What are you talking about, Jenny? I've always been honest with you. I'm not playing any trick.”
She scowled. “Maybe that's what you think, healer. But sometimes, you can hold such a strong intention when you incarnate that your little incarnated personality works to carry out your purpose, without really knowing why. So maybe you are still caught in the illusion of being Seth Barrett, as I was caught in the illusion of being Jenny Morton. But you are not him, and I am not her.” Jenny moved closer, lifting his chin with the tip of the blade. “Don't you remember anything?”
“I remember all the time we spent together,” Seth said. “I remember that we loved each other. You're the one who's forgotten.”
