“Get me the fuck out of here,” hissed Chukov.
Leeds leaned around the corner with the MP-20, sighted in on the Russian’s head, and fired a single bullet through his right temple. Scanning the rest of the bodies sprawled on the deck, he identified a few more that looked like they could be revived with proper medical care. Three headshots later, Leeds was certain there wasn’t a hospital in North America that could save any of them. He didn’t want any of the mercenaries surfacing to demand payment. Flagg could put Petrov’s money to much better use in the cartel’s hands.
Automatic gunfire rattled in the distance, reminding him that their welcome in cartel territory had probably expired.
CHAPTER 46
“Roadblock ahead!” said Bravo, striking the shattered-in-place windshield in front of him with the stock of his rifle.
The safety glass on the windshield’s passenger side crumbled from the sharp blows, covering the dashboard with hundreds of milky-blue particles. He repeatedly hit the glass in front of the driver with the rifle until he’d cleared most of Jackson’s view.
From the backseat, Nathan stared through the open windshield at the wall of vehicles blocking the intersection that led to the Interstate 19 northbound on-ramp. Behind them, the yellow pickup truck and a sizable swarm of cars and trucks had closed more distance. Bullets started to ping off the SUV’s metal frame, causing Nathan to flinch. They were absolutely screwed.
“Point all guns forward, through the windshield,” said Bravo, leveling the barrel of his rifle at the rapidly approaching roadblock.
“We can’t shoot a hole through them,” said Nathan, leaning forward and pressing his rifle against Bravo’s headrest.
“We don’t have to. On my mark, concentrate your fire on the two rightmost vehicles,” said Bravo. “Keira, I need your gun, too!”
His wife scooted toward the middle of the backseat, above Owen, and rested the MP-20 against the right side of the driver’s seat. Keira looked deadly focused on the task at hand, never glancing away from her gun sight. Jackson, the driver, managed to wrangle his rifle into position to the left of the steering wheel, moments before David’s SUV raced from behind them into place along their left side.
“Fire!” said Bravo.
Spent bullet casings ricocheted everywhere inside the SUV as the four suppressed weapons sent a maelstrom of armor-piercing bullets toward the right side of the roadblock. The effects of the barrage on the two vehicles were immediate. Windows shattered, tires flattened, bullet holes punctured the doors, and the gunmen standing behind the cars disappeared. The fusillade ended after several seconds of frenzied shooting, the barrels of their weapons smoking.
“Hold on!” yelled Bravo.
With the cartel’s rightmost vehicles disabled, the SUV suddenly veered off Mariposa Boulevard into a sandy field, where it drove at full speed around the blockade. David’s vehicle mimicked the turn, staying between the Fishers’ SUV and the convoy the entire time. Instead of turning back onto the road, the drivers continued through the low grass and scattered brush, heading directly for the middle of the I-19 on-ramp.
“Reload and cover your sectors!” said Bravo.
Nathan replaced the spent magazine, then turned to help Keira.
“I got it,” she said, releasing the bolt catch and charging the submachine gun.
“You watch left and forward. I have the back and right,” he said.
“I know my sectors,” she said, nestling into position against the door.
Nathan glanced down at Owen, who lay on his back crammed between their backpacks in the foot well. “You all right down there?”
His son gave him a thumbs-up.
“We’re almost on the highway, buddy. Smooth sailing from there.”
“Big bump coming up!” said Bravo.
Seconds later, the SUV hit the on-ramp’s raised shoulder and they were briefly airborne before slamming down onto the ramp. Then they were accelerating smoothly toward the northbound lanes of Interstate 19, the wind pouring through the missing windshield.
Nathan looked behind them and saw David’s SUV locked into a blocking position three car lengths behind. Back on Mariposa Boulevard, the cartel roadblock started to move, leaving behind three of the six vehicles that had been spanning the road. The yellow pickup swerved into the field, barely missing one of the sedans from the roadblock. By the time the SUVs merged onto the empty interstate, he’d counted more than a dozen vehicles in pursuit.
“How far away is our backup?” said Nathan.
“Thirty minutes,” said Bravo.
“This is going to be a long thirty minutes.”
Bravo twisted in his seat, staring past him at the dust cloud racing toward the on-ramp. He nodded grimly. “Reach in back and pull the tan duffel bag into the backseat. It should be right behind the seat. We still have a few surprises left.”
Nathan struggled to drag the heavy bag out of the cargo compartment and heave it onto the seat between him and Keira. Owen sat up in the foot well to examine the bag behind him.
“You might want to be a little more careful with that,” said Bravo.
Nathan unzipped the bag, spreading the sides wide.
“Holy shit,” he muttered.
For the first time since they’d left the motel room, Nathan was starting to believe they might make it. Bravo reached into the bag with his left hand and removed a stubby, matte-black grenade launcher.
“Whoa!” said Owen.
“Whoa is right, kid,” said Bravo. “There’s only one catch.”
Keira spoke. “Our son isn’t shooting that thing, if that’s where you’re going.”
Bravo laughed, handing the grenade launcher to Nathan. “No. Your husband gets the honor. You know how to work this, right?”
“I’ve fired the M320 on base with my dad’s battalion. This looks the same.”
“That’s because it is, except it fires a smaller grenade. Everything works the same, except you aim a little differently. The 30-millimeter grenade has a flatter trajectory. More of a point-and-shoot situation than a lob-and-pray job.”
“Sounds easy enough. You said there was a catch, though.”
“The only effective way to use it in our situation is out the back,” said Bravo.
“You mean fire it through the rear window from here?” He didn’t like the sound of that at all.
“No. No. These grenades don’t have a safe distance arming mechanism like the 40-millimeter version. One bump in the road and you’d blow the back of the vehicle out.”
Screw this. Nathan tried to hand it back to Bravo, who shook his head.
“It’ll be fine!” said Bravo. “I just need you to climb on top of the gear in back and shoot from the back window.”
Nathan looked into the packed rear compartment, trying to envision what that might look like. Every conceivable scenario left him exposed to gunfire on all three sides.
“There’s no bulletproof stuff back there!” said Nathan.
“You’ll be lying flat with your helmet facing the rear. Small target,” said Bravo. “And you can nestle into the gear.”
He examined the contents of the compartment again. Was he kidding? “Half of this is filled with gas cans! Not to mention any high explosives you dragged along.”
“None of that will explode,” said Bravo unconvincingly. “Hey, nothing is better than liquids for slowing down bullets.”
Nathan shook his head in disbelief. He couldn’t be serious.
“You better get in position,” said Bravo, gesturing at the cluster of vehicles in the distance. “I don’t think we can outrun them.”
He was serious.
CHAPTER 47
Leeds tore out of the Motel 6 parking lot, turning the tricked-out sedan right onto Mariposa Boulevard. With the roads empty and the traffic signals dead, he faced, at most, a ten-minute trip to the Nogales airport. Ten minutes too long. He cut through the service station on the corner, shaving a few seconds off the drive—any
thing to get him onto the Gulfstream jet and into the air quicker. He had no idea when the car, or its suddenly deceased owner, would be missed.
The car bounced on its hydraulic shocks and settled onto North Main Avenue, rapidly accelerating south. Leeds eased off the pedal when the speedometer read seventy miles per hour. He could barely see past the three spiderwebbed bullet holes in the windshield above the steering wheel without leaning over the center console.
“This is one sweet-ass ride,” said Olmos, reclined in the front seat. “Too bad you fucked it up.”
Olmos was no doubt referring to the brains and blood splattered across the backseat and rear window. He’d given the cartel guy a choice. Not much of a choice, but he could have walked away with his head intact and retrieved the car from the airport later in the day. Instead, he’d gunned the engine and tried to drive through.
“Keep an eye on the road for me. I can’t see shit,” said Leeds. “And I need to call Flagg.”
“You haven’t called him yet?” said Olmos. “I thought you’d gone to breakfast after you left.”
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” said Leeds, pulling out his satphone. “It’s an eight-mile walk from here to the airport, in case you’re curious.”
“Just messing with you,” mumbled Olmos, sounding less coherent than when Leeds first found him.
“Keep an eye on the road,” said Leeds, dialing Flagg’s number.
Olmos sat up, squinting drunkenly at the road ahead. “You’re clear as far as I can tell. How far to the turn?”
Leeds switched the phone to speaker and put it in a cup holder so he could focus on what little he could see of the road.
“Less than a mile,” replied Leeds. “We’re looking for Route 82.”
Flagg’s voice interrupted them.
“The fact that your phone is moving seventy-three miles per hour down a city street toward the airport, and the two of you are bickering, leads me to believe that we had a problem at the Motel 6.”
“A big problem,” said Leeds. “Chukov’s entire team is dead, along with a dozen or more Sinaloa.”
A few seconds of silence passed, drawing an uncomfortable look from Olmos. Not an easy feat, given his opioid-fogged state.
“How did the two of you survive?” said Flagg.
“Sorry to disappoint you,” said Leeds, wondering if he might be better off taking the jet to Mexico City and disappearing.
“No. I’m genuinely curious—well past the point of sarcasm here. Wasn’t Olmos with the Russians?”
“He was a few steps away from absorbing several dozen steel balls. They planted a claymore, or something very similar, in the motel office.”
“‘They’?” said Flagg. “The Fishers? David Quinn?”
“Olmos lost an arm. I’m getting him to the jet. He’ll need immediate medical attention when we get to San Diego, if that’s not too inconvenient. We’re on speakerphone, in case you’re curious.”
“I don’t care if we’re on speakerphone, Nick. Ray’s a big boy. Shit like this happens in our line of work,” said Flagg. “He’ll get the best treatment available when you land in San Diego. Until then, I’d like to get a better handle on exactly what the fuck happened in Nogales. Are we done venting?”
Leeds squeezed the steering wheel, his hands turning pale. Olmos elbowed his shoulder, drawing his attention. “I’m good,” he mouthed silently. Leeds nodded, taking a deep breath before continuing.
“I’m better now.”
“All right,” said Flagg. “Let’s start over. Who is this nebulous ‘they’ you mentioned?”
“That’s the problem. I have no fucking idea at this point. Two identical silver SUVs left the motel parking lot, blasting away at anything that moved. Maybe a total of eight occupants.”
“Matching the SUV spotted crossing the border?”
“Yes. That’s what doesn’t make any sense. El Pedro was insistent on the report description,” said Leeds. “And you should see the motel. I don’t think Chukov’s team lasted more than a few seconds. They were torn apart by a well-coordinated cross fire. Whoever did this had people hidden around the motel.”
“And they booby-trapped the office,” interrupted Olmos.
“So it was an ambush,” said Flagg.
“Had to be,” said Leeds. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Talamanco tipped them off.”
Olmos elbowed him again, whispering, “Turnoff for 82.”
Leeds nodded, slowing for the upcoming turn.
“Any way the local cartel could have been directly involved?” said Flagg.
“I think it’s unlikely,” said Leeds. “The cartel took a beating.”
“Where is El Pedro now?”
“Last I saw, he was in hot pursuit of the two SUVs.”
“Sorry to bring up an indelicate topic in front of Ray,” said Flagg, “but why aren’t you with them?”
“They left me in the dust long before I found Ray,” said Leeds. “I got lucky with this car. Had to create a roadblock with dead bodies to get one of the cartel stragglers to stop.”
“All right. I need to get on the line with El Pedro and my primary cartel contact. It sounds like the Mexicans are our only hope at this point.”
“If it’s any consolation, Petrov can take the money he saved on Chukov’s contract and contribute it to the effort.”
“Oh, he’s going to open his wallet. They all are,” said Flagg. “I’m taking a different approach with this, based on what happened in Nogales. I’m going to tell the ONC council that we received a tip from one of our cartel contacts that some gringos were smuggled over the border in Mexicali on the same night as the Marine convoy ambush. Further digging suggested the presence of a CLM covert operations group operating out of the city, moving back and forth into California through a series of tunnel systems. I’m bringing the Fishers and David back to life. Basically saying that they somehow escaped the ambush and were spirited away by CLM.”
Leeds was stunned by the idea. It made sense. Quinn and Fisher had so far demonstrated an uncanny ability to slip out of Cerberus’s grasp, and there was no reason to think it couldn’t have happened again, especially with CLM on their side.
“You could use this to justify escalating hostilities against CLM, and accelerate the timeline of our California operations,” said Leeds. “I don’t think this would be a tough sell, especially with Petrov’s tacit support.”
“I could pitch this in my sleep. How does this sound?” said Flagg. “It’s obvious that the secessionist movement has progressed far beyond a grassroots political movement. The days of organizing rallies and pressuring voters has yielded to hijacking police drones and fielding special operations teams. If we don’t take broad, decisive steps today to combat their shift in tactics, we risk losing everything. Pull out your wallets.”
“Not bad at all. Here’s a question, though,” said Leeds. “Aren’t they already paying a small fortune for Cerberus’s services?”
“Things have drastically changed over the past few days. CLM is up to something on the California border, and they just ambushed a Cerberus team in Nogales.”
“I’m not following,” said Leeds.
“I didn’t report all of our casualties from the Marine convoy attack. I had a feeling those lost bodies might come in handy to explain my sudden interest in Mexico. I’ll report that a four-man team, led by Olmos, was ambushed while investigating a lead in Nogales. Is Olmos capable of verifying that story?”
“I’m sure he won’t have a problem with that,” said Leeds.
“Good. With enough money, One Nation, through Cerberus, can order carte blanche from the menu. They can put a nationwide price on Fisher’s head. All of their heads. Lock down the CLM movement in the Wastelands and beyond. This allows us to refocus our efforts on California, where the real battle will be fought.”
“What if Fisher, or any of them, slips through the cracks?” said Leeds.
“With the cartel on the job, they’ll be dead with
in a few hours of surfacing,” said Flagg. “I don’t think a cop killer will pull at any heartstrings. Neither will a Marine deserter with ties to CLM activists. Not before they succumb to unnatural causes.”
“Sounds like a welcome shift in strategy. We’re coming up on the airport,” said Leeds. “You don’t think Petrov will have a problem with us borrowing his jet, do you?”
“I’ll call Petrov and square away the jet,” said Flagg. “And don’t get comfortable after you land. I need you at the Mojave site as soon as possible. That will be the next domino to fall.”
“That’s a big domino.”
“We need something big right now,” said Flagg, then disconnected the call.
Leeds craned his neck, looking past the hangar buildings for the white jet that would deliver them from this hellhole.
CHAPTER 48
David studied the line of cars massing a few hundred yards behind them, trying to guess the cartel’s new game. Up until a minute or so ago, they had sent one or two cars forward at full speed, trying to ram their SUV off the road. He’d been able to repel each attempt by focusing long bursts into each vehicle, until the approaching cars swerved off the road with a presumably dead driver or dropped back after absorbing casualties.
Only one of the dozen or so vehicles sent had made it far enough to hit the SUV, nearly knocking them off the road. He’d emptied a full ammunition drum into the truck when it tried for a second hit, stopping it dead in the middle of the highway. The swarm of vehicles opened to let it through their ranks, closing up as soon as they had raced past. Now he sensed a different strategy forming.
“I think they’re getting ready for a mass attack,” yelled David.
“I’m surprised they waited this long,” said Alpha. “How are you doing for ammo?”
“I used the last drum on the pickup that hit us,” said David. “I’m set for magazines.”
He’d replenished his tactical vest with spare magazines from one of the duffel bags pulled from the cargo compartment, stashing the rest throughout the backseat area. Any magazines he couldn’t stuff in a cup holder or door had been dumped onto the seat. Running out of ammunition would not be his problem. Putting it to effective use against a coordinated attack was the challenge.
Rogue State (Fractured State Series Book 2) Page 24
