“That big a reading?” he asked.
“Sir, massive, sir,” Private Foxtrot replied.
“But it was back near where we parked the bus? Near that pack of animals?”
“Yep.”
“Well, boys, we’ve found the civilian, and as far as I’m concerned, that fulfills our end of the bargain. I was planning for us to bug out back to the States once it gets light outside. But let’s face it. We’re still broke as beggars, and if there really is something down there of value, it just might be the ticket that keeps us in the militia business. It won’t be easy, but I think we can do it. That said, the mission is officially over, and you men deserve to head home for some well-deserved R&R. We’ll put it to a vote. But it needs to be unanimous.” The men looked around nervously at each other.
“I, like, vote no, dudes,” Ziggy said as Nancy squirmed in his arms, trying to bite his face.
“This is a military operation,” the General said. “Hippy votes don’t count.”
“Like, bummer, man.” Ziggy kissed Nancy.
“Anyone who wants in, say aye.” The General looked at his men.
“Aye!” said Private Foxtrot. No one else said a word. “Come on, guys,” the private pleaded. “Think of all the sweet stuff we can buy with the money. ATVs, grenade launchers, bass boats with machine guns…”
“I’m in,” said Fire Team Leader Charlie. He kicked at Private Zulu.
“Me, too,” said Zulu reluctantly.
“I’ll go,” said Fire Team Leader Alpha. “Someone has to keep an eye on Private Foxtrot.” The private gave his Team Leader a high five.
“Well,” the General said. “That means it’s up to Fire Team Bravo. What’ll it be?”
“Why not?” said Fire Team Leader Bravo. “How hard could it be?”
“Sure,” added Private Tango. “You guys need me.” The General beamed as he looked around the room at his men.
“This is going to be epic, men,” General X-Ray said proudly. “Why, if we pull this off, I’m pretty sure National Geographic will want to make a documentary about it. It’ll be bigger than when they raised the Titanic.”
“When should we head out, General?” Private Zulu asked.
“Immediately. We’ll use the cover of darkness to our advantage.”
“You sure that’s a good idea?” Fire Team Leader Alpha asked. “I mean, what if we run into those dogs again?”
“Don’t worry, Team Leader — I’m pretty sure those things don’t see well at night.”
• • •
Barquero made his way down several flights of stairs, stopping occasionally to listen for sounds. He swapped out his pistol’s magazine. One flight of stairs below him, a metal deck opened up. Fluorescent light came from below. The sound of men working came from below the platform. Barquero silently made his way down. Below him was a sprawling space filled with machinery and chemical containers. At the far end of the cavernous room, men wearing chemical suits worked to move materials from a freight elevator into the laboratory. Mixed with the slight buzzing of the light panels in the ceiling was the faint sound of the massive system venting air to the outside. Barquero used stacks of crates that were being stored on the platform to move unseen to a position overlooking the middle of the room. Peering down, he could see the Padre. He was talking to a man wearing a dark tracksuit, open at the neck. A thick metal chain hung from the neck of the stocky man. A large bodyguard stood behind him. A pistol hung from a shoulder harness the guard wore over his shirt. He wasn’t trying to conceal the weapon in any way.
“It wasn’t just the drugs that didn’t arrive,” the man with a heavy Eastern European accent said to the Padre. “I want my cars.”
“Yuri, calm down,” the Padre said. “I know you’re upset. I am, too. The incident at the harbor was only a minor inconvenience. I’ll replace the merchandise. You’re not the only one who lost something. I lost an entire container ship. They’re not easy to replace.”
“If we were in the Ukraine right now, you’d be a dead man.”
“Yuri.” The Padre’s demeanor suddenly became ice cold. “Don’t threaten me.” Two of the Padre’s men with AK-47s took a step forward and stood by the Padre. “You’ll get your product and your goddamn cars. But don’t you ever threaten me.” The Padre stared straight into the gangster’s eyes. “Ever.” Yuri looked around the facility as rest of the Padre’s men quit what they were doing and watched the two notorious drug moguls face off. “Back to work!” the Padre yelled. His men immediately complied. “Like I said, I don’t go back on a deal with a partner. And I promise you want to be a partner with me on this one.” The Padre motioned to the massive meth lab being assembled around them. “Once this is complete, I’ll make you the largest methamphetamine dealer in Europe. If you want a Lamborghini, you’ll be able to buy the company.”
“When do you start production?” Yuri rubbed his double chin.
“The lab will be complete in a few more days, but it will take several weeks to have the precursor materials delivered from overseas.”
“This site is remote, but not that remote. How will you keep it hidden?”
“I’ve had some of the best technicians in the world working on the filtration systems, and with the lab this deep underground, it can’t be spotted from the air.”
“What if someone talks? You’ve, how do you say? Put many of your eggs in a basket.”
“I’m only using my most trusted men in the facility. They are men with families. They know what I’ll do if I have to. Everything is going to be fine. Now, come with me. I want to show you how the process works.” The two men walked toward the freight elevator at the end of the production floor. Above them, Barquero crept farther down the platform.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Going in Hot
The school bus crept along the bank of a small stream as the members of STRAC-BOM used the vehicle’s headlights to illuminate the surrounding area of desert. They all were on the lookout for coyotes. Coming to a bend in the shallow riverbed, the bus slid to a halt. Inside the bus, Private Foxtrot cinched up his armor. The metal chest plate made of sheet steel, arm and leg greaves, and helmet with a pronounced crest on top had all come from the Padre’s collection. Hundreds of years old, it was now about to meet the Mexican desert again.
“I’m going in,” Private Foxtrot said as he adjusted his conquistador’s helmet. “Cover me, you bitches.” He stood at the bottom of the stairwell. Taking a piece of chewing gum out of his mouth, he stuck it on the window. “Don’t anyone touch that,” he said before clanking his way out of the bus with the metal detector. Flashlights duct-taped to the barrels of rusty shotguns and old deer rifles poked out from the windows.
“Clear right,” Fire Team Leader Charlie said.
“All good left,” added Team Leader Alpha.
“Bravo?” asked the General.
“Uh, yeah. Nothing in back,” Fire Team Leader Bravo replied. “Nothing but tumbleweeds.”
“Commence searching, Private Foxtrot,” the General ordered. Private Foxtrot began to scan back and forth over the area with his device. “It’s right around here, I think…pretty sure, anyways.”
“Hurry up, Private,” the General implored. Private Foxtrot tried his best to remember exactly where the spot was. In the dark, with flashlight beams dancing back and forth, it was difficult for him to remember. The Private stopped scanning and looked up. He thought he’d seen something move just beyond the reach of the flashlights’ range.
“What’s the matter, Private?” asked the General.
“Thought I saw something over there.”
“Anyone see anything?” the General asked his men.
“Nope,” Private Zulu responded.
“Negative! The correct reply is negative!” the General shouted as his face turned red. “How many times do I have to tell you, Private?”
“Sir, sorry, sir!” Private Zulu called out. “Negative!”
“That’s better. Now, Foxt
rot, get back to swinging that damn detector. I want to see you busier than a one-armed monkey with two peckers.”
“Yes, sir.” Private Foxtrot resumed panning back and forth with his device. Every once in a while, he thought he saw something creeping in the distance, but he didn’t dare stop his searching. For fifteen minutes, he plodded along through the desert. The bus followed close behind him. The Private stopped in his tracks and took a whiff of the night air. “Damnation,” he said as he pinched his nose.
“What the hell is it now, Private?” the General asked.
“Something awful rank-smelling out here, sir.”
“What is it?”
“Don’t know. Think it’s over there a piece.”
“Check it out.” The Private wandered in the general direction of the noxious odor.
“Holy crap,” Fire Team Leader Charlie said. “That stink could knock a buzzard off a gut wagon.” He tied a camouflage bandana over his nose and mouth.
“Found it, sir.” Private Foxtrot stood over a decomposing pile of entrails and cracked bones.
“Status report,” the General said. “I want details.”
“Think it might have been some kind of animal. Maybe a goat.” Inside the bus, Private Zulu swallowed hard.
“Team Leader Charlie?” the skinny private asked.
“Yeah.”
“You know what dead goats mean?”
“Now, don’t you go getting all riled up about those chupacabras again.”
“You seen the look in the eyes of those coyotes. They weren’t natural-looking eyes. They had the devil in them.”
“Like, he has a point, man,” Ziggy added.
“No more talking about chupacabras!” the General ordered. “Private Foxtrot, keep going.”
“Maybe I ought to switch out with someone for a spell. I’ve got a blister the size of a half dollar on my foot, and this Spanish armor ain’t helping anything.” The private adjusted the heavy helmet on his head. The helmet’s wide, downward-sloping curved brim impaired his peripheral vision.
“Negatory. Move out.”
“But it’s pretty fresh, sir.”
“Irrelevant, Private. Find me my treasure.”
Private Foxtrot reluctantly resumed his search.
• • •
Cesar briefed the men in his vehicle on what to do when they arrived at the target location.
“No more waiting around for the Padre. This time we’re going in hot. I want you to take down anyone who looks like a threat. You see someone with a gun, you have my authority to shoot first.”
“Do you have a ghillie suit I can borrow?” Avery asked. “I left all my sniper gear at home.”
“You’re not going in with us,” Cesar said. “I want you to stay in the vehicle. Keep listening for transmissions.”
“No fair.”
“That’s enough from you.”
“You wouldn’t even know where this guy was if it weren’t for me.”
“And I can still have you locked up for being in this country illegally. Get ready, men. ETA to target, one minute.”
“You guys suck.” Avery opened another Mountain Dew and went back to playing his video game. The convoy of military vehicles arrived at the scene just as two army helicopters were coming in low and fast. They stopped and hovered fifteen feet in the air as troops in black gear fast-roped to the ground. Two cartel guards by the door of the facility unloaded their weapons in the direction of the advancing troops. Using heavy machinery for cover, Cesar led his men forward.
“Sergeant! You take a squad through the main doors,” Cesar yelled over the din of the helicopters and gunfire. “I’m taking one to the loading bay.” Hunched over, Cesar ran from cover to cover, his squad of men behind him. Three cartel gunmen in the loading dock sprayed AK-47 fire in their direction. Five more of the Padre’s armed men came out of the bay to join them. Cesar pulled up behind an excavator. Sounds of heavy gunfire came from inside the building. “Ortiz, can you drive that bulldozer over there?” Cesar pointed.
“Yes, sir.” The soldier ran to the heavy machine while Cesar and his men poured automatic fire at the loading dock. Ortiz started up the bulldozer and raised the heavy hydraulic blade. Putting the machine in gear, he slowly advanced toward the cartel soldiers. Rolling across the open ground, Cesar and his men fell in behind the earthmover. A door gunner from one of the helicopters sprayed the dock with large-caliber bullets that tore apart the rear portion of the tractor-trailer backed up to the dock. Cesar pulled out a grenade and motioned for one of his men to do the same. Stepping from behind the advancing bulldozer, both men arced their grenades toward the bay. Two loud explosions sent bodies of cartel soldiers flying.
“Ortiz!” Cesar yelled. “Head straight for it!” As the lumbering vehicle approached the loading dock, two cartel members, covered in blood, threw down their assault rifles and put their hands over their heads. Cesar’s men zip-tied the captives’ hands and feet before Cesar led his men to the freight elevator.
“Take it down!” he ordered as he reloaded.
• • •
The Padre froze when he heard the sound of gunfire coming from above. He pulled a gold-plated automatic pistol from his suit and chambered a round.
“What the hell is going on?” Yuri asked. The Ukrainian’s bodyguard pulled out his pistol.
“They’re coming,” the Padre said calmly to his men. “Prepare for them.” A dozen of the Padre’s men stopped moving equipment, and pulled machine guns and assault rifles from storage cases.
“I thought you said this place was safe?”
“Shut up, Yuri.”
“Don’t tell me to shut up! This is bullshit…you said this place…” The Padre shot Yuri in the face and then turned the gun on his bodyguard. They fired at the same time. Both men fell to the floor. The Padre’s bodyguards shot Yuri’s man with everything in their magazines. His body twitched and jerked as the bullets tore his body apart. The Padre struggled to his feet. He had a bullet wound in his left shoulder. Yuri’s body lay prone on the lab’s floor. The Padre shot him in the face again.
“I said…shut up!”
• • •
Private Foxtrot clanked along in his Spanish armor as he waved the metal detector back and forth.
“Hot damn!” he yelled out as the needle on the meter jumped all the way to the right. “Found it!”
“All right, boys, time to dismount,” the General commanded. “Bring out every entrenching tool we have.”
“Like, what do you want me to do, man?” Ziggy stroked Nancy’s back.
“Grab a flashlight and watch the perimeter. And keep that damn lizard out of my way. Out of the bus, boys!”
The men of STRAC-BOM began digging in the hard desert soil.
“Dry as a dang powder house down here,” Private Tango said as he chipped away at the packed dirt. The men had been digging for over an hour.
“Like breaking rocks.” Private Zulu took a break from digging.
“Private, quit your lollygagging,” the General said. “Church ain’t over till the singing is done.”
“I’m not lollygagging, sir. I’m just resting a spell before I get tired.” He went back to digging. Privates Tango and Zulu shrieked simultaneously like little girls.
“Calm down.” Fire Team Leader Charlie looked around the bottom of the hole and poked with his shovel.
“Dead hand…dead hand,” Private Zulu mumbled as he crawled out of the hole and wiped his hands off on his uniform.
“Well, well, well.” Fire Team Leader Charlie lifted something out of the soil with his entrenching tool.
“What is it?” the General asked as he pointed a flashlight into the small pit.
“This old fellow ain’t going to be dealing southpaw from the deck anymore.” Fire Team Leader Charlie held up the skeletal remains of a left arm balanced on the blade of his shovel.
“Is the rest of him down there?” the General asked as he examined the bones.
> “I reckon so.”
“Well, get him out of there.”
“What do you want me to do with this?”
“Like, can I have it, man?” Ziggy held the squirming Nancy under one arm while he reached for the relic. “Like, my store specializes in this stuff.” Ziggy took the remains of the arm and sniffed it. Struggling to hold Nancy still, he took the skeleton arm, stretched it over his shoulder, and scratched his back with it. “People, like, pay top dollar for this stuff.”
“You’re as crazy as a soup sandwich.” Fire Team Leader Charlie went back to digging with the rest of the men.
“I’m really not, like, crazy, dude.” Ziggy examined his new treasure. “Avery just says I’m, like, mentally hilarious.”
It took a few minutes for the men to remove the rest of the skeleton. As the various pieces were excavated from the ground, Ziggy laid them out in anatomical order. “I, like, need the hip bone, man. The foot bone connected to the…leg bone. The leg bone connected to the…hip bone,” Ziggy sang as he worked at reconstructing the skeleton.
Private Tango heard a dull thunk as his shovel hit something solid. The men all looked at each other.
“We got something, General.” Fire Team Leader Bravo got down on his hands and knees, and began sweeping away dirt with his hands. “It’s wood. Looks like some kind of long crate.”
“You’re sure it ain’t a chest?” Private Zulu asked. “’Cause I never heard of a treasure crate, just a treasure chest.”
“He’s right — it’s definitely a crate,” Private Tango said as he started to dig around the sides.
“Like, you sure there isn’t a hip down there, man?” Ziggy pointed into the pit with the skeleton’s bony arm.
• • •
Avery sat in the military vehicle outside the Padre’s facility and fumed. He distinctly remembered General Morales’ comments about the value of the reward for the Padre’s capture being contingent upon the level of involvement of the individual claiming the money. They’re trying to cut me out. Rip me off on some Mexican technicality. You can’t trust anyone in this country. The fighting now seemed to be contained inside the facility. Around the grounds, only a few army soldiers remained on lookout. Avery opened the door and performed a barrel roll onto the hard ground. Springing to his feet, he took a karate stance. His eyes panned left and right and then left again, but his head didn’t move. Tiptoeing between the heavy machines, he reached down and picked up a broom. Unscrewing the handle from the brush, he attempted to break it over his knee. It didn’t work.
Trail of the Chupacabra: An Avery Bartholomew Pendleton Misadventure (The Chupacabra Trilogy - Book 2) Page 27
