One Rough Man pl-1

by Brad Taylor

  Before his death could register, a cyclone of violence erupted around her, the head of man after man exploding as if touched by the hand of God. The local standing behind her grabbed her around the neck and jerked her to her feet, shielding his body with hers. He placed a knife against her throat and whirled her around toward the door. Her eyes focused on a man advancing toward them holding a rifle pointed directly at her.

  40

  I placed the crosshairs on the head of the man holding Jennifer. He was about thirty-five feet away, far enough that I didn’t trust the zero of my weapon to make the surgical shot required to kill him without risking Jennifer.

  When I had initially entered I had seen Jennifer on her knees with nothing on but bra and panties, five men surrounding her, one facing her with his pants down. I had come very close to leaving the zone I had been in since starting the assault, my rage exploding from the depths of my soul. No, no. Not helping. I suppressed it and set about killing the men as rapidly as possible, with all of the emotion of someone mowing the lawn. All were focused on Jennifer. None had a gun within arm’s reach. They stood no chance. I killed the first four as easily as shooting a Bianchi Cup at an IPSC match, squeezing the trigger in an easy rhythm as the men scattered like roaches caught by a light.

  Before I could complete the string, the fifth man had managed to put Jennifer in front of himself, using a knife to control her. He was shouting something in Spanish. Unfortunately for him, I didn’t have a clue what he was saying.

  I moved forward at a fast walk, closing the distance to her, my weapon raised and ready. The man became shrill, shouting the same thing over and over, his eyes getting wide, attempting to drag Jennifer backward. When I was five feet away, I aimed for the eye orbit and pulled the trigger, knowing that when the bullet tore a channel through his brain it would sever the medulla oblongata, reducing his body to a useless sack of flesh and removing the risk of the knife reflexively jerking and hurting Jennifer. Blood and brain matter sprayed out, coating the right side of Jennifer’s face in a fine mist. She sank to the floor, staring vacantly at nothing. The violence she had just witnessed, in addition to the trauma of her kidnapping, had caused her to shut down. I just prayed that I had gotten to her in time to prevent any assault.

  I left her sitting down and searched the bodies on the floor until I found the keys to the handcuffs on her wrists. After unlocking her, I shook her shoulders, constantly talking to her. Eventually, she looked at me with recognition.

  “We have to get out of here. Can you walk?”

  She nodded in a vacant way. I realized that I had to get her some clothes and shoes. We still had to get to the jeep, and Jennifer would be ripped to shreds moving through the jungle at night nearly naked.

  I helped her up, continuing to talk in a calm, deliberate manner. “We’re still in danger. I’m going to have to continue clearing rooms as we leave. We’ll find you some clothes as soon as possible. Stay behind me, but I want you to stay in the last room we’re in, only coming in when you hear me call. Can you do that?”

  She nodded again, this time with more focus. I smiled at her, encouraging her to engage me.

  “I’m going to lead the way. When we get to a door, I’m going to be aiming at it to prevent any surprises. I can’t turn around to find you. I want you to keep your hands on my assault harness. When you’re ready for me to proceed, squeeze my shoulder. Can you do that?”

  She spoke for the first time. “Yes. Just get me the fuck out of here. Please, please, get me out of here.”

  I smiled again, lying through my teeth. “Don’t worry, the hard part’s over. You have nothing to worry about now. Let’s get going.”

  I moved back to the open door, scanning the courtyard between the mansion and the warehouse facility. To the left I saw the guesthouse. Maybe it would contain some clothing.

  “When we leave here, I’m going to focus my attention to our right, on the main house. I need you to focus to the left. If you see anything at all, jerk my harness and I’ll reorient. I can’t see three hundred and sixty degrees simultaneously, so you’ll be the only thing keeping us from getting smoked from the left. Can you do that?”

  When she nodded, I said, “We’re going to run to that house over there. Do you see the door in the front? I’m going to stop on the left side of that door. Are you ready?” She nodded again. “Okay. Let’s go.”

  I exited the warehouse and sprinted forward, my weapon moving wherever my eyes went, training on every window and door I could see as I ran by them. I fully expected to spot a muzzle flash at any second. What the hell am I doing? Continuing an assault with my 2IC dressed in a bra and panties. I’ve lost my mind. We reached the building without getting shot at, which was a damn miracle. At the door, I waited until I felt Jennifer squeeze my shoulder, then turned the knob and entered.

  41

  Jennifer jumped when she heard gunfire erupt in the bungalow. She pressed herself up against the wall, her mind racing. The room had gone quiet, and she realized she didn’t know what to do if Pike never called. He could be dead. Maybe there’s a bad guy about to come out. No way are they getting their hands on me again. She was on the verge of racing across the courtyard when Pike called her in, telling her not to look at the floor. Relief flooded through her. She entered, seeing a man dressed in black sprawled on the floor in the foyer, his arms splayed out as if he was about to be crucified. She saw Pike crouching next to a door up ahead, his weapon at the ready. She wasted no time running up behind him and giving his shoulder a squeeze. She watched him splinter the door open with a kick, then disappear. She heard no gunfire. After a pause, she heard him say, “Someone’s living in this room, and I don’t think it was the guy I killed in the foyer. Check out the closet and luggage and see if you can find something to wear.”

  Jennifer entered and went straight to the closet. She began going through the luggage, finding men’s clothing. She pulled out a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of sweatpants. Digging deeper, she found a Quran, heavily worn and thumbed through, but didn’t find any shoes. She moved to a box in the corner of the room, finding some kind of gas mask and a Genie garage door opener, just like the one she’d grown up with. She held them up, saying, “Pike, what do you think these are for?”

  Pike turned from the door and said, “I don’t know. Did you find some clothes?”

  “I found a top and bottom, but no shoes.” She dropped the gear back into the box, moving to the other piece of luggage. Digging through it, she didn’t see any shoes. Nearing the bottom, inside a pocket on the side, she found two passports. She flashed quickly to her uncle, but both had pictures of the same stranger.

  “Pike, what’s going on here? Two passports for the same guy. One’s from Saudi Arabia and the other’s from the U.S. for some guy named Carlos. The picture’s the same in both. What do you suppose these are for?”

  Pike blew out the air in his cheeks. “I really don’t know, and our time’s running out. Please keep looking.”

  Jennifer dropped the passports and moved into the bathroom. Here she discovered a pair of ratty leather sandals, four sizes too big for her. She tried them on and found they would just about stay on her feet.

  “Okay, I found something, but I’d probably be better off wrapping my feet in newspaper.”

  “Good enough. It’s time to go. After you dress, we’re going out the same way I came in, through the woods down to the Jeep. We’ll be moving fast. If you have any trouble keeping up, say something. Otherwise, I’ll assume you’re good to go. Any questions?”

  Jennifer paused, then said, “Yeah, actually, I do. Why don’t we steal one of their vehicles right here instead of running through the jungle? They’ve got a bunch of Suburbans in the warehouse where you found me.”

  “That sounds like a plan. Do you know exactly where they are?”

  “Yeah. Head back to the place where you found me, but go into the door on the end of the warehouse. I saw the vehicles when they dragged me through there.
”

  “Okay. Get dressed. When you’re ready, we’ll go.”

  I covered the outside of the room, waiting on her to put on the clothes. I was running contingencies through my mind when it dawned on me that I hadn’t done a single thing to find her uncle, the only reason we’d come down here in the first place.

  “Jennifer — I’ve been in just about every room on this compound looking for you. I didn’t see any indication of your uncle.”

  I felt sure the uncle was dead and didn’t want to spend a single second hunting for him. I looked her in the eyes, knowing if she wanted to search, I’d do it. Please, don’t ask. We need to leave.

  Her answer surprised me. “He’s dead. That fat bastard who runs this place told me so. If we get out of here alive, I’m going to do everything in my power to cause him a slow death.”

  On her face I saw a little of the rage I keep hidden inside me. “I killed him, but it was quick. After seeing what they were doing to you, I wish I had taken my time.”

  She looked up from putting on the sweatpants, a weak smile on her face. “Don’t beat yourself up. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought you were waiting outside for the perfect moment. You came in the nick of time. They didn’t do anything to me.”

  I couldn’t believe the relief that washed over me. I felt a valve release. “I’m sorry about your uncle. I wish I could have done something to help him.”

  “It’s done,” she said, finishing dressing. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  Following her instructions, we had no trouble finding the vehicle bay. Two Suburbans, each with the keys in the ignition. Seconds later we were out of the compound, heading down to the highway. A quarter mile after leaving we saw a single set of headlights approaching. Since we were still on the compound road, it had to be someone related to Miguel. I tensed up, telling Jennifer to hold on tight. My entire assault on the compound had lasted a little over an hour, which, with driving time, meant that Machete’s men had only attended two of the meet times at the Plaza Mayor. With any luck, they had another hour before the men grew tired. Whoever this was probably had no intention of trying to stop us. We passed the vehicle at a high rate of speed, the headlights masking whoever was behind the wheel.

  42

  Abu Bakr watched the vehicle recede in his rearview mirror, wondering why it was going so fast. He passed through the inner gate, seeing it open, something that had never happened in the week that they had been there. He parked at the end of the drive and went to the front door. Entering, he advanced cautiously into Miguel’s study. First he saw Miguel apparently asleep in his chair, then a body on the floor, hands outstretched toward a weapon against the wall.

  Bakr paused, catching the familiar slaughterhouse smell of bodily fluids slowly crusting. Somebody had hit Miguel’s enterprise, but how on earth had they gotten past Jake and all the rest of the security? He approached Miguel, stopping short five feet away. The back of his head was a raw crater, the wall splattered with bone and brain matter, reminding him of the martyrs he had seen die in Fallujah.

  It looked like Sayyidd was going to get what he wanted after all. Now that Miguel was dead, their original mission was destroyed. The long-term infiltration into the U.S. had depended on his smuggling network. No doubt, someone would rise up and take charge of the massive organization, but it would be years before the infighting was done and someone was crowned king. No matter what Bakr had thought of the idea initially, getting to the temple and finding the weapon appeared to be the best course of action now.

  Bakr raced from the room to his bungalow, seeing it had been ransacked, with their belongings thrown about haphazardly. He went straight to the box designed to test Miguel’s network and grabbed the GPS systems, test tubes, and the respirators, leaving the rest of the equipment. He then packed their clothes as fast as he could. He found everything but his favorite sandals. He looked under the bed and in the bathroom but couldn’t find them. Why would someone want those? They were old, worn out, and nasty, but had great sentimental value, as he had worn them on the hajj. He had no answer but had wasted enough time looking for them.

  He grabbed the luggage, returned to the car, and raced out of the compound, heading back to the restaurant. Right after making the turn onto the main highway, he passed a caravan of Suburbans led by Jake. There was one answer: Jake hadn’t been on the compound. When he found out what had happened, Guatemala City was going to turn into a bloodbath.

  Abu Bakr returned to the restaurant, relaying to Sayyidd everything he had seen. Sayyidd was fascinated by the story, seeing it as another example of Allah’s will. “Now we’re the only ones looking for the temple. Everyone else is dead. If that isn’t a sign of God’s plan, then nothing is. We’re going to succeed.”

  Bakr wondered how Sayyidd had managed to live as long as he had when he deferred all decisions to blind faith. “That may be true, but we still need to be careful. Allah guides the righteous but turns his back on fools. We need to get rid of Miguel’s vehicle and get out of Guatemala City. We need to plan our next move, not simply run into the jungle half prepared.”

  With that, he stood up, throwing some money on the table to pay for dinner. Sayyidd followed him outside. They unloaded the Suburban and took a cab to the main bus station in Zona 1. Sayyidd moved to a corner and loaded the GPS data from the thumb drive into the Garmin.

  Moving back outside to allow the GPS to see the sky, Bakr waited for it to lock on to the satellite signals. It eventually beeped and showed them their current location.

  Bakr went to the waypoint manager and looked at the waypoints now stored in the GPS. They numbered fifteen, without any special labels. He frowned. This gave them the general location, but without knowing which waypoint was the location of the temple, they would be thrashing around the jungle for months.

  “This isn’t going to work. We don’t have the time or experience to go treasure hunting.”

  Sayyidd took the GPS. “Let me look at something.”

  Sayyidd went to the main menu and pulled up “tracks,” a setting on the Garmin that left a bread-crumb trail wherever the GPS went. The latest track stored went generally straight, weaving here and there, passing through all of the waypoints. When it hit waypoint fifteen, it began a looping journey, moving north, then back south, continuing back crazily through the jungle before ending at the start point of the expedition.

  Sayyidd smiled. “The boy Eduardo didn’t put a waypoint at the temple, but the professor ran the GPS with the track feature on. It shows everywhere they went. It looks like waypoint fifteen was the last camp where the boys took the GPS. All we need to do is mark another one at the farthest location, where the track loops back onto itself.”

  Within seconds he did exactly this, labeling it sixteen. “Now, we simply need to move to this location.”

  Sayyidd smiled broadly at his partner.

  “We can be there in a day or less.”

  43

  We’d been driving for close to an hour before Jennifer asked where we were going.

  “We’re headed to Belize. I’m going to a place called Puerto Barrios on the eastern edge of Guatemala. From there, we’ll take a ferry to a town called Punta Gorda.”

  “What’re we going to do there? Maybe we should just fly out from here.”

  “Maybe, but I’ve been to Belize a few times, so I know it better than this place. I don’t want to be in this country when the word gets out about what I did. I’m sure a lot of people lost their livelihood tonight.”

  Jennifer leaned over and placed her hand on my arm.

  “Hey, I never thanked you for saving my life. I’m sorry that I caused this mess, but I’m glad you were here.” She smiled.

  I felt an enormous wash of shame at what I had planned earlier. What was I going to say to that? Yeah, I’m a great guy. By the way, I was within a split second of leaving you to get gang-raped so I could save my own ass. I shook her hand off and told her the truth.

 
“Look, I’d like to say I came to help you because I’m a nice guy, but I’m not. You were rescued by the memory of a dead woman. I’m not a hero. I thought I was one once, but that stupid fairy tale was killed nine months ago.”

  We sat in silence for a moment. An incredibly uncomfortable silence. I wished I hadn’t opened my mouth. Just take the thank-you and let it go.

  “You can’t expect me to sit here with that answer. What do you mean? Why’d you come back for me?”

  I sighed, debating whether to continue. I decided to get it all out. “Nine months ago I was in a special unit in the military. I had been deployed at war since 9/11. My wife had borne the brunt of the deployments. While I was off doing exactly what I wanted, she had to stay home and pay the bills and raise our daughter. She asked me to quit, to not go on my next deployment, but I pulled on her patriotic heartstrings, giving her a pack of lies about how I was needed to save America. She let me go. A month into it, my wife and child were beaten to death by some sorry son of a bitch looking to rob a house.”

  I stopped, lost in thought, unsure of why I was talking about this. Jennifer said nothing. Eventually, I continued, feeling a little catharsis.

  “Because I wanted to keep doing a bunch of bullshit stuff in the name of the United States, my wife and child were killed. If I’d stayed home they’d be alive. And nobody was making me go. The unit was voluntary. Because of my selfishness, I killed my family. That’s the only reason I came for you. I was reminded of my wife, nothing more. I’m not a good guy.”