Los Zetas Cartel Collection (3 book series)

by AJ Adams

  “Where were you last Friday?”

  “Well, let me see.” I frowned impressively. “I think I got up at seven, no, it was nine.” You know, it proved a lot more difficult than I thought. "I walked to work, but I didn't meet anyone. Oh wait! I think Mrs Davidson might have spotted me."

  An hour later, I was exhausted and the plods weren’t fazed because they were taking it in turns. Also, they were on home turf.

  “Tell me again,” Razor-cut said, “when did you meet Ramas?”

  “I didn’t say I’d met him at all!”

  “He was in your kitchen that night.”

  “Was he? I thought it was another night.”

  So round and round we went, for hours. By three o’clock the lack of sleep and stress were getting to me. I was seeing spots from exhaustion. Also, the stuffiness of the room and the bright lights were beginning to get to me. I felt a sick headache coming on.

  “Lawyer or I walk.” I stood up. “I mean it.”

  Bacon-breath stood up and went outside. He was back five minutes later. “Bang her up.”

  “On what charge?”

  “We’ll figure that out later.”

  I knew Smith was behind it, probably listening and watching through the two-way mirror from the room next door.

  “I’ll bleeding well sue. Tell Smith I’ll have his balls for this.”

  At that point I could have slept on a rail, and despite the barracking, all I was thinking was that a quiet cell would do me nicely. But the buggers had a woman strip-search me, which was unpleasant enough, and then they put me in with a druggy and a drunk. While one screamed away imaginary monsters, the other threw up on my feet. Rest I did not.

  They kept the lights bright, and it was only when they came to let the drunk out that I realised it must be the next day. Bacon-breath and Razor-cut yelled at me for another eight hours, and when I said nothing again, I got pushed into another interrogation room.

  Smith was sitting at the desk, looking sleek and smug. “Hello, Frosty. Not looking so good now, are you?”

  Chapter Thirteen: Quique

  I collected all the survey papers I could get my hands on and went to Oxford. Once I got there, I found my way to the university, to Professor Flint, expert in tunnelling and settlement damage as well as soil-structure interaction.

  He was a big man, bear-like, with a booming voice. “Mr Ramas, I handle consultation through the university. The faculty has procedures—”

  He piped down as soon as I put the envelope with cash on his desk. “I’m not fond of paperwork.”

  The cash vanished. “I have always said rules were made to be broken. What can I do for you?”

  I handed him the property surveys, complete and incomplete. “I want to buy some properties on the Thames. Based on what you see here, how likely is it they’ve got structural problems?”

  Flint stared at me. “Well, I can’t say unless I investigate.”

  “Don’t talk bullshit. This is a piece of land with a river running next to it. If you know there’s flooding here, in this sector, you should be able to calculate how far it will flood, when, and what damage it causes over time. We know what stone is used for the buildings, how old they are, and when they were repaired. We know how several properties around them have fared. You should be able to plug in the numbers and calculate what kind of state they’re in.”

  Flint expanded, his teaching skills aroused into setting the idiot (me) straight. “In theory, yes, but in practice there are many variables—”

  I stood up. “That’s a shame. Give me that envelope back, and I’ll go talk to Professor Bunsen at Cambridge.”

  “Hetty Bunsen? That woman wouldn’t recognise a digital level if it fell on her foot!” Flint drew himself up. “I’ll be damned, sir, if I let you be taken in by her!”

  I recognised the look and sympathised. “A bruja huh? So I guess that means we can do business?”

  “Well, it’s most unusual—” He bitched and moaned a bit and then showed me a computer programme that would do just what was wanted. “But it’s not guaranteed accurate.”

  “Get to it and do the best you can,” I told him. “How long will it take?”

  “About two days.”

  “I’ll wait.”

  I booked a room at the Macdonald Randolph, a five-star hotel, called to get an update on Jorge, all positive news, and went for a walk. When I got it all straight in my head, I called the boss. Like before, he was at the jefe’s.

  “Quique! How’s the bruja? Did you charm her?”

  “Yes, boss. She’s signing tomorrow, and she asked us to hold her licence, too.”

  “Oh man! That must have been some lunch!”

  The jefe came into view. “Congratulations, although I’ll miss the bruja. She sounds awesome! How’s Jorge?”

  “Weak but getting better. Jefe, I’m in Oxford.”

  I told him my thinking and waited. I thought I had it right, but if I didn’t, this would crush any possible promotions in the future.

  The jefe was thinking aloud. “So it’s like a puzzle. You have some of the pieces, and this professor and his computer will fill in the blanks.”

  “Yes, jefe. Once we have a good idea of what we’re dealing with, I go in with offers. We do it all at once, gazumping anyone else who’s sniffing around.”

  “If the professor is wrong, how much do we lose?”

  “About twenty million.” My bowels clenched just talking about it.

  “And if he’s right?”

  “I reckon we save between five and eight million, depending on how well I negotiate.”

  The jefe was talking quietly to the boss. I waited, my heart trying to pound its way out of my throat. I wasn’t trained for this kind of business. Just thinking of what I was about to do was making me sweat.

  I left school when I was ten, and it was only when I joined up that I hit the books and taught myself to read and write properly. I wanted to be a Kaibil, you see, and they only take the bravest and the best. I had no issues jumping out of a chopper half a mile above a river and making my way across the jungle with just a penknife for a month, but it was the report-writing that almost killed me.

  “Quique,” it was the boss, his silver eyes glinting with pleasure. “I love it! Imaginative, logical and unusual. Great stuff! Our only concern is the professor. We’ll double-check his rep, and we’ll get back to you tomorrow.”

  There wasn’t a word about Tina or Antonio. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. My sense told me the boss and the jefe would ignore personal and focus on business. That’s what we Zetas do. We’re all about business first. But at the same time my devil was reminding me that they loved Tina and that Antonio was their cousin, even if he was an asshole.

  Having to wait to get the go-ahead was nerve-wracking, and thinking about all the ways my plan could go wrong was worse. A call to James revealed that the Peckham Knaves were at each other’s throats. “Just like you planned,” James crowed. “They’re killing each other!”

  “Fantastic!” If I’d pressed for details, maybe we would have realised the cops had fixed their attention on the bruja. But I didn’t, and so we didn’t even get to the knowledge that the Twittertons had been killed, too.

  “Take a night off, James. Tell the others, too. Well done. You’re a terrific team.”

  And that’s how the office was empty when Sykes tried to report. I was a fucking idiot, not keeping my lines of communication open. I should’ve been shot.

  But I didn’t know, and so I walked through Oxford, looking to keep busy. I'd thought Angus the dog in the bruja's pub was unusual, but now I realised for the first time how hung up the English are on their pets.

  I saw a sheepdog in a Real Ale pub, a sausage dog in a Tudor pub and a Rottweiler in a hotel bar. All of them had their own bowl of water and the Rottweiler was eating dinner too, a steak and kidney pie. Clearly they were welcome customers. Me, I ended up eating a steak and kidney pie too. It was good, but
not in the same class as the one the bruja had made.

  Funnily enough, just as I was thinking about her, I got a call from Rovero.

  “She was picked up by the cops. She says they asked about you, but she gave them nothing.”

  “Does she need help?”

  “She says can handle it.”

  I should have spoken to her and asked why she was picked up. Like a damn fool, I assumed it was about Sooty’s death. It never occurred to me that she had gone and taken out the Twittertons. Or that she did it less than ten minutes after I topped the dealer living next door to them.

  “Okay, Rovero. Let her deal with it.”

  “Are you certain? They’re giving her a hard time.”

  “Let her handle it. She’ll tell you if she needs help.”

  “Okay, boss.”

  That was my fucking things up, and then I made another mistake. Instead of giving James a heads-up, I went out, got drunk and found myself a ho to pass the time with.

  The girl was all right, not spectacular, but when she stripped and showcased the goods, I just looked at her and got nothing. Zip. Zero. Zilch. They say it happens to every man, but it had never fucking happened to me!

  Luckily I got her from the high-end hotel bar, the one with the Rottweiler, and she wasn’t one of ours, so she didn’t know my name. God help me, but if I’d thought she might talk, I might have blown her away.

  As it was, I handed her the cash, told her I’d changed my mind and kicked her out. Thank God she didn’t say a word or even give me a look. She just took the money and went.

  So I ended up lying in bed, tossing and turning mostly but occasionally dropping off only to hear Tina screaming at me in my dreams that I was impotent and that she was going to tell the world.

  When I woke up at four in the morning I was seriously considering eating a bullet. I didn’t, because I was too proud and because I knew it wouldn’t be just me but my brothers and sister back home, too. Even so, it was touch and go for a few minutes.

  After I kicked my own ass for being a whining pussy, I got up and went for another walk, thinking about all the ways I’d fucked up from my marriage to not calling the boss and insisting he send someone to do the property deal. I felt like shit.

  Honestly, I have never felt that bad before, not ever. Not even with the Kaibiles’ final test. Right, you probably don't know about that.

  Being with the special forces of any country means you’re the best, but with us there’s a particularly cruel final assignment. They make you raise a puppy and then order you to kill it.

  It’s part of the training, everyone does it, and funnily enough that part is tougher than anything else we do. It’s okay to raze a village as the people are faceless, or at least designated enemies, but taking out a dog who’s never done anyone any harm? Well, let’s say I’ve seen the toughest sons of bitches quit at that point.

  Seeing you already know the worst about me, you should know I fucked that up that final assignment, too. I raised Hernan—that means ‘clever’—not knowing what was coming.

  On the day I got the order, I just stared at my colonel. “Kill Hernan, sir?”

  He just shrugged. “It’s like this, Ramas: you go home with the dog as our gift, or he goes, and you become one of us.”

  I knew better than to say anything. I just saluted and left, whistling to Hernan to follow me for our favourite walk.

  My gut was in knots, but I knew it had to be done. I’d sacrificed everything for this opportunity to join the Kaibiles, and my family depended on me to succeed. If I did it, I got a job, money, status, respect and all of us would be protected. If I didn’t, someone would take aim at the family farm, my sister, whatever they fancied most. That's how it is in Guatemala; it's dog-eat-dog, only worse.

  So I walked down that jungle path, watching Hernan and knowing it was him or my family would be back where we started—nowhere.

  The horror of it made me sick. I was taking out my gun, trying not to think too much, when Hernan dived into a bush. He barked once and then squealed. It took just a second to catch up with him, but by then he was gone.

  There are some nasty snakes in the Guatemalan jungles, and from his foaming mouth, Hernan had come across one.

  You know, I just sat there and wept. I know; I was a total fucking pussy. Pathetic. Anyway, after that, I cleaned away the foam, carried him back to camp, and showed him to my commander.

  “Well done, Ramas.” He didn’t look at my eyes or at Hernan, either. “Congratulations. You get your first assignment tomorrow.”

  So that’s how I got away with it.

  You know, I still find it hard to look at a dog now. When I see one, I feel guilty. Actually I still have bad dreams about it every now and again, but I don’t tell anyone. They’d think I was chicken.

  This time, walking around Oxford, I felt like I was a total failure. My mind went round and round, telling me that I didn’t really have the huevos to do what it takes. A devil in my head whispered that I had gotten into the Kaibiles by a twist of fate, and that all this time I'd been faking it. Now I was going to crash and burn. The whole world would see my life was built on a lie.

  I went through hell, and it was a fucking miracle that I didn’t shoot myself.

  The boss called at the crack of dawn. “You chose the right man. We’re not sure about the simulation, though. See what you think of his report and make the decision.”

  I thought I hadn’t heard him right. “What did you say, boss?”

  “It’s your decision, Quique. We trust you.”

  They trusted me. And if they were wrong, I might lose twenty million bucks. Twenty. Million. My head was pounding, my throat was dry, and my stomach was heaving, but I had the proper answer ready. “Thanks, boss.”

  I went straight out to see Flint and found him with a computer geek, knee-deep in data and talking Nerd. Funnily enough, the geek looked like the bruja’s nerd, all spiky hair and Dr Who tee.

  I thought for a moment that I should call her and then dismissed the idea. After all, she was signing off, so I didn’t have to bother myself about her anymore. That was another mistake. If I’d called Sykes at that point, I would have been able to… Well, enough of that. I didn’t, and the bruja suffered for it.

  Walking around town, I wondered if I should get another girl, but I was tired and not in the mood. That’s what I told myself, but I was lying. I was turning pussy, refusing to face facts.

  So I walked until I was ready to drop, drank the best part of a bottle of tequila and crashed. That’s when I missed Rovero’s call that the bruja had been picked up again. I also missed the message left at the office from Sykes, saying she hadn’t responded to his call that the papers were ready for signing. The crew missed it, too, being out and boosting trade at the clubs and casinos.

  The following morning, I was awakened by the professor. “We’ve got your results.”

  “I’ll be there in five.”

  When I got there, they were drinking coffee and celebrating.

  “Look, see these lines? That’s where the river flood line is now, and this line is where it was twenty years ago. But there are variables.”

  Flint talked for an hour and a half, at the end of which I was looking at several possibilities.

  “So you are saying this part, your conclusions for five properties, is solid, but the other three are less certain because you have less data to work with.”

  “Exactly.” Flint was excited. “You realise we’re treading on new ground here. We’re already writing a paper on our predictions, and when you go in, we’ll be able to check our results!”

  Terrific. Flint and his pet nerd were thinking it was a game, with a journal paper as a prize, and I was making a twenty million buck bet. There was no point in yelling. I had some solid intelligence, and now it was up to me. It was my nuts on the slab.

  When I got back to London it was getting late. I was exhausted, but I dropped by at the office first. That’s when I got Syke
s’ message.

  “Ms Truelove hasn’t returned either of my calls, nor has she responded to my texts.”

  I flipped my lid. “Pinche puta! She’s going back on our deal? I’ll boil the bitch alive!”

  I roared over to the Black Horse, only to find the place full and no sign of the zorra.

  Dwayne looked up and smiled, but he looked tense. Busy, too. He was working the place alone. The bruja’s ex was there, drunk as always, and the stuffed shirt and the hacker, too. The black lab Angus was in his usual place, as well.

  In other words, everyone was present and correct except for the treacherous bitch who should have been at the centre of her web.

  Rovero was sitting in a corner, a soda in front of him, looking morose as always. “She got picked up again,” he informed me. “She’s been in lockup since yesterday morning.”

  “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”

  “She didn’t ask for help.” Rovero was taken aback. “You said she could handle it.”

  He was right. “I did. You’re quite right. She’ll be okay,” idiot that I was, “but I wanted her to sign some papers.”

  “Sorry, boss. Want me to find out if we can spring her?”

  “No, I know where she is. I’ll make a call.”

  At that point Dwayne disappeared into the back, and then he was coming straight over. I knew instantly something was wrong.

  “Nats is in trouble. She won’t let me call a doctor. Will you come?”

  She was sitting in the kitchen, looking like death warmed over. Her face was so pale and stretched that the bones stood out like knives. Her clothes were torn, she reeked of sweat and her arms were bruising rapidly. She had her wrists in a bowl of ice water. The water was turning pink.

  Her eyes, palest grey, burned with rage and exhaustion. She spotted me and instantly snarled at Dwayne, “What the fuck did you call him for?”

  I ignored it. The bruja was hurting and only temper was keeping her going. It was a situation I’d found myself in plenty of times. I turned to Rovero. “Get the car and bring it round the back.”