The Polaris Protocol

by Brad Taylor

  “Can you get to Decoy at the metro?”

  “No. It’s through them.”

  “Overtly hostile?”

  “Naw. Not yet. Just apparently want to pick on a gringo.”

  “Roger all. Forget the car. Exfil the way you came in. Decoy, you copy? Circle around to the north of the market and go dismounted. Help him break contact. Throw money around if you have to.”

  Blood came on. “Pike, I’m at the corner on the other side. I can see a group of men inside the roll-up door with the car. Believe it or not, most look Asian, but there’s one guy who looks like Satan with a bald head, and two are definitely Caucasians.”

  Jennifer exclaimed, “Jack! That’s Jack. Come on!”

  Before I could stop her, she was out of the car and sprinting across Eje 1 Norte, disappearing into the Tepito marketplace.

  I shouted out the open window for her to stop, but it did no good. I leapt out of the car myself, running through the traffic and into the barrio, giving orders on the radio. “Blood, lock down that exit. Don’t let them get out the east end. Knuckles, Jennifer’s headed right to you. Hold your ground as best you can without getting into a fight. Decoy, close on Knuckles.”

  I entered the market and was immediately stymied by the mass of people. An alley about five feet wide lined on both sides with multicolored plastic tarps, it was jammed with a moving anthill of people, all buying, selling, or just hanging out, with the air swirling with a myriad of spices from outdoor taco vendors.

  I was slowed to a fast walk, bumping through the crowd like a pinball and getting glares from men who looked like they’d shown up directly from the central casting of a spaghetti western. At least by their faces, because I don’t remember any spaghetti western with characters sporting Adidas T-shirts and tattoos, but make no mistake, they all looked like hard men. I saw no sign of Jennifer. Either everyone was getting out of her way because she was a woman, or she’d already been dragged down an alley somewhere.

  I keyed my mike again. “Koko, this is Pike. Status.”

  Jennifer said, “Closing in on Knuckles’s position.”

  Damn. She is flying through this place.

  “Do not, I say again, do not engage until we can develop a plan. Link up with Knuckles and wait on me. Acknowledge.”

  I heard nothing but couldn’t be sure it wasn’t because I was barreling over a guy selling some sort of food on a cart. He cursed me and I said again, “Koko, acknowledge.”

  “Pike, I see Knuckles. I’m on Knuckles now. Break-break. Knuckles, where’s the car?”

  Knuckles said, “Koko, stand by. Pike, I got eyes on her, but we got another problem.”

  I squeezed between two vendors, shaking my head when one began waving scarves in my face. “What?”

  “There’s a group of Asians coming out of the alley that has the BMW. I think they saw the crowd of banditos forming up and didn’t like it. The good news is the banditos quit messing with me. The bad news is the Asian guys are now focused on them, and it looks like they’re working into a fight.”

  Jennifer said, “I see them. They’re Korean. Korean Mafia. They own a ton of warehouses around here. The car is probably in a Korean property, and they’re protecting their turf.”

  How the hell does she always know this stuff?

  “Jennifer, hold what you got. Decoy, what’s your distance?”

  “I’m there. I can see Knuckles. Coming in at his six.”

  “Okay, listen up—”

  “Gun. Bandito pulled a gun.”

  Here we go.

  “Everyone down. Get out of the fight. Blood, what’s your status?”

  “East end is fine. I’m eating a taco. Guess they don’t have an issue with a black man after all.”

  “Can you still see the gringos?”

  “No, but they never exited the roll-up. They’re still inside.”

  A gunshot split the air no more than thirty meters from me. People started screaming, running in all directions. Then the shooting started in earnest. I jammed against a wall and said, “Knuckles, what the fuck is going on?”

  “Gunfight at the O.K. Corral. Or the Kimchi Corral. You pick.”

  “Get down the alley. Get to the car.”

  “I can’t from this side. I’ll have to penetrate the cross fire.”

  Jennifer said, “This is Koko. I got it. I’m on the near side. I’m going in.”

  “No! You stay put, I’m on the way.”

  Knuckles said, “She’s the only one who can get there.”

  I reentered the flow of people fleeing the market, not wanting to say it, but I did. “Koko, move.”

  Working upstream, I reached the intersection in time to see Jennifer turn the corner to the alley, running in the middle of a group of women escaping the gunfire. I caught a glimpse of a Glock in her hand, and I knew she was about to commit to a shooting war to save her brother. And all I could do was back her up.

  “Blood, get down the alley. Enter the building.”

  “Roger. By myself?”

  “Koko’s on the way and I’m right behind her.”

  I heard him say, “Good to go,” just as I rounded the corner. The roll-up door with the BMW was much, much closer to my side of the alley than his. Even so, we reached it at the same time. He might not have played basketball, but Blood could run like a damn cheetah.

  We entered with pistols drawn, seeing nothing. I heard a door slam at the top of a flight of stairs and we both began running up them. We entered a small apartment with only a couch and a table. At the back was an open sliding door to a makeshift balcony, the curtains flowing in from the wind and the roof to the next building just below it. Jennifer was nowhere to be seen. I was running to the balcony when a Korean appeared out of a side room carrying an AK-47. He raised his weapon and Blood drilled him twice in the chest, throwing him to the ground.

  I saw a flash of someone jumping a roof fifty feet away and recognized Jennifer’s hair blowing in the wind. I wanted to chase after her dumb ass but knew I couldn’t leave the area uncleared. Blood was outside the door to the only other room and I ran to him, squeezing his shoulder.

  We entered to find the space empty, losing precious seconds.

  45

  We sprinted to the balcony, me screaming into the radio, “Koko, Koko, stop what you’re doing. Do not go any deeper into the barrio.”

  “Pike, I’ve got my brother in sight! He’s being pushed forward by a bald guy who looks like the devil.”

  Christ. I knew it would do no good trying to get her to stop. Which left me running after her. I tossed the key fob for the BMW to Blood and said, “Get that car out and shadow us north.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Chase her crazy ass.”

  I gave a SITREP on the radio, getting everyone moving north, the dismounts going to Decoy’s vehicle and Blood inside the BMW, paralleling my line of march, then took off out the balcony, jumping roof to roof.

  One building over I saw Jennifer behind some concrete bricks, trading shots with someone on the other side. I jumped the gap and slid in behind her while she was in the process of reloading. She freaked out at my sudden appearance, trying to take my head off. I blocked the strike and slammed her against the brick.

  I said, “What part of ‘stop what you’re doing’ do you not understand?”

  “Pike, my brother is on the next roof. I saw him. He’s with the guy shooting back.”

  I peeked over the wall and saw three men running.

  Shit.

  I said, “Cover me. Do not move until I’m covering you. Do you understand?”

  She nodded and I leapt up, giving chase. I reached the next building and jumped over the small gap, landing in another makeshift terrace with an old couple looking like they were enjoying the excitement and ignoring the fact
that bullets were flying. I vaulted over a low wall, crashed through a clothesline, and heard a shot snap past my head.

  I flattened behind the cinder blocks and heard Jennifer return fire, hoping she was taking the time to aim. I pulled up, getting my pistol over the brick and centering my sight post, seeing one man with a gun flanked by two men crouching with their hands over their heads. I radioed, “Jennifer, move.”

  The distance was way outside the envelope for a surgical shot from a handgun, but all I wanted to do was get him to quit shooting back. He cracked a bullet our way and I held high to compensate for the drop of the.45-caliber slug. The round impacted the brick right next to his head, smacking him with spall. He recoiled from the spray of brick, then kicked the other two men. They jumped to the next building.

  Jennifer went by me without slowing down, leaping from cinder block to tin roof, closing the gap. I jumped up as well, falling in behind her. She cleared the next building, falling onto the same roof as the men, the drop causing her to roll on the tar-covered concrete. As the gunman raised his pistol, I took a knee and fired a double tap that went wide. He squeezed the trigger at the same time and the man to his left slammed into his arms, throwing the shot into space.

  The gunman screamed and turned the pistol onto Jennifer’s savior. The man backed up with his hands out, shouting something I couldn’t understand. He reached the edge of the building and fell backward just as the pistol went off.

  Jennifer screamed, racing to the edge while firing at the gunman with an off-hand hold. He ducked, kicking the final man in the ass as Jennifer’s rounds pinged the cinder block around him, and they jumped to the next roof. Jennifer looked down to the street, holstered her pistol, and flung herself over the parapet. The last thing I saw was her hands on the ledge, then they disappeared.

  I leapt across, saw the gunman fleeing with the final man, and let him go. I raced to the edge and leaned over. Seven feet below me was a balcony, with Jennifer holding Jack in her arms, putting pressure on a shoulder wound that had already coated his shirt with blood.

  I dropped to the balcony, seeing a horrified family inside, all cowering on the couch. I showed my pistol and shook my head at them, then went to Jennifer.

  She said, “He’s hit bad. He’s hit bad. He’s bleeding out.”

  I moved her hand and smiled for the first time. Yeah, he was hit, but it wasn’t bad. Well, not bad as far as gunshots go. He’d have more danger from infection at the hospital than the wound itself.

  I said, “Keep up pressure,” then keyed my radio, vectoring in everyone to my position. “Jackpot. I say again, jackpot. Need exfil and I don’t know my exact position. Somewhere north of the market right next to Trabajo Avenue. Need medical ASAP. Precious cargo is wounded.”

  Decoy came on. “I got your position on the phone. I’m north, headed your way.”

  “Who do you have with you?”

  “Me and Knuckles.”

  “Need more room. Blood, status?”

  “Coming in hot right now. BMW seems to get everyone out of the way. Be there in thirty seconds.”

  Five minutes later we were on the street with a crowd of people starting to circle. I shouted at Blood, “How much money you got?”

  He said, “Not enough to get these guys to quit, but we have a couple of garbage bags in the back we need to dump for space anyway. They’re full of watches and shit.”

  I pulled them out, surveying the crowd. One man was in front of the others, holding a rusty crowbar and looking like a badass. I walked up to him and said, “Let it go.”

  Of course, he didn’t speak a lick of English. He raised the crowbar and I dumped the bag in front of him. When the watches, rings, and other bling spilled around his feet, he lowered his weapon, looking confused.

  I swept my hand above the loot and said, “All yours.”

  Once I tossed the other bag on the ground, they started jostling with one another, and we were on the way to a hospital with Jack bleeding all over the red leather seats and Jennifer hyperventilating over his wounds.

  His eyes fluttered open for a moment, and he gained consciousness and tried to sit up. Jennifer stopped him, cooing. When he recognized her voice, he slurred, “Jennifer? Are you dead too?”

  She laughed for the first time and said, “No. And neither are you.”

  He leaned back and said, “What are you doing here? Did Mom send you?”

  She smiled. “Yes. Mom sent me. Along with some friends.”

  He chuckled, then grimaced from the pain it caused. “Friends, huh? Who on earth did you convince to come down here to this hellhole?”

  “Some people who don’t mind a little trouble.” She caught my eye and smiled. “Someone who does what’s right.”

  He closed his eyes and said, “Does what’s right . . . I knew that would make a difference.”

  She said, “What’s that mean?”

  He didn’t answer and she let it go.

  She held his hand and leaned forward, saying, “Thank you, guys. Thank you for doing this. I owe you big-time.”

  Blood said, “You don’t owe me shit. I get a paycheck.”

  Now that we were relatively safe, I let my anger spill out over her activities in the last hour. I said, “Blood may not care, but you sure as hell owe me. Jesus, you ignore every single order I give, running into a Korean Mafia house and slinging lead with no backup whatsoever. What the hell were you thinking?”

  Blood said, “Hey, cut her some slack. She was rescuing the PC. You’d do the same in her shoes.”

  “I would not. No way would I do something that stupid.”

  His face split into the same smile he always used when he knew he was right, a disarming bit of trickery he’d learned at the agency. “You do that all the damn time. The only difference is the person you’re ignoring is a continent away.”

  I harrumphed, then saw Jennifer returning Blood’s smile with one of her own. So damn proud she’d ignored me. I tried to maintain my anger, but it was a lost cause. Her actions had saved her brother, after all. He’d have been gone for good if she hadn’t raced off on her own, and being mad about her actions was a little selfish. I certainly couldn’t argue with success, and whenever I’d done something like she had, I didn’t smile because I was proud of ignoring the command. I smiled because I’d succeeded in the mission, which was something I was always throwing in Kurt Hale’s face.

  Now it was being thrown into mine.

  I poked one more time, because I didn’t like being treated like the damn command I always flouted. “Well, I’m glad we got your brother, but let’s hope he can do something against the threat. You were sure he was the Holy Grail, and apparently so was the Oversight Council.”

  Jennifer got a little truculent at that. “I am sure he can, but this mission isn’t a failure if he can’t. Is it? Do you think that?”

  She was staring daggers at me, and I heard the unspoken end of her words: Do you think that, or does the asshole team leader? I saw Blood catch the look in the rearview, a question on his face, wondering. Someone else reading the tea leaves like Knuckles. Seeing things beyond a simple team member–team leader relationship. I honestly hated how smart these bastards were. Nothing got past them for long.

  I backtracked and said, “No, of course not. I just meant I hope he’s got some useful information. That’s all.”

  Blood said, “Check in your foot well. I gave the car a cursory once-over for bad shit, found the goody bags in back and something else.”

  “What?” I started rooting underneath my seat. “What did you find?”

  “A digital video recorder and a directional microphone. No idea what’s on it.”

  I pulled it out, put the headphones on my ears, and started listening. Jennifer saw my eyes squint and said, “What is it?”

  I held a finger in the air and said, “Shhh.” I list
ened a little bit more, then turned around, seeing Jack unconscious in the back, Jennifer keeping pressure on his wound. She waited. I continued listening until she couldn’t take it. She said, “Damn it, what are you hearing?”

  I pulled the headset off and said, “I take back everything I just said about your jackass maneuver.”

  “What?”

  “Your brother just bought us a ticket to the dance.”

  46

  The sicario finished taping Booth’s ankles to the metal rod he’d broken from the towel rack, pinning them to the bar. He pulled the feet until they hung over the bathtub, then taped the bar to the ceramic edge. Now stretched out like a calf for slaughter, his hands chained to a cast-iron pipe that jutted out from under the sink, Booth began to writhe up and down, but he’d waited too long. His eyes wild, he grunted through the gag in his mouth, only growing still when the sicario turned to face him, a demonic vision that caused instant compliance.

  “You understand the reason I have you like this, correct?”

  Booth shook his head violently side to side.

  “I want to know who those men were who chased us. What they represent. I don’t expect you to tell me the truth right away, but you will. Everyone does when I start peeling the soles of the feet. It’s very, very painful.”

  The sicario pointed to a bottle of bleach on the counter. “I prefer the bathtub because it’s much easier to clean. The bleach flushes all traces of blood down the drain, but I’m told it burns like fire on open wounds.”

  A low moan escaped Booth’s throat, barely penetrating the rag stuffed in his mouth. The sicario jerked it out and said, “Well?”

  “I have no idea! Please, dear God, I don’t know. Why would I? I’m from America! Maybe they’re friends of Carlos! You killed him. Not me.”

  “If that’s true, then there was no reason to bring you here. I should have left you dead like the other man on the roof.”

  After shooting their way clear of the team following them, the sicario had dragged Booth down a rickety flight of metal stairs to a balcony and pushed him through into a shabby apartment. The family inside never even saw the pistol in his hand. They took one look at his visage and disappeared into another room.