Wrath of the Gods (A James Acton Thriller, #18) (James Acton Thrillers)

by J. Robert Kennedy

  I hope everybody stayed away.

  Though if they did, the attack wouldn’t take long, which would mean El Jefe’s men could be back at any time. He closed his eyes, picturing Esperanza. The window was tight. Too tight. And El Jefe’s home was a fortress with high walls and a heavy gate to keep them out. It could take them a long time just to get over the walls, by which time El Jefe’s men could have returned.

  No matter what, I have to get inside and rescue Esperanza.

  To hell with the rest of them. He’d use them as a distraction. If they’d let him. He glanced sideways at the others.

  There’s no way they’re letting you out of their sight.

  The vehicle slowed, the compound just ahead. A pickup truck pulled up parallel to the gate and two men stood in the rear, rocket launchers on their shoulders. Two RPGs streaked toward the gate, the explosion ripping through the night, the aftermath felt by everyone. It was breathtaking. Another truck with what appeared to be a cowcatcher welded to the front, surged forward, shoving through the remains of the gate, leaving an opening for the rest of the vehicles.

  He smiled slightly, impressed at how quickly Galano’s men had gained entry. It meant hope for his Esperanza. But as the gunfire erupted, he realized the likelihood of her being killed in the crossfire was immense.

  He leaned forward and Sanchez, Galano’s number two man, turned to look at him. “Remember, if my wife dies, Galano doesn’t get his tracker.”

  Sanchez laughed. “Who cares? If we kill El Jefe, we don’t need it.”

  Santana’s heart sank as he slumped back into his seat, the others laughing around him.

  I’m sorry, Esperanza.

  76

  Quintana Roo Cartel Compound

  Tepich, Mexico

  Javier Diaz watched with a sinking heart as El Jefe’s finger squeezed the trigger, the muzzle still pressed against his payday’s forehead. An explosion rocked the house, shouts from the front followed by gunfire, causing everyone in the room to jump.

  El Jefe lowered the weapon, turning toward Diaz. “What the hell was that?”

  Diaz rushed to the window and peered outside. The gate was a smoldering wreck, and half a dozen vehicles were now inside the compound, spread out, scores of men pouring out of them, lead belching from their weapons. “Somebody’s hitting the place!”

  “Shit! Federales?”

  Diaz shook his head, the vehicles and clothing not government. “No. Probably Galano’s men.”

  “That sonofabitch! Call back our men. Now!” El Jefe strode toward the door as Diaz held out his hand, one of the men tossing him a phone.

  “What about the hostages?”

  “Kill them!”

  Diaz followed El Jefe out of the office as he dialed, kicking himself for asking the question. If he had just kept his mouth shut, El Jefe might have forgotten about them and had time to rethink his decision. He glanced at Rayas and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “You heard him. Kill them.”

  Rayas drew his weapon and stepped back into the office. There was a cry then three shots rang out.

  There goes three million bucks.

  James Acton rushed to the door, peering out to see if they were about to have company. Leaving him with his hands bound by zip ties had been a mistake, a quick smack on the knees had broken them and allowed him to easily disarm the portly man sent to kill them. Three shots to his chest, with a one-second pause between each to suggest three different targets, would hopefully buy them enough time.

  He grabbed a letter opener off the desk and freed the other’s hands, then they all worked at the knots to the rope looping them together at the waist. “We need to get the hell out of here.”

  Reading agreed. “No argument here.”

  Acton checked their would-be killer for ammo, finding a single magazine. “We’ll get more weapons as we go.” Footfalls echoed in the hallway. He eyed the door then looked about. “We can’t leave him here.” He pointed at a side door. “Check it out.”

  Morales stepped over and carefully opened the door. “Empty.”

  “Help me.”

  Reading grabbed an arm and they pulled the body through the side door, the only light the flash of gunfire and explosions from the front.

  Somebody whimpered.

  Acton dropped the body, spinning toward the sound as he reached for the weapon stuffed in his belt. Morales found a light switch and flicked it on, revealing a terrified woman bound and gagged in the corner.

  Acton lowered his weapon and rushed over. He removed the gag and worked on the ropes. “Are you okay?” he asked in Spanish.

  The woman nodded, though her eyes suggested she wasn’t sure. “Y-yes.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Esperanza Santana. I’m a prisoner like you, I guess.”

  Acton cut through the rope binding her hands. “Why are they holding you?”

  “I’m the wife of a police officer. I think they want my husband to come.” Her eyes widened slightly, looking toward the window. “Is that him? Maybe the police are here!”

  Morales peered out the window and shook his head. “No, civilian vehicles and no uniforms. Looks like another gang.”

  She frowned. “Probably Galano’s men.” She spat on the floor as Acton freed her legs and helped her to her feet.

  “Can you walk?”

  She took several tentative steps. “Yes.”

  “Do you know how to get out of here?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’ve never been here before.”

  Several bullets tore through the window Morales was standing by, burying themselves into the opposite wall.

  “We’ve gotta get out of here,” said Reading.

  Acton agreed, stepping toward the door leading to El Jefe’s office. “Let’s get to the rear of the building. Maybe we can find a way out there.” He held out his hand for Esperanza. She hesitated. “Trust me. You don’t want to be here when this is over, no matter who wins. Not as a cop’s wife.”

  She trembled then rushed toward him, grabbing his hand. “Thank you.”

  77

  South Side of Quintana Roo Cartel Compound

  Tepich, Mexico

  Laura sprinted through the trees at a crouch, praying she didn’t get struck by a stray bullet, far too many of the defenders’ rounds fired blindly. Defenders who appeared to be losing. These weren’t police hitting the compound, which meant it wasn’t help from Kane—unless he was working with local criminals now. And criminals with this much firepower were definitely into dealing drugs, and despite the CIAs ignominious history, she couldn’t see Kane working with them. No, this was something else. Perhaps the same people who hit the drug lab were now hitting El Jefe’s compound. It made sense. This was an all-out war between two drug gangs.

  And her husband and friends were caught in the crossfire.

  She had to figure out a way inside before it was too late. The gang attacking the compound was likely there to kill everyone. They wouldn’t care about hostages, in fact, they wouldn’t even know there were hostages. They’d simply enter the room where they were held, and spray them with bullets.

  And should they manage to survive the assault, these new arrivals might take them as hostages of their own, and with no vehicle, she’d have no way of following them. Her beloved would be lost to her forever.

  And she couldn’t let that happen.

  78

  North Side of Quintana Roo Cartel Compound

  Tepich, Mexico

  Command Sergeant Major Dawson watched the fight unfold, the defenders clearly outnumbered, though because of their defensive positions, they were holding the line, the attackers not making it out of the front courtyard. A lot were dying, which suited him just fine. If every drug dealer dropped dead tomorrow, the world would be a better place. If they dropped dead right now, it would make his life much simpler.

  Unfortunately, that wasn’t likely to happen. Though waiting was an option, the longer they did, the more chance there was
of Acton and the others being killed in the crossfire, or simply executed to eliminate a headache El Jefe didn’t have time to deal with right now.

  “Zero-One, Control. We’ve got targets exiting the rear of the main building. Looks like four.”

  Dawson peered through the goggles, spotting the targets. “Are they our people?”

  “Standby, we don’t have the angle.”

  Niner’s voice came over the comm, he and Atlas positioned nearby with a sniper rifle. “This is One-One, I’ve got no joy here. There’s a row of trees in the way, over.”

  Dawson leaned out the window of their SUV, hoping the extra few inches might let him get a clearer look at the faces, but it was no use, the same trees blocking Niner’s view fulfilling their task—privacy from prying eyes.

  A frustrated Niner squawked in his ear. “They’re getting in a vehicle. I’ve got a shot, but I don’t know who they are, over.”

  “Hold your fire, One-One.” He glanced at Spock, shaking his head, the operator’s frustration clear. “We’ve gotta know now, Control.”

  “Stand by.”

  Dawson put the vehicle in gear.

  “Negative, Zero-One. They’re not our targets. Facial recognition shows it is El Jefe and three unsubs, probably just his people.”

  “Copy that, Control.” Dawson watched as the much smaller rear gate opened.

  While we’re here…

  “Permission to take them out.”

  “Negative, Zero-One. Not the objective. Leave them to the Mexicans.”

  The SUV’s tires spun, a cloud of dust forming as the truck sped toward the gate. As it cleared, muzzle flashes from half a dozen weapons sliced through the night, whoever was attacking having the forethought to pre-position men to cover the rear. The SUV skidded to a halt as the six men advanced, continuing to pour lead on the armored vehicle. The front windshield finally gave, and within moments, the guns stopped.

  “Umm, Langley, I don’t think we’ll be worrying about El Jefe anymore.”

  “Copy that, Zero-One. No tears shed here.”

  79

  Quintana Roo Cartel Compound

  Tepich, Mexico

  Officer Hector Santana ducked behind a massive fountain that occupied the center of the courtyard, choosing his shots carefully, knowing he’d never be able to live with himself if it were his own stray bullet that killed his beloved Esperanza. The battle was at a near standstill, and if it weren’t won soon, he had no doubt those sent to hit the police station would return shortly, cutting off their escape.

  He had to act now and get Esperanza before that happened. But how? He searched for an opening, any opening, yet found none. The defenders had the front of the house covered.

  Or did they?

  He watched where the muzzle flashes were coming from, and they all were from the roof over the main entrance, or the windows clustered around it. The house was long and narrow, with the front an impressive inverted V shape. Almost all of the defenders were clustered around the main entrance at the tip of the V, leaving the outer edges exposed. From what he could see, there were no defenders there at all. If he could just reach the side of the house, he might escape their field of fire.

  Though he was just as likely to get killed in the process.

  James Acton peered through the doorway leading to the outside, the smoking remains of an SUV visible through the open gate. And six armed men, slowly entering. “Can’t go that way.”

  Reading cursed. “Bloody hell. We can’t go out the front, can’t go out the back.”

  Morales pointed down a long hallway to their left. “Sides?”

  Acton stared down the vacant hall. “I don’t see that we have much choice.” He took point as they rushed down the hallway, the entire outer wall made of glass, the only thing not making them painfully visible was the fact the lights were out, either the power intentionally cut by someone, or the lines taken out in the gunfight.

  Two armed men stepped out in front of him and Acton raised his weapon as they lowered their jaws. Double taps took them both out, Acton not slowing his stride an iota. “Let’s move. Somebody probably heard that.”

  Laura made her way back down the side of the compound, the rear entrance a no go, another smaller yet still significant gun battle occurring there as well. She eyed the wall, easily ten feet tall with razor wire across the top.

  How the hell am I getting over that?

  She searched about for an option, any option, her eyes settling on an idling box van, stopped at an angle, its owner perhaps fleeing the gunfire, the road it was on winding around the compound, there no options but to pass the front or rear entrance. She didn’t blame the driver. She probably would have done the same.

  She jumped in and put it in gear, hammering on the gas as she raced down the side of the compound, then slammed on the brakes before she became visible to those at the front entrance. She turned around then took a quick breath.

  This is colossally daft.

  She floored it, gripping the steering wheel tight, her AK-47 resting on her lap, her Beretta tucked into her belt.

  And prayed.

  James Acton opened the door, the security panel chirping in protest, obviously on backup battery power. “Well, someone knows we’re here.” He peered outside, finding no one in sight, the compound much darker than when they had arrived. “Okay, the wall’s about thirty feet from here, and it looks like we’re clear.”

  Reading poked his head out. “How the hell are we getting over that?”

  Acton looked back at the wall. Reading was right. They might be able to boost each other to the top if it weren’t for the fact there was razor wire running along it, and if he knew his drug lords, probably shards of jagged glass embedded in the concrete. “We need to find something to climb it with. A rope, a ladder, anything.” Acton spotted a shed near the rear corner. “That looks like some sort of gardener’s shed. There might be a ladder in there. You guys stay here, I’ll go get it.”

  Reading grabbed him by the shoulder. “No, I’ll go. I’m the cop.”

  Acton smiled. “Yeah, and I’m a decade younger.” He nodded toward the gun Reading had taken off one of the men Acton had just killed. “You watch them. I’ll be back.”

  Reading wasn’t happy, but nodded then grabbed him by the arm. “Don’t you go getting yourself killed just so you can join Laura.”

  Acton stared him in the eyes as he struggled to maintain control at the mention of his late wife’s name. “I’ll be back.”

  Officer Santana sprinted toward a large planter to his left, blasting at the nearest enemy position, providing his own cover fire, his shout of “cover me” apparently falling on deaf ears. He dove, rolling behind the slab of formed concrete as the interlocking brick drive was torn up behind him. He uprighted himself then rushed toward the half height wall of the terrace that ran along the front of the house, leaping over the edge and hitting the tile hard.

  I’m getting too old for this.

  He didn’t care what happened today, though if he survived, he was retiring. Mexico was going to hell, all so the gringos could have their drugs. There was just too much money in it, and the country was still too poor, despite the influx of jobs over the past two decades. Cops like him were paid poorly, which made bribes simply too tempting. Americans couldn’t understand how things were down here. If their police were paid the same as a burger flipper at McDonald’s, and shot at every day, would they be surprised when their police took bribes to help stop the bullets coming their way and supplement their meager salary?

  Yet that was how it was here. If a cop stood up to the gangs, they were killed. If a cop didn’t, and instead kept his eyes shut to what was happening, he might survive, though would still live a pretty poor existence on his government salary. But on the take? It meant safety, women, booze, drugs, and any other vice one might have. It meant a better life than any cop could ever hope to have. He had always been able to resist, though too often he had looked the other way.
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  And tonight that was over. No matter what happened, the two biggest gangs in town were here, killing each other, and the Federales were already staging nearby. They’d catch wind of this, he was certain, and would be here soon to clean up this mess. All he cared about now was his wife.

  God, please, just keep my Esperanza safe.

  Laura cranked the wheel to the right, shoving the gas pedal to the floor as she braced herself. The impact with the compound wall was jarring. Her head shot forward and slammed into the steering wheel, there no airbags in this beast. She was dazed for a moment, a loud blinding sound ringing through her head as she regained focus.

  She opened her eyes and smiled, a large hole in the wall. She pushed the door but it was blocked, the truck straddling what was left of the wall, the doors wedged shut.

  Shit.

  The windshield was a shattered mess of safety glass. She smacked at it with the butt of her AK-47 and it splintered away, finally falling free. She climbed out onto the hood and dropped to the ground, crouching as she scanned the area. A massive gun battle was happening to her right at the front gate, just out of sight. The rear was now nearly silent, only sporadic fire. No one was in sight, but there was no way her handiwork hadn’t been heard by somebody.

  She caught her breath as a dark figure emerged from a shed to her left, carrying something.

  Is that a ladder?

  Something moved ahead of her, a figure in an open doorway. She held her fire, not wanting to give away her position and not clear on who she’d be shooting at. She spotted the outline of a gun gripped in the shadow’s hand, and raised her weapon.

  But hesitated.

  Without changing her aim, she glanced to her left at the man frozen in place, now certain it was a ladder gripped in his hand.