by James Samuel
“That’s what I wanted to hear.”
“But there’s a problem.” George gesticulated as beads of sweat formed on his brow. “Governor Newton is in on this too. He thinks our little scheme is all well and good. If I went against him, he could cause a lot of problems for me.”
Phelps couldn’t help but look away from George and smile. He could barely fathom how hapless George could be. Not only had he called him out, but he’d even admitted a part of his collaboration he’d never known about before. Phelps knew he had George by the balls.
“I understand but remember he’s only a governor. You’re a senator. You have influence in Washington. He only controls his state. If you get me what I want, I’ll make sure every piece of evidence against you is destroyed and every accusation is heaped upon Governor Newton’s shoulders. When we’re through with him, they’ll throw the book at him.”
“What do you want, Harrison?”
“The party already has a contingency plan locked in. My father might not have been popular with the public, but he was a friend to everyone on the Hill. He gave most of these senators their starts in politics, and they know they owe it to his memory to support me.” Phelps turned to George. “I’m going to take my father’s old seat. I’ll run for his seat in the special election in Virginia and carry on my father’s noble work. In the meantime, I want to see Romero dead. I want everything he’s worked for to crumble around him. People like him are not welcome in these United States.”
“You’re right,” George said with the ebullience of a new convert. “Absolutely, I couldn’t agree more. Really, Harrison,” he uttered an annoying laugh, “You’ll go far thinking like that.”
Phelps stifled his irritation with the sycophant before him. His father had always wanted him to join him in Congress, but his father’s unpopularity made it too risky for him to run for election and risk a humiliating defeat. The sympathy his father’s death would create would guarantee him the seat now. The opposition might even consider it too tasteless to nominate a candidate to run against him.
“Just be ready, George,” said Phelps. “I’ll be in touch.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Pátzcuaro, Michoacán, Mexico
James and Diego stood to attention in the early morning half-light. Vargas would come soon. Diego had moved his Land Rover into the grounds and locked the front gates behind him. He’d transported an entire armoury inside the house, cramming it all into the bedroom. Martina had moved Juliana to the upper annex of the house for safety.
“We need to watch every side of the house,” said Diego. “The narcos are well-equipped, better equipped than the police. And Vargas has had time to prepare. Who knows what he’s going to throw at us?”
“Is everything loaded?”
“Yes.”
The thunderous growl of an engine cut their conversation short. They snapped their heads up. It could only be Vargas at this time in the morning. It could only be the onslaught.
“Will Vargas be leading the attack?”
“Yes. People like that always think they have big balls. It would be a humiliation if he sat in the car.”
They continued to listen to the growling engine in the distance, but this time another sound joined it. It sounded like a large mosquito. The closer it got, the more it sounded like it came from behind them.
“I’ll take this side. You go to the other. That’s a boat.”
James gritted his teeth, seized the Colt AR-15 from the bed, along with an ammo belt filled with 5.56 NATO military-grade rounds, and made for the encroaching whine. The room where Juliana watched her shows looked out onto the lake. The bay window offered no protection. He glanced about for another option and ducked into a small bathroom off to the side.
The upstairs bathroom had a large window he could open by standing on the porcelain toilet. It had been reinforced and designed for a woman who couldn’t stand up or sit down without aid. This gave him more purchase as he closed the lid and positioned himself on top.
He unbolted the window and peered out. What he saw made his stomach sink into the abyss. Three speedboats headed across the lake. Their noses aimed for the little harbour designed for pleasure boats at the back of the house.
James watched as the speedboats weaved in circles across the lake. They must be waiting for an order of some kind to go in for the kill.
He felt sick just watching the scene play out in front of him. The seconds before an operation began always made him want to melt into the floor.
“Diego!”
“Yes?” Diego shouted back.
“Three speedboats on the lake. Four men to a boat. They’re waiting for the order. What do you want me to do?”
“Are they in range?”
“Almost.”
“Okay, there’s nothing in front of the gate yet. Wait until they get in range then fire. Don’t let them get organised.”
James stared down the Sparc II red dot sight of his AR-15. The integrated 1x magnification gave him an advantage at this distance. Diego had also customized their guns to accommodate larger bullets. This gave him an effective range of around 1,500 metres, but he wanted them to get closer first. He needed his first shots to be perfect. In the sight of the red dot, he marked out the kill zone.
Still, the speedboats snaked around in the waters. The sound of their engines grew in volume with every turn. They inched closer. With every passing moment, they threatened to puncture James’ invisible line.
James did his best to steady his breathing; his throat dried in the brisk morning air. The first boat nudged into his kill zone. He knew the moment he fired he would have an almost certain chance of killing the driver.
He got the first speedboat in his sights, his eyes fixed firmly on the driver. He pressed the trigger. A blazing hot stream of bullets sliced the still air. The driver fell. As James expected, the other three struggled to grab onto the boat as they stumbled over their dead comrade.
James blasted the three of them in close proximity. The boat went fishtailing off in another direction and came to a halt. The other two boats made a beeline for the shore.
He redirected his focus to the second boat and shot the driver again. This time only one of the men fumbled to steer the boat, whereas the others fired blindly at the house.
The narcos missed hopelessly. James didn’t flinch, knowing full well one lucky shot would end his life. The third boat had already sped further and further into his range. He made a snap judgement and focused on the second boat. With some difficulty as it sped up, he managed to strike all three of the remaining men. Whether crippled or dead, he didn’t know. He didn’t care.
“They’re here!” Diego roared.
“One boat got through.”
“Stay here. Let them come to us.”
Diego started firing. Vargas would have to somehow get through the locked gate before he could proceed into the house.
James tried to angle his weapon out of the window, but the boat disappeared below him. He cursed to himself for allowing four of Vargas’ men to reach dry land. He jumped off the toilet and raced through the house. The locked doors and barred windows would slow them down for a few minutes at least.
He joined Diego in the little bedroom. Diego crouched beneath the window. He occasionally pushed his head up to see the men trying to climb the walls. A car had slammed into the gate, but the heavy metal didn’t yield.
“We’ve got them.” Diego chortled as he fired. “They can’t get enough speed up to get through.”
“Don’t be so sure.” James peeked through the window. “They’ve got something heavy.”
Diego dared to look up as the narcos fired at the house. They’d taken the liberty of opening all the upper windows on this side to confuse their enemies. The narcos continued to fire without any real precision across the face of the building, unsure as to which window their enemy attacked them from.
“Shit,” Diego exclaimed. “They’ve got a narco tank.”
“We can’t stop them getting onto the grounds,” said James. “We need to take out that vehicle or we’re done for. There could be ten or twenty people hiding in there.”
“Cover me.”
Diego ran to the bed and threw off a covering. James continued to fire on the narcos popping out from behind the gate.
His eyes widened. “What in the name of –”
“Let it through the gate. It won’t get far when I’m done with it.” Diego carried a Russian RPG-7 with a PG-7 rocket already loaded.
“Where’d you get that?”
“Same place the cartels got it. If they can use it, I don’t have to feel bad.”
James allowed Diego to take up a crouched position next to the window. He held back a little to avoid the rocket pointing through the window and alerting Vargas to their position.
The hammering on the doors downstairs and the sound of breaking glass snapped James out of his daze.
“I’m sorry I won’t get to see this.” James patted him on the shoulder.
“Wait, use the gun under the other cover.”
James rushed to the bed and pulled off the cover to reveal a Benelli M4 shotgun. Unlike the pump-action shotguns, it was semi-automatic, offering a rapid rate of fire. He put down his favoured AR-15 and donned the shotgun for the close-quarter combat to come. He heard another sound of shattering glass from the back and Spanish curses echoing through the halls. They’d broken into the house.
He sprinted out of the bedroom and towards the main landing. Standing above the bannisters, he had a clear view of the bottom steps. James calculated how quick they’d try to run and whether the Benelli would take them out in time.
Positioning his gun on the edge of the bannisters, he waited. He heard the sound of footsteps rampaging through the lower level of the house. James wiped his brow as the tension ramped up. The screaming and the shouting grew closer. James took control of his breath, keeping a steady rhythm.
A shadow appeared. The men rushed in single file up the steps. James fired a single blast. Two of them went flying backwards as the buckshot wiped them out. The third man struggled to get away and James blasted him too. He screamed and went down. The moans told him he’d survived.
James steeled himself to take on the fourth. An earth-shattering explosion made his head snap towards Diego’s room.
“Got it,” Diego shouted in triumph.
The whole battle paused for a moment. The deep breath before the plunge into renewed hostilities.
“They’re coming through the gate.”
James didn’t wait to continue this game of cat and mouse. He jumped out onto the top step and fired another round straight into the unsuspecting narco hiding behind cover.
He darted back up the steps to Diego’s room. He threw the shotgun back on the bed and reequipped his trusty AR-15. One peek through the window and he saw the troops storming through the broken gate. The mangled remains of the narco tank burned, the occupants’ corpses cooking like a barbeque.
Diego pushed him out of the way. “Next positions. There’s too many of them.”
Together, they grabbed all the guns and ammo they could as they moved to their next predetermined position. Across from the steps, adjacent to the bay window, they’d set up cover using the furniture. It wouldn’t do much to stop high-powered bullets, but it was enough to give them an advantage.
“I want you on the right side,” said James. “Let me take the left.”
Diego rushed to his position, an animalistic look in his eyes. The left side had the least amount of cover. James didn’t care. Diego had already taken one for the team in León. This time he would take the risk.
“Wait for them to file out and unload on them,” said Diego.
It only took a few seconds for Vargas and his men to storm the rooms downstairs and their compatriots lying dead.
When James saw the first narco, he engaged the AR-15 and destroyed him. Not one of them could hope to survive the high-powered bullets.
Diego cackled as he screamed at them to do their worst. High on the excitement of battle, his white teeth gleamed in the dull morning.
Vargas’ men made another charge; James and Diego responded. The bodies dropped like dominoes, some falling backwards, some falling forwards with lifeless fingers resting on their sacred ground.
“We can do this all day,” said Diego. “All day.”
James didn’t relish battle like Diego did. He kept his sight on his red dot. The next wave didn’t come. He still heard them shouting and talking. James readjusted his grip to see what they would bring next when a flaming bottle flew up the steps and onto the second level.
The glass smashed and the petrol burst into flames, sending orange tendrils skittering across the floor. James lowered his gun. There wouldn’t be a third wave. They wouldn’t try to fight them man-to-man.
“They’re trying to burn us out,” said Diego. “Quick, there’s another exit across the room. It’ll take us down into the kitchen.”
“Vargas knows that. He’ll be waiting for us there.”
“What other choice do we have?”
“What about Martina and Juliana? They’re in the annex.”
“Fuck them. I’m not dying for them.”
James shook his head. “You cover the other way up. I’ll get them.”
“What?”
He tore towards the steps leading up to the final floor of the house. These steps were steeper, and James felt his thighs working overtime as he leapt up them. The fire already started to chew its way through the wooden floors and fragile walls.
James burst in and found Martina cradling Vargas’ mother. She’d covered her face with the blanket she liked to wrap around her during the night. Martina stared stony-faced at a spot on the wall, neither crying nor keeping calm.
“We need to get out of here. They’ve set a fire.”
Martina trained her gaze on him. “How? She can barely walk.”
“I don’t care if you have to drag her by the hair. You stay here, you’ll die. This is your last chance. Now move.”
Martina stood and forced Juliana to her feet. The pitiful old woman wailed. The blanket slipped for a moment and James saw a trail of endless tears. It was obvious to him she didn’t understand what was going on.
He wouldn’t let the two women die, but he wouldn’t sacrifice himself for them either. James headed back down the steps as the young helped the old. They went at a painfully slow pace, taking each step with care.
James felt the heat on his face as bursts of gunfire went off below him. The fire had already consumed Juliana’s favourite armchair. James had to cover his face with his free hand as the temperature ramped up. He gave up and dragged Martina and the old woman down the last couple of steps. Juliana stumbled but Martina held her up.
Juliana screamed as Martina did her best to comfort her. But they kept moving as James tiptoed around the fire as it licked at the floorboards. The door Diego had disappeared down remained ajar. Another set of steps.
“Hurry up, down here,” said James.
James left them and ran to support Diego. The corridor wound around to the right before coming to a halt at another open door. He saw a gleaming white kitchen and dove into the battle.
Diego had the room covered, but he struggled to hold off the narcos coming from two corridors. James jumped in to cover his flank. The floor above their heads smoked as the whole house creaked.
“Hurry up,” said Diego. “This house is going to fall. Get out the window.”
“No, I can’t leave them. They’re coming.”
“Then you go and flank them. I’ll hold down everything here.”
Jam
es gulped. He didn’t trust Diego to go out of his way to save them. But as the doorframes splintered from the heat and the kitchen tiles shattered, James knew debating could get them all killed.
“Cover me,” said James.
Diego sprayed the remainder of his cartridge as James used the butt of the gun to smash one of the windows. He jumped to get through it even as the shards of glass dug deep into his fingers. The warm wash of blood seeped across his palm as he eased himself over and outside.
James blocked out the pain and made his way around the flank of the building, reloading another cartridge. He checked his corners and the bushes with every step. Still, the gunfire rattled through the house. Smoke poured from the upstairs windows as the flames rose and licked at the annex above.
He rushed around to the front of the house, where he came across Diego’s Land Rover, a couple of bullet holes in the bodywork. A contingent of narcos took the rear. James made a quick calculation in his head and fired. He had no trouble taking them down and completing the flanking manoeuvre.
Storming through the battered front door, he emerged into the hallway. Smoke poured down the stairs and the creaking grew ever louder. The thick crack of splintering wood told him time had almost run out.
Forgetting about the risks, he fired through the hallway as he looked to link up with Diego in the kitchen. Each life he took made him forget the pain in his hand. He only wanted to save the three humans trapped in the kitchen.
“Vargas!” James shouted through the house.
A narco appeared from the living room, only to receive a shot to the head.
The shouting died down. Most of Vargas’ men were dead. But where was Vargas himself?
The sounds of struggle emanated from the kitchen. James rushed in and found Diego and the brawny Vargas punching each other, their guns tossed aside. Diego had Vargas pressed against the wall.
He fired a shot into Vargas’ leg and Quezada’s lieutenant dropped screaming.
James motioned to Martina to take Juliana out of the house.
