It took a moment for Grados to realize what he was seeing. The two men were set up for an ambush. An ambush of whom? Realization settled on him: Federales. The government was making an assault on Hernando’s drug empire—and these men were lying in wait for them. Blood was about to be spilled on church grounds.
Grados stepped back, praying the floor would not squeak under his weight. Over the years he had grown used to hearing the noises and no longer paid them attention. Now, it was his greatest concern. Knowing the floorboards were more secure near the walls, the priest moved along the partition that separated the narthex from the nave until he reached the large, oak double doors. Each door had a small square opening covered with decorative wrought iron. Placing his face near one of the openings, Grados stared across the courtyard with its central fountain and at the four-foot high stucco wall that enclosed the space. Centered in the wall was an opening with an arch above. Congregants walked through that opening and into the courtyard every Sunday, often gathering in the courtyard after services to share gossip.
Something moved near the courtyard entrance. Something dark; almost impossible to see. Something human shaped. Grados’s eyes traced the wall. He saw another form. They were here. They were approaching. They were about to walk into the crossfire of evil men.
“Blessed Jesus!” Grados crossed himself. He was about to witness murder.
A man dressed in black slipped under the arch and moved toward the fountain, crouched like a cat ready to spring. In his mind he could see the two men in the sanctuary tightening their fingers on their respective triggers.
Grados’s hands shook so that he had trouble working the iron-door latch. He hesitated. His lungs ceased drawing air. His heart refused to beat.
Again, Grados crossed himself, then flung open the door. He forced his feet to move, to run. Pointing at the shuttered windows, he shouted at the top of his lungs: “¡Cuidado! ¡Peligro!”
Padre Grados heard something.
Something loud.
ZINSSER HAD BEEN THE first on direct approach. Moyer gave him the signal, and he rounded the wall, stepped through the gateless opening, and sprinted to the fountain in the middle of the courtyard. He had only taken a few steps when a crazy old man bolted from the front doors of the church yelling something in Spanish. Instinctively Zinsser turned his weapon on the man but stopped short of pulling the trigger. The man wore a long robe with long sleeves and what appeared to be a white rope around his waist. The priest?
Zinsser had no idea what the man was saying, but he understood. He dove for cover behind the fountain just before something chipped off a large piece of decorative tile. No one had to tell Zinsser what that something was. He lowered his head and pulled his helmet tight.
Another shot.
The man stopped his screaming.
Zinsser glanced to his side in time to see the man fall to the ground. His head bounced off the adobe skirt that circled the bottom of the fountain. Zinsser reached an arm to the man, seized the hood at the back of his robe, and pulled him behind the fountain. The priest’s open, lifeless eyes told him it had been a useless gesture.
“Data?”
“I’m fine for the moment, Boss. The priest is dead. He was pointing to the two windows facing the courtyard.”
“We got a clear angle on them.” Rich’s voice came through the monitor in Zinsser’s ear.
“Take it, Shaq.” Moyer didn’t hesitate and Zinsser was glad.
Before Zinsser could raise his head, a fusillade of noise-suppressed gunfire erupted. The wooded shutters in the window exploded into countless splinters. Zinsser pushed to his feet and charged the front doors. When he was two strides from the entrance, a large man with an AK-47 appeared. Zinsser pressed the trigger and sent a burst of bullets into the man’s chest. He fell across the threshold. Zinsser planted a foot on his back as he propelled himself through the door.
From his left came the ratta-tatta of automatic gunfire, followed by the whistle of bullets and thudding as rounds impacted the thick plaster walls. Through the opening between what Zinsser thought of as the lobby and meeting hall, he saw a skinny man with an automatic weapon.
Zinsser put three rounds into him.
“Boss, Data, two EKIA.” Two enemy killed in action.
“Other hostiles?”
“Unknown.”
Zinsser stepped into the church. Long wooden pews formed an aisle leading to the front. A handcrafted pulpit sat upon a dais. He brought his weapon to his shoulder and moved quickly down the side aisle, looking for bad guys who might be hiding.
“Boss, Data, church clear.”
“Hold your position.”
Zinsser stepped from the church and back into the foyer, stopping short of the threshold into the next room. He dropped to a knee and kept the barrel pointed into the unsearched room.
“Coming in.”
Zinsser didn’t look up at the sound of boots at the door. Moyer and J. J. appeared; each took a position on either side of the doorway. Moyer motioned to J. J., held up three fingers, and did the countdown. J. J. was through the door before the last finger retracted. Moyer followed, and Zinsser after him. What appeared to be a dining room was empty.
The three men poured into the kitchen. Moyer must have seen the hallway. He pivoted and pointed his weapon down the narrow corridor. A closed door was on the opposite wall. Moyer pointed to Zinsser and gestured at the door. J. J. stepped to the door and set his hand on the doorknob. Zinsser raised his weapon, stopping just a foot away from the door. He nodded, and J. J. turned the knob, throwing the door open. Zinsser plunged in, J. J. a half step behind.
The room was small and spare. A bed with a worn mattress was situated to the side. A small desk was on the other wall. A large crucifix hung on the wall. The priest’s bedroom. Zinsser thought of the man lying dead by the fountain.
Zinsser and J. J. retreated from the bedroom and gave the signal for all clear. Zinsser stepped behind Moyer, and J. J. stepped behind him. Zinsser squeezed his team leader’s shoulder. Moyer started forward. Two steps in, a voice came over the radio.
“Boss, Shaq. Perimeter.”
“Understood.”
“Boss, I think we may have company. I’m hearing engine noises.”
“Take cover.”
Moyer pushed through the narrow corridor to the stairs. Zinsser tensed. Stairs could be a problem. Once a soldier was on a staircase, his movement was limited to forward and back, and back in this case was uphill. The railing and wall limited lateral movement. There was nothing they could do but take the chance. Zinsser’s primary concern at that moment was not to accidentally shoot Moyer should something go south.
Thirteen steps later they were in a barely lit basement. Two people lay on rickety cots: one male, one female. Only the female was conscious. She pushed back, trying to put distance between her and the men in the black masks carrying guns.
Zinsser and the others swept the room and found no hostiles.
Moyer moved to the woman. “We’re not here to hurt you. How many men brought you here?”
She didn’t answer. Zinsser could see fear in her eyes. “Is Delaram your daughter?”
“Yes, yes! Is she safe?”
“She’s alive and being taken care of,” J. J. said. “I got to meet her. Now please answer his question. We don’t have much time.”
“Two. Two men brought us here. My husband won’t wake up.”
Another voice in the ear. “Boss, Shaq, we got company. Two vans, approaching.”
“Take positions in the church. We’re in the basement. Building is clear.”
Zinsser stepped to the woman and looked at the shackles that bound the couple to the wall. A metal plate that held one end of the shackle had been bolted to the wall and a chain welded to it. At the woman’s wrist was a hinged cuff with a padlock securing the two parts together. “Did one of the men use a key to lock your cuff?”
“Yes. He put it in his pocket.”
Moyer turne
d to J. J. “Colt, get upstairs, get that key and get Doc down here. We have to find a way to wake the man.”
J. J. was gone before Moyer could put a period on the end of the sentence.
CHAPTER 39
THE GATE CLOSED BEHIND him. He had waited until the last possible moment to sprint through the automatic gate. He had almost waited too long, and he wondered what would have happened had his wide body become trapped in the device. Would it have crushed him?
He didn’t harbor the questions for long. He had other things on his mind, and those things were waiting just a few yards ahead of him. He had toyed with several ideas about how to approach the mansion. Seeing heavily armed men race from the grounds in two vans gave him a little more confidence. Something else was going on, something that demanded the attention of the guards. Perhaps they had left the place unguarded.
He took his time walking up the drive, trying to look as if he belonged there. A backpack hung from his shoulder. He knew there were cameras watching the large property. Lawn and low-lying shrubs populated the grounds, leaving no place for an unwanted visitor to hide. If someone was manning the security camera area, then he had been seen. He should have been seen several minutes ago, but no one approached him.
The man had a new fear. Maybe the house was empty. No matter, he could wait.
He took the porch steps one at a time, as if he had walked this path a hundred times before. In a way he had. He had rehearsed this in his mind more times than he could count.
At the door he took hold of the knob and, to his surprise, turned it. He stepped into the lobby.
MOYER TURNED AT THE sound of Jose trotting down the steps. “What we got, Boss?”
“The woman is conscious, but the man is out. I’ve tried to revive him, but he seems too far under. See what you can do, Doc.”
“He’s not . . .” Jose trailed off as he looked at the woman.
“I got a pulse.”
“Here,” Jose handed a key to Moyer. “Found it on the guy in the doorway.”
Moyer took the brass colored key and unlocked the cuff on the woman’s wrist. She rubbed the raw skin beneath. He did the same for the man as Jose examined him. Jose asked the woman, “When was the last time you had water?”
“Two, maybe three days.”
Jose nodded. “He’s dehydrated. His pulse is weak and thready. I need to give him an IV.”
“We don’t have time for that, Doc. Any other ideas?”
Jose shook his head. “My field bag doesn’t carry stimulants. I’ve got stuff to dull pain; not sharpen senses.”
“So we carry him or leave him behind.”
“You can’t leave him!” the woman said.
Jose said, “I’ll be right back.” Moyer watched him race up the steps. A few moment’s later he reappeared with a deep, white plastic tray.
“What’s that?” Moyer asked.
“Ice. I need your help, Boss.” Jose handed plastic bags to Moyer. “Fill these with ice.”
Moyer did and handed the first bag to Jose, who had just finished unbuckling the man’s belt. “Give me two more.” He took the first bag and shoved it down the front of the man’s pants.
“That doesn’t look very medical, Doc.”
“My dad was a paramedic. He told me they used to do this to drug overdoses. Kept them from slipping into comas.”
“And your dad said it worked?”
“He said it did. Give me the other bag.” Jose pulled open the man’s shirt and placed the ice bag under his right arm. When Moyer handed him the third bag, he placed it under the left arm.
“That’s gotta be uncomfortable,” Moyer said.
“That’s the idea.” He reached into his med bag and removed two chemical ice packs and activated both, placing one under the man’s neck and one on his belly. A moment later he moaned and tried to push the pack off his stomach. “Bingo.”
Rich’s voice slipped from Moyer’s earpiece. “Party crashers, Boss. I count ten.”
“Understood. On my way.” He paused. “Um, Doc.”
“Just a sec, Boss.” Jose turned to the woman. “What’s your name, ma’am?”
“Everyone calls me Char. It’s easier to pronounce.”
“Come here, Char.”
She wobbled to him.
“I have to go help my pals. I want you to stay down here and try to revive your husband. Don’t be afraid to get a little rough. Once he comes to, you can remove the ice packs; just don’t let him go under again.”
“I may not be able to stop it.”
“You have to try. Clear?”
“Yes. You won’t leave us, will you?”
Jose looked at Moyer, who shook his head. “No, ma’am. We came a long way to get you and the others. When we go, you go.”
“The others are dead,” she whispered.
Moyer nodded. “We know.” He took a deep breath. “Let’s go, Doc.”
ZINSSER BIT HIS TONGUE—ON purpose. He tasted blood. Still it was better than listening to voices in his head. He stood at the window where the skinny man had fired on his team a short time ago. Rich stood at the other window.
J. J. walked into the worship center. “We sealed the front doors again. It’s not much of a lock. A couple of swift kicks and they’re in.”
“There is no way they’re getting close to the door—”
A roar of gunfire erupted, and plaster from the walls flew like shrapnel. Zinsser and the others hit the floor.
“What the—” Shaq began.
“That sounded like my old M249 SAW.” J. J. grimaced. “If it is, we’re in big trouble.”
The Squad Automatic Weapon could fire a thousand rounds a minute and, since it was fed by an ammo belt, could fire a long time without reloading.
Another barrage of bullets chewed through the wall.
“I was wrong,” J. J. said. “It sounds like two M249s.”
“Ever our ray of sunshine, aren’t you, Colt?”
“Just trying to be helpful, Shaq.”
Zinsser lifted his head to see Moyer crawling along the floor. “I can’t leave you guys alone for a minute. Junior, get a message off and report our situation.”
Pete pulled a satellite phone from the pocket on his vest.
“Where’s Doc?” Rich asked.
“He’s taken a position in the dining room. It has windows facing the courtyard, too.”
Again a volley of bullets ground away at the wall and wooden shutters. “I don’t think the mission was built for a full-on attack,” Zinsser said. “Rounds are cutting through the stucco and plaster like they’re paper.”
“Ya think?”
Zinsser ignored Shaq’s sarcasm and rolled on his back, removed the digital periscope from his vest, turned it on, and extended the gooseneck camera over the sill.
“See anything?”
“Not much. Too dark. I see the vans and some movement along the wall around the courtyard. I can’t make out details.”
“Okay, we’re about equal in number, but they have superior fire power,” Moyer said.
“Let’s hope they don’t have RPGs or worse,” Shaq said.
“Now who’s a ray of sunshine?” J. J. gave a grim smile.
The sound of muffled M-4 fire rolled through the lobby and into the sanctuary. Zinsser could hear the clink-clink-clink of spent shells landing on the wooden floor. Another round of machine gun fire hit the church. This time the gunners fired on Doc’s location.
Zinsser was on his feet, his weapon pointed out the window. If they were shooting at the other side of the church, then they must not be aiming at this side. Zinsser released burst after burst. Rich must have had the same idea. He lay down a stream of bullets. Both ducked a second. They heard a man—maybe two—screaming in the distance.
“Loading,” Zinsser said as he ejected his spent clip and inserted another.
“Junior,” Moyer ordered, “go help Doc. Keep your head down.”
Pete crawled along the floor.
&nb
sp; “Think we took out the SAW?” As Rich spoke, scores of high-impact bullets hit the wall again. “Never mind.”
“We can’t get the extraction team in with those guys out there,” Moyer said.
“Who has the flash-bangs?” Zinsser glanced at the others.
Moyer shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. They’re too far away and the sound won’t work that well outside.”
“I’m not thinking of the bang, Boss; I’m thinking of the flash.”
“They’re still too far.”
“I can hit them from the roof, and if I can’t, at least I’ll have a better angle of attack.”
Zinsser watched Moyer mull it over. “How are you going to get on the roof?”
“I’ll need a boost.”
Shaq looked at Moyer. “I’ll do it. I can probably just toss him onto the roof.”
Moyer nodded. “All right. When you’re ready, we’ll lay down cover fire.”
Shaq turned to Zinsser. “Where?”
“The priest’s bedroom had a window on the back wall.”
“Lead on, Data.”
THE MANSION SEEMED EMPTY except for a distant voice down a wide, plaster hall with a tile floor. The driver walked softly and slowly to a room with a partially open door. He could hear voices. One sounded mechanical.
“Two dead, but we have them pinned down. We have men watching the back.”
“Stay on them. I want to hear that every one of them is dead.”
Blaze of Glory Page 25
