Nathan suddenly felt very exposed hiding behind the vehicle. He’d witnessed the effects of armor-piercing ammunition firsthand and had no intention of taking any chances with his family.
“Quick. Follow me!” He took Owen’s hand and pulled his family across the road into a shallow ditch next to the highway, hearing a torrent of bullets tear into their SUV—some snapping directly over their heads.
“Stay down!”
A few moments later, after the inbound tracers stopped flying over them, he risked a look over the side of the ditch. A maelstrom of return gunfire from both the Mexican soldiers at the roadblock and California Liberation Movement, or CLM, operatives hiding behind their own vehicles pounded the off-road convoy, bringing it to a stop a few hundred yards from the vehicle Nathan had just abandoned. Before Nathan could raise his rifle to join the fight, one of the soldiers fired a rocket at the halted convoy, exploding the pickup truck and flipping it backward onto the sedan. Two figures scrambling away from the flaming wreckage were instantly cut down by gunfire. The greater battle for Estación Coahuila raged in the distance.
Their driver, crouching next to the SUV, turned toward the ditch and motioned for them. “Get everyone back in the vehicle! We’re turning around! The soldiers expect more trouble from the town.”
Nathan brought his family back to the SUV, shocked to see that several bullets had penetrated the vehicle, exiting where he had moments ago crouched with his family. Turning around made no sense. Mexico was a free-fire zone, at least near the border. He wanted nothing more than to get his family out into the middle of the Sea of Cortez, away from this insanity.
“Can’t we go off-road to the east and bypass the roadblock?”
“It’s impossible with the irrigation canals,” the driver said. “West is our only option, and that’s not looking good.”
“Where the hell are we going?”
“Anywhere but here,” he said. “They’re talking to Jose right now.”
Once Nathan’s family settled into the vehicle, their driver executed a three-point turn and passed the SUV that had been behind them, settling into the northbound lane. Moments later, the lead SUV raced past on their left, and they picked up speed until all of the SUVs were in a column speeding back the way they came.
“What did Jose say?” said Nathan.
“We try again tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? Jose sounded pretty sure he wanted to get us out tonight.”
“He thinks it’s too risky to proceed. We’re heading back,” said the driver.
“To the hacienda?”
“Somewhere more secure.”
He couldn’t imagine what could be safer than a house in the middle of nowhere—surrounded by land mines.
CHAPTER 2
A powerful gust of wind shook the SUV, pelting its bullet-resistant windows and heavy armored frame with pebbles and light debris. Mason Flagg clenched his fist. The damn Russian was insufferable. Of all the places Petrov could have chosen for the meet-up, he’d picked the middle of the Salton Sea—a dried-up, toxic lake bed in the middle of nowhere, east of the Anza-Borrego Desert. The perfect place for an unobserved meeting, if you didn’t mind walking away with a lungful of arsenic and selenium dust.
As the wind squall died, the view returned, leaving him with the same featureless expanse of wasteland he’d observed a few minutes earlier. To his immediate right, roughly twenty-five yards away, the SUV carrying his security team waited for orders. He’d equipped the team with the latest shoulder-launched surface-to-air missile system, capable of acquiring and destroying any helicopters and drones that closed to within seven miles. They also carried the same variant of Javelin missiles used in the previous night’s ambush, giving them a three-mile buffer against a ground attack. Not that anything could sneak up on them in the middle of this dried-up seabed. The windshield’s muted green heads-up display gave no indication that any vehicles, traveling by ground or air, had entered the area.
“Thirty-five minutes late,” said Flagg. “And still no sign of that arrogant ass.”
“He’ll show,” Leeds said from driver’s seat. “It’s in his best interest to be here.”
Flagg grunted. The trick would be convincing Petrov that it was more than just in his best interest. Flagg needed to sell this as critical to the survival of AgraTex—the Russian’s agricultural empire. Falling short of that, Flagg would likely land on Cerberus’s black-flagged list, his lifespan suddenly measured in hours. Nick Leeds faced a similar fate if Petrov rejected their proposal. The fact that Leeds hadn’t gone behind his back to report the ambush’s failure amounted to a tacit collaboration.
He leaned the side of his head against the cool passenger window and peered skyward, wondering if Petrov’s answer would arrive in the form of a Cerberus-delivered guided missile.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Leeds said. “We’d already be dead if he wasn’t interested.”
“Don’t make any assumptions when dealing with the Russian.”
The HUD displayed an alert: CONTACTS DETECTED. EIGHT MILES. Three tightly spaced green icons appeared in the center of the windshield, staying together for several seconds before rising a few degrees above the horizon. CONTACTS CLASSIFIED AERIAL.
“Helicopters,” said Leeds. “I don’t like this.”
“Neither do I,” said Flagg before ordering the security team to lock on to the helicopters with the SAM launchers.
Cerberus operatives spilled out of the adjacent vehicle, racing to open the rear cargo door and retrieve the compact missile systems. He briefly considered ordering Leeds to turn the SUV around and flee east. The frequent gusts of wind might conceal them long enough to reach the crumbling boat ramps at Salton City. But what would be the point? Leeds was right. If Petrov had told the One Nation cabal about this meeting, Flagg and Leeds would never have made it out of San Diego County alive. Their fates would be decided here. They’d either drive out of the desert with a temporary lease on life, or they’d water the cracked, toxic lake bed with their blood.
The security team vanished in a crunching explosion that rocked Flagg’s vehicle. Metal fragments smacked the armored exterior, cracking his side window in place and keeping him hunched over in his seat until pieces of the obliterated SUV stopped raining down on the roof.
“I can’t see the security vehicle,” said Flagg, trying to catch a glimpse through the shattered window.
Leeds turned his head and peered through the rear passenger window.
“It’s gone. Shall I take evasive maneuvers?”
“Like you said earlier. If he wanted us dead, we’d be dead.”
Flagg’s satphone beeped, the SUV’s HUD displaying UNKNOWN NUMBER. He muttered a few obscenities before instructing the vehicle’s smart system to answer the call.
“That wasn’t necessary,” said Flagg.
A few moments passed before a thick Russian accent filled the cabin. “I get a little nervous when I see surface-to-air missile launchers.”
How the hell could he know that? He couldn’t, from seven miles out. The real question was: How did the missile arrive undetected? It hadn’t come from the helicopters.
“Check behind you, Mason.”
Flagg twisted in his seat, scanning the dusty terrain visible through the lift-gate window, while Leeds checked the rearview mirror. A tan vehicle materialized several hundred yards directly behind the SUV, veering left to reveal a second vehicle, which moments later fanned right to form a rapidly approaching column. Impressive. Adaptive camouflage technology applied to entire vehicles. He’d seen a few in-house demonstrations at the leading high-tech defense technology companies, but had never seen it used in a real setting.
He checked the windshield HUD, finding no warning about the vehicles. The system remained fixed on the helicopters, one of which was moments away from a right-to-left, low-level pass. Petrov had either jammed Flagg’s system, or his vehicles employed an equally impressive stealth technology. Possibly both.
“I have to give you credit. That’s a neat trick,” said Flagg.
“An expensive trick,” said Petrov. “Well out of your price range.”
One of the helicopters thundered overhead, rattling the SUV and kicking up a dust storm. Flagg couldn’t tell what kind of helicopter, or more importantly, what kind of armament it carried. Not that it mattered anymore.
“Your idea of a private meeting is a little different than mine,” said Flagg.
“I think you’ve confused the concept of private with secret . . . or perhaps not. Step out of your vehicle and approach the center SUV. Alone.”
He didn’t like the idea of broadcasting his identity to Petrov’s security team. If Petrov didn’t sell him out immediately after the meeting, what would stop one of his mercenaries from cashing in on the information?
“Don’t worry yourself,” said Petrov. “We can talk both privately and secretly in my SUV. I trust the people I hire implicitly. They understand the consequences of betrayal.”
“Be there shortly,” said Flagg. He disconnected the call and shook his head.
“This should be interesting,” said Leeds.
Flagg reached for the door handle. “I don’t know if you’ll get any warning if things go south.”
“They won’t. Petrov won’t burn the chance to take advantage of our contacts in Mexico.”
“Cerberus’s contacts.”
“Easy to spin,” said Leeds. “And you own those contacts.”
Flagg grinned. “I own every Cerberus asset in the Southwest.”
“Exactly. See you in a few minutes.”
Outside, the deep buzz of Petrov’s helicopters dominated the lake bed, their dark shapes circling in the distance. The nearby SUV had been turned into a charred heap of twisted metal. Thick black smoke rose skyward from the mess, quickly diffusing in the strengthening wind.
Flagg glanced over his shoulder at the eastern horizon. Another wall of caustic dust approached, drawing strength from the dry Santa Ana winds that had swept across Southern California most of the year now. He took off for the line of SUVs fifty yards to the west, hoping to beat the approaching wind gust. The helicopters ascended rapidly, the pilots no doubt just as eager to elude the rolling cloud. Fine sand and helicopter engine parts didn’t mix well.
Petrov met him on the passenger side of the middle vehicle, ushering him through the rear door as a wave of debris-filled sand washed over the SUV. The wind slammed the door shut seconds after Flagg pulled his legs into the foot well, blasting a swirl of foul, chemical-smelling dust across the pair of leather captain’s chairs.
“Hot diggity damn it!” whooped Petrov from his chair. “Yippee-ki-yay and all that American Wild West shit. Right?”
Flagg brushed the rust-colored sand off his light khaki tactical pants, examining the two shadowy men seated in the front seats. Close-cropped hair, thick necks. Private security types.
“This isn’t exactly the best place for a meeting, especially after the stunt you pulled with my security detail. We’re less than seventy miles away from last night’s convoy ambush point.”
“The area has been quiet for most of the day,” said Petrov.
“It doesn’t take long for a flight of Marine F-35s to arrive from Yuma. God knows you’ve attracted enough attention.”
“You didn’t have to show up.”
Flagg stared through the curtain of sand beyond his heavily tinted passenger window, seeing little aside from an occasional dark speck hurtling past. “We both face an uncertain future.”
Petrov laughed heartily, slapping Flagg’s thigh and causing his fists to clench. The Russian was truly intolerable. “That is very dramatic talk,” Petrov said. “Such intensity! Maybe though we cut BS, huh? What do you want from me?”
Flagg twisted in his seat to face the Russian. He looked anemic, the fluorescent glow of the vehicle’s interior lights playing the worst possible trick on his pale Muscovite skin. Despite all his boisterousness, the man’s bitter mask of a face regarded Flagg with the same skeptical look he cast on everything around him, regardless of the circumstances. Even while laughing, he looked both disgusted and mildly displeased.
“It is imperative that we enter into a temporary strategic partnership,” said Flagg. “To survive the upcoming days.”
Petrov’s face remained impassively rigid. “You know where to find Fisher and the others?”
The question caught Flagg off guard. Did Petrov know they’d eluded him? How could he? Maybe he was fishing. While his mind whirred, Flagg tried to mirror the other man’s flat affect, but Petrov’s faint grin indicated he’d failed.
“Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me—for as long as I remain convinced that you can deliver Fisher’s whereabouts. I assume you have extensive contacts south of the border?”
“How did you—what exactly do you know about Fisher?” said Flagg.
Petrov drew out a folder he’d kept hidden beneath his legs and held it between the captain’s chairs. Flagg took the file and flipped open the cover, noting the red top-secret seal. He didn’t need to thumb past the Bureau of Reclamation cover page to know what he held.
“I didn’t know he was still alive until my reconnaissance assets confirmed that you had indeed showed up without a small army to take me out,” Petrov said. “If you hadn’t arranged this meeting to assassinate me—why else drag me into the open and insist I keep it secret from the rest of the group? No other scenario made sense. The only thing you could possibly need from me is a little off-the-books help solving a problem. Or in this case, a lot of help.
“As for this file? I did a little digging when Fisher’s name first appeared in your memos a few days ago. I do a lot of my own digging these days. Looks like my concerns were well founded. Fisher possesses more than enough knowledge about the Colorado River’s dam system to threaten my company’s share of the Upper Basin’s water, if his knowledge fell into the wrong hands—which I assume it has.”
Flagg nodded, allowing a faint smile. “You appear to have a very good handle on the circumstances,” he said. “And to answer your original question, yes, I have the contacts necessary to find Fisher.”
“And these contacts won’t raise alarms with your corporate dog handlers?”
“Doubtful, since I have direct access to the contacts at my level.”
Petrov stared at him with his unchanging face, which yet somehow conveyed a range of feelings. Or did this blank slate simply reflect the observer’s state of mind? In any event, to Flagg right now, the Russian looked doubtful.
“In the highly unlikely event that word got back to Cerberus,” Flagg said, “I can explain my sudden interest in Mexico as an expansion of intelligence-gathering efforts against CLM.”
“You have proof that Fisher is in Mexico?”
“One of my surveillance drones remained on-station long enough after the ambush to make that determination. My guess is they made their way to Mexicali or San Luis Rio Colorado, the two largest cities in the area.”
Flagg neglected to mention the mysterious platoon of paratroopers that took part in the rescue. He figured this would raise too many alarms with the Russian, who appeared far more perceptive than he’d initially assumed.
“That’s cartel land,” said Petrov, raising an eyebrow slightly in a rare expression of curiosity.
“Exactly,” he said. “Nothing goes unnoticed by the cartels. I expect actionable intelligence within forty-eight hours. Possibly sooner. How quickly can you deliver assets to the area?”
“Why don’t you use the cartels to kill Fisher and company?” said Petrov. “Why involve me?”
“There’s only one cartel—the Sinaloa—but they’re fractured west of the Colorado River. Factions controlling the Baja Peninsula, directly below California, make very little money compared to the syndicates operating south of the wide-open borders of the Wasteland states. If the CLM pays them rent to hide in Baja California, which is very possible, they’d be unlike
ly to give up the income source without a fight.”
“Offer them more money! Enough to cover the rent for years to come,” said Petrov. “I’d be glad to make a donation to that cause.”
“Money is a slippery slope with the cartels, and quality is always an issue. I’d prefer to use professionals, guided by our network of trusted contacts.”
“I know a team based out of Mexico City that would be perfect for the job,” said Petrov. “Former SVR and GRU Spetsnaz types. Not cheap either, in case you think I’m cutting edges.”
“Corners,” said Flagg.
“Corners?”
“It’s nothing. This group sounds more than adequate for the job. Move them into Mexicali as discreetly as possible, while I work on finding Fisher. I’ll send a few trusted operatives down to join your group on the raid, to recover any intelligence, if this turns out to be a CLM safe house.”
Petrov extended a hand. “It’s good to be in business with you! I feel much safer with you on my side. And just to be clear. We are on the same side now. Locked at the hip, as you Americans say.”
“Joined,” said Flagg, taking his hand.
“That’s right. We’ve joined the same team. And our fate will be the same. Don’t forget that.”
“How could I?” said Flagg.
They shook hands vigorously for a few moments before Petrov nodded toward the front seat of the SUV. The bulky shape on the passenger side muscled the front door open, filling the cabin with sediment and dust.
“He should wait until the winds die down,” said Flagg, shielding his eyes from the sand. “Another minute or so.”
“Sorry, but I need to get moving. We’ve been out in the open for long enough,” said Petrov as the bodyguard wrenched open Flagg’s door.
“Another minute won’t make a difference. Not in this,” said Flagg.
“Time to go, Mason.”
A hand-size piece of dried wood hit the front of the door frame and ricocheted inside the SUV, barely missing his head.
“You’re fucking crazy, Alexei!”
Rogue State (Fractured State Series Book 2) Page 2
