Double Edged Blade - An Action Thriller Novel (Omega Series Book 2)

by Blake Banner

  I read once that the average IQ of a criminal is between 80 and 90. It made sense. I sighed. “Yeah. It’s hilarious.”

  Inside he started shouting his head off. “Venga! Pendejos! Levántense! Que no sirven para nada, hijos de puta! A levantarse ya!”

  All of which basically meant, get up.

  Within twenty minutes, the place was full of slightly green-looking Mexicans asking, “Que paso?” and scratching their heads. Arana dispatched four of them to get rid of Seth and his pals, and for a bit there was a lot of retching going on outside, then cursing and laughing, and finally the sound of a truck pulling out and somebody hosing down the yard.

  Meanwhile, a couple of girls had made coffee and were scrambling eggs in the kitchen. Arana and I sat at a table to eat breakfast and he spread his hands. “OK, so tell me, what’s going on?”

  “I’ll tell you what’s going on in three simple sentences. Red is moving in on your patch. He is being supplied by Emilio Romero, ten miles southeast of Nogales. His uncle, Sheriff Caleb, is helping him by feeding him information about you.” I pulled out my cigarettes and lit up while he poured Tabasco sauce on his scrambled eggs. “I want to work with you, Arana. You have the organization and I have the talent. We can take over the show, but you have to get serious.”

  He made a face like I was being boring, but nodded anyway. “You right, I know. I know you right. But you gotta question, sometimes, your values in life. If you are successful but you are not happy no more, are you successful at all?”

  He spread out his hands and stared at me, like he’d asked a really important question. I watched him till he started eating again.

  “You need to get rid of the sheriff and replace him with somebody you can trust. You need to get rid of Red and you need to destroy his supplier. He is your biggest problem. Red and his uncle are stupid, but Romero is smart, efficient and well organized.”

  “You met him?”

  “I was at his ranch last night collecting your coke and six whores.”

  “Where are the putas?”

  “In Tucson, at what’s left of Red’s club.”

  He stuffed the last of his eggs in his mouth, swallowed and drained his coffee. He shouted, “Traigan mas café, oigan!” and sat back to consider me. Finally he shrugged. “OK, so what you wanna do? I lost a lot of men thanks to you. I can’t afford a gang war on two fronts.”

  “You don’t need a lot of men, and you don’t need a gang war on any fronts. You need to destroy them, not fight with them. How many boys you got left?”

  He gestured at the door. “Pepe, Juan and Julio, who went to bury Seth. And here we got Alejando, Nelson and Chico. That’s all I got left.”

  “What about the suit who was here the other night?”

  “He’s my attorney. I got him on a retainer.”

  “Give me your four best guys. I’ll take them down to Romero’s ranch tonight. We’ll kill him and destroy his operation. Whoever your supplier is, he’ll be grateful. If I were you, I’d be asking him how the hell he let this fucking bozo get this far in the first place.”

  He grunted. “Don’t create problems with my supplier, gringo. He is very powerful and very dangerous.”

  “Who is he?”

  He studied my face. He looked sour. He didn’t like all my questions and he didn’t like that I was taking control. He shrugged. “Rafael Montilla. He is part of the Sinaloa cartel.” He laughed. “You don’t wanna make them unhappy, gringo. They pretty much run Mexico. And I ain’t talkin’ about the criminal underworld. I am talking about Mexico!”

  “That powerful, huh?” I showed him I was skeptical by raising an eyebrow.

  “Amigo, when I tell you that they own the whole fockin’ west of the country from Tijuana and Mexicali to Acapulco, and that their plantations of marijuana and coca…” He paused to lean forward and touch my shoulder, like he was trying to make me pay attention. “Their plantation cover more than twenty-three thousand miles—that is bigger than Costa Rica. These are official figures, amigo. Check them if you don’t believe me.”

  “Your guy Rafael represents this organization?”

  “This organization? You kidding me? Is the biggest focking drugs cartel in the world. Where you fockin been for the last ten years?”

  “Wyoming. Are we on or what?”

  “Tonight?”

  “Why wait?”

  He laughed. “Sure, why not?”

  One of the girls came out of the kitchen with another pot of coffee. She was trying hard to smile, but she looked wrecked. Outside I heard the truck return with Pepe, Juan and Julio. I sighed. “OK, assemble your men and we’ll go over the plan.”

  Fourteen

  The plan was simple. Executing it with four mental retards would not be. The SAS operates with units of four men who are smart enough and well-trained enough to cause mayhem and devastation on a scale you’d normally associate with an entire armored division. But each soldier in the SAS is chosen for his intelligence and commitment. The guys I had here were like a gang of lobotomized moral philosophers at a cannabis convention. So the plan had to be simple.

  I’d selected Pepe, Nelson, Julio, and Chico. They were the least stupid and the least hungover. Nelson was skinny and psychotic and had a mustache he’d inherited from his father in the 1970s. Chico was small and tattooed and liked to play with knives. Julio was big, black and tattooed, and also liked to play with knives. Pepe was the brains of the outfit. He looked normal and could spell his name without poking out his tongue.

  Mid-morning, we took two trucks and crossed into Mexico at Abasse, two minutes down the road from the Casa Coca. Then we drove east, taking the remote back roads, for thirty miles across the desert to Nogales. At Nogales, we took route 15 south to Cibuta and crossed the high mesa by winding mountain roads till we came out, early afternoon, in the Santa Cruz river valley, half a mile south of Romero’s ranch.

  There we had lunch and reviewed the plan. They sighed a lot, like I was being boring. Mexican banditos as a rule all have two plans, whatever the operation: plan A and plan B. Plan A is shoot everything. Plan B is, if plan A doesn’t work, run.

  This plan was a little more complicated. Romero’s ranch sat on five acres of fertile land on the west bank of the Santa Cruz river, at the foot of the hills that rose up into the high mesa. It was fenced and shielded from the road by tall poplars and cypresses. The house itself was large and built around a central patio, but to the west and the south there were four large, wooden structures that looked like barns. I was pretty sure they housed the labs where he made the coke and the crack, and I was willing to bet there was also a place where he kept the less willing girls, the ones who were a flight risk.

  What I wanted to do was position Pepe and his pals around the barns, covering the exit from the house. Then I wanted to start a fire in one of the barns. When Romero and his men emerged to put out the blaze, we’d pick them off, close in on the house and finish the job.

  Simple.

  I explained it to them. They shrugged a lot and said OK. We’d brought automatic rifles, and I had my rucksack with me for a grand finale. We ate some bread and cheese and then laid up in the hills for the guys to get some sleep till dusk.

  While they slept, I watched the ranch and made a note of all the people that I saw. There wasn’t a lot of activity. I saw a couple of guys make repeat visits to the northernmost barn, and once it looked like they were carrying food. My money was on the girls being imprisoned in there.

  By late afternoon, I had made out a total of eight guys, but I figured there could be between two and four inside, which would bring it to ten or twelve total. That meant, worst case, we were outnumbered three to one. If I’d been with a team from the Regiment, I’d like those odds. Right now it felt more like I was outnumbered twelve to one.

  As dusk fell, I kicked the guys awake, gave them coffee, and led them out of the foothills and up to the trees by the fence south of the ranch. The nearest barn stood about fifty feet awa
y. The only person I’d seen go in there all day was a farm hand who’d collected four bales of hay in a pick-up and taken them across the road to some horses by the river. That had confirmed my choice for where to start my fire. It also narrowed down the location of the lab. It had to be in one of the other three barns on the left. And I’d eliminated one of those as housing the girls.

  By now, dusk was failing and darkness was seeping into the air. I could see the warm amber of lamps coming on in the windows. I spoke quietly and slowly.

  “Pepe, you’re going to take Chico and you’re going to go to the farthest barn, where you can see the front of the house. You’re going to stay low, OK? Meanwhile, Nelson, you and Julio are going to go to the second building, where you can cover the front of this nearest barn, where they keep the hay. Comprende?”

  They nodded. “Is easy, boss. We ain’t stupid.”

  “Shut up, Pepe. Now, I am going to start a fire in the hay barn. Pepe, when you and Chico count eight guys out of the house, then you start shooting. Not before. You got that?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Count eight. Then shoot.”

  “Nelson, Julio, only when Pepe and Chico start shooting, then you start. That way, you trap them in a killing field. When they are dead, you meet me at the front of the house. Stay low, there may be more guys inside.” They all nodded again. “OK, Pepe, you and Chico, go!”

  They slipped through the trees and over the fence and made their way around the back of the barns. I gave them thirty seconds, then Nelson, Julio and I followed. I dispatched them to the second structure and told them to stay low and silent. Meanwhile, I crawled to the big doors and eased them open just enough for me to squeeze in. I stayed there by the entrance and counted to thirty, allowing my eyes to adjust to the dark. Then I looked around.

  There were no animals there. It was basically two large stacks of hay bales, from floor to ceiling. It was perfect. I went to the back of the barn, flipped my Zippo and set light to the bottom-most bale. Then I ran.

  It was thirty yards from the barn to the back of the house. I covered the distance at a crouching sprint and took up my position, lying on my belly directly opposite Nelson and Julio, and facing the big doors. Once Romero’s men were at the barn they’d have fire in front of them, me, Nelson and Julio on either side, and Pepe and Chico behind them. It would be a death trap.

  Pretty soon there was thick smoke billowing out of the wooden structure, stretching out like a long, black sausage toward the river. Then there were a couple of ‘whoof!’ sounds, big flames erupted from the sides and started licking up the walls toward the roof, and a drifting stream of flaming cinders trailed across the ranch, threatening to ignite anything in its path.

  Now.

  There were shouts from the house. Like the barn, they ignited, and next thing it was panic, running feet and voices screaming for water. One thing they would not do was call the fire department or the cops, not with a coke and meth factory on the premises. This would be a hoses and buckets job. With a delivery due in a few days, Romero had to be freaking. It took them all of five minutes to get organized. Pepe and Chico were as good as their word and held their fire.

  Then they arrived, ten of them, forming a human chain, hurling ineffectual buckets of water at what had become an inferno, screaming ineffectual instructions about how to stop it spreading. The roar of the flames almost drowned out the staccato spit of the assault rifles as they opened up, and the first two guys stumbled and fell.

  Then Nelson, Julio and I opened up too. It was a steady rain of fire, and they didn’t stand a chance. They were unarmed, unprepared and, above all, unsuspecting. In the infernal, wavering orange glow of the towering flames, their shadows, cast long and black, danced and jerked as they were struck on three sides by hot, flying led. Whichever way they ran there was no shelter, no refuge, no way out. No hope. We cut them down without mercy. It was all over within fifteen or twenty seconds.

  I didn’t wait. I was on my feet and running, changing the magazine. I skirted the house on the western side and headed for the front door, where Red and I had pulled up just a day earlier.

  I took cover behind a poplar and saw Pepe and Chico approaching at a crouch on the far side. They were grinning and gave me the thumbs-up. Behind them, I saw Nelson and Julio. I signaled Nelson and Pepe to join me and they ran over.

  I spoke as they hunkered down. “I didn’t see Emilio out there. So I am figuring he’s inside. He’s smart, so he’s taken up a position up in the gallery, covering the entrance.”

  Pepe nodded. “OK, boss, makes sense.”

  “I want you and the boys to take up a position by the door. Draw their fire. Keep them pinned down.” I pointed at the terrace above the entrance. “I’m going up there and I’m going to hit them in the flank. My guess is there are four of them at most.”

  They looked doubtfully at the terrace. I said, “Go!” They called Chico and Julio and the four of them ran toward the tall French doors. I sprinted across the garden, jumped, grabbed the ivy and hauled myself up onto the terrace. I lay a moment listening, and watching the sparks trail across space like an incandescent, drifting galaxy. The only sound was the roar of the flames.

  Then there was the stutter of automatic fire. I got up and made for the plate glass doors. There was only blackness on the other side. I pulled my Sig, screwed on the silencer, and put a round through the glass. Then I reached in and released the lock.

  I was in a large, overly ornate drawing room in a vulgar, pseudo-rococo style. It was still and dark, and somehow the stammering sound of gunfire outside the door made it seem quiet on the inside. There were two doors, one on either side of the fireplace. I made a 3D mental map of the building and figured that, if they were covering the entrance, as they obviously were, the door on the right would give me a direct line of fire on their flank. And from what I remembered of the gallery, they would be no more than forty feet away. I dropped my rucksack on a fake Louis XV sofa and pulled out the Smith & Wesson 500 cannon. It is an obscene revolver that uses a seven hundred grain bullet that will bust through body armor and shatter concrete.

  In moments of high stress and danger, people react instantly to sudden violent movements. But what is not widely understood is that calm, deliberate movements in moments of high stress and danger can be very confusing. Your brain just doesn’t process them. It’s a fact I have used many times to my advantage.

  Fifteen

  I opened the door and saw them. They had pulled out furniture, piled it along the rails of the gallery, and were shooting over the top of it at Pepe and his pals down below. I hadn’t wrenched the door open and stormed out. I just opened it calmly and took aim while they stared at me in astonishment. There were five of them, including Emilio.

  The first round tore through the nearest guy’s chest, blasting blood and gore all over his friends and tearing out the belly of the guy behind him, before smashing into the barricade of furniture and sending splinters showering into the air. Emilio and his two compadres cowered away from the noise and violence of the Smith & Wesson. I lined up the second shot, sparing Emilio till last, and took off the other two guys’ heads like a couple of exploding watermelons.

  Emilio dropped onto his knees. I took three steps toward him. “Who’s left, Emilio?”

  “Nobody. Is just me. Why? You? The merchandise was good. I making more. What happen?”

  “It’s a long story.” I raised my voice. “Cease fire! Cease fire!” The shooting stopped. I shouted again. “We’re clear! Upstairs!”

  There was the tramp of feet across the indoor patio followed by the stomp of boots on the stairs. I pulled out my pack of Pueblos, lit one and handed it to Emilio as the boys arrived. He took it with trembling hands and sucked on it. “Who are you?”

  I nodded, like I thought it was a good question. “I’m a double-edged blade, Emilio. One side is the judge, and the other is the executioner. You have any girls here right now?”

  He nodded. “ Three. In the
nearest barn.”

  I turned to Pepe. “Take Chico. Let them out and bring them to the front of the house. Stay with them.” He nodded and went to leave. I stopped him. “Pepe?” He turned. “If you hurt them I will cut your arms off. I’m serious. Treat them with respect.”

  He gaped a bit, then nodded. “OK.”

  That left me, Nelson, Julio, and Emilio. I turned back to Emilio. “You got money on the premises?” He sighed. I said, “Think carefully about your answer, Emilio. I like you. You want to keep me well disposed toward you.”

  “Yeah, in the safe. The money you brought yesterday, plus a hundred grand in US dollars.” He shrugged. “Three hundred and sixty-five grand. Maybe a bit more.”

  I jerked my head. “Let’s go.”

  He led the way along the gallery to the corner room. It was a comfortable, Castilian style study with a big, oak desk, a huge sofa and tall bookcases. I saw several books on wine. Through the window, I could see the crazy glow of the fire raging out back. The safe was unconcealed, standing in the corner. He got down and opened it, pulled the money out and stacked it on the desk. I looked at Julio and pointed back along the gallery.

  “I left my rucksack in the room at the end. It’s on the sofa. Go get it for me.”

  He walked out of the office. I gave him fifteen seconds to get there. I had three rounds left in the Smith & Wesson. I blew Emilio’s heart out of the back of his ribcage all over the window. It made the glow of the fire turn red and black across the glass. Nelson was gaping in surprise when I blew his head off his shoulders.

  Buddhists say that your dying thought conditions how you are reborn. I guess Nelson will come back as an astonished baby. I shouted loud and urgent out of the door.

  “Julio! Get back here! Now!”

  I heard him lumbering down the gallery and as he came through the door I cut him in half with the last round. The two bits of him lay in an ocean of blood, twitching. It was odd that the twitches in his hands were in sync with the twitches in his legs, even though they were no longer connected. He also had a ‘what the hell’ look on his face. I’d done my bit towards creating a generation of wonder.