ALPHA TEAM
1 NOVEMBER 2008
0547 LOCAL HOURS
As Logan crossed the open grass between the breached wall and the sliding patio doors, he looked inside the house for movement, his HK at the ready position, eyes scanning over the top of the iron sights. He preferred the sights for this type of work; there was less chance of error than with a scope.
He knew the guards would be coming soon from either the house or around the sides. He was in front of the right column, next to Commander Vargas, who had the lead for the left column. As Alpha Team quickly covered the distance to the rear entrance, Logan was amazed at the ease with which their entry had occurred.
Once 0545 had arrived, both Alpha and Bravo Teams had synchronized their final movements, covered the remaining distance from their observation posts, and planted the C-4 charges at each location.
As Logan had waited, memories of Fallujah had led to slinking doubts in his subconscious. He knew how quickly these operations could hit a proverbial wall. It was usually then that the bodies started piling up. But when Commander Vargas and Lieutenant Commander Concepción coordinated the detonations—again, without any resistance—Logan’s mind immediately refocused, his hard resolve and battle-heightened awareness crushing any lingering uncertainty.
Twenty-five feet to go . . . twenty . . . fifteen . . . His mind ticked off the distances. Then, just as he’d expected, members of the security force finally arrived to counter the assault.
Two men, similarly dressed in dark pants and black shirts, holding modified M4s, appeared in the gigantic kitchen, now full of light from the multiple candelabras hanging from the ceiling. The low-level of illumination outside must have masked the assault forces’ movement: the men didn’t spot them until Logan and Commander Vargas were less than ten feet away from the back doors.
Logan saw the man on the right squint in disbelief, but even as he tried to react, he was too slow. Logan raised the muzzle of the UMP a few inches, a move that took him less than half a second after practicing it thousands of times in the Marine Corps.
As the man raised the M4, Logan fired three rounds, the UMP set to semiautomatic mode. The first round shattered the right patio door before veering off target as a result of the impact, glass showering the kitchen floor. Even though it missed, the first round cleared the way for the second and third bullets, which struck the man squarely in the chest and stopped him in his tracks as a look of surprise and pain appeared on his face. He fell to the floor, dead from the .45-caliber slugs.
Commander Vargas dealt with the shooter on the left in a similar fashion, but instead of the glass door altering the bullet’s trajectory, his first round somehow maintained its course and struck the man in the throat. The man dropped his M4, but as he raised his hands to his neck, the second and third bullets struck him in the forehead and right cheek, shattering the right side of his face as he died.
Both Logan and Commander Vargas stepped through the now-empty doorframes, expecting additional resistance from any of the kitchen’s three large, dark entrances.
They were now inside the enemy’s lair, susceptible to ambushes and other nasty surprises. Logan knew their success depended on how well the security forces had been trained to defend a direct assault.
Hopefully, not well at all.
Logan and Commander Vargas took positions along a twenty-foot-long marble countertop that ran through the middle of the kitchen. Their weapons were pointed down the main hallway as the remainder of Alpha Team entered the villa. Two members of the FES team remained at the compound wall to ensure no one tried to escape behind them.
“They’re either waiting for our next move, or we caught them totally off guard,” Logan said quietly. “Either way, we need to go now before they try to coordinate a counterattack. The stairway is in the main hallway. Leave four men here to hold this position. No one gets out.”
But even as Commander Vargas moved to issue his orders, Logan thought he heard movement from a distant part of the house upstairs.
We need to move.
Without further delay, Logan strode around the countertop to the right, as Commander Vargas did the same from the left.
The hunt’s on now.
As the men entered the hallway, a thunderous explosion shook the entire villa. Logan looked at Commander Vargas. “God, I hope we did that.”
Not realizing that the assault had just turned into a ferocious engagement for Bravo Team, Logan turned back toward the hallway, deeper into the villa, praying their luck would hold out.
In John Quick’s professional opinion, the initial breach had been as uneventful as a forced entry with explosives could be. The simultaneous detonations must’ve confused the security forces, since no one intercepted Bravo Team as it infiltrated the compound. All had gone smoothly—at least until they’d reached the garage.
From various overhead imagery and surveillance footage from the Orbiter UAV, they knew the steel-frame garage was as large as the villa, stretching two hundred feet in length and half as wide. It resembled a hangar, with a cavernous open-air second story that occupied the left half. The single-level right side was littered with oversized pickup trucks and SUVs.
As Bravo Team stacked up outside the single-door rear entrance, John thought he heard movement inside. He gave Lieutenant Commander Concepción a hand signal to halt and listen. The team leader paused, but when he heard nothing, he ordered the entry and led the team himself.
As Lieutenant Commander Concepción turned the handle on the door and swung it inward, he stepped through the opening into a dimly lit interior. A second FES member had followed him when a barrage of automatic weapons fire suddenly erupted and struck the Bravo Team commander.
The FES operator behind him leapt backward and launched himself out of the garage as bullets tore into the doorframe where he’d been standing only moments before. He landed on his back and scrambled to the side of the entrance, breathing heavily. He still looked relatively composed for such a close call, or at least John thought so.
These guys are tough.
Lieutenant Commander Concepción wasn’t nearly as lucky. John looked down to see the FES leader’s body lying on its side, his head a foot away from the entrance. His eyes were open but saw nothing.
The team was stacked against both sides of the doorway, pinned down from the inside. John knew there was no way they were gaining entry to the garage from this location. They needed to find another way.
We need a diversion.
As bullets peppered the entrance, an idea formed. He looked across the open doorway and saw the FES team’s second in command, Lieutenant Jorge Garcia. John waited until the Bravo Team members unleashed their salvo, and then he dashed across the opening to the FES lieutenant. He spoke quickly, the FES member now in charge listening intently.
“Lieutenant, there’s no way we’re going to make it inside this doorway. We have to find another way, but we need a diversion. Right now, they think we’re still going to try and force our way inside from here. You need to keep two men here to hold this position and make them think we’re pinned down. Then you and I can take the rest of the men and circle around the left side of the building to work our way inside from the front. If we can flank them without being detected, we can take them out and secure the garage, eliminating any chance of escape they might have with the vehicles inside. Once we have the garage, we move to our second objective,” he finished, referring to the building attached to the villa.
John stopped talking as the lieutenant quickly weighed his options, finally nodded, and said, “Good idea. Let’s do it.”
Without a further moment’s hesitation, Garcia stepped around the man in front of him, tapped the shoulder of the FES member returning fire through the doorway and issued instructions into his ear.
John watched him point to the HRT member across the open door and issue his orders with several hand signals, which made his intent clear. The HRT member nodded, dropped an empty magazine onto the ground, reloaded, and returned to the firefight.
The lieutenant returned to John and said, “Let’s go. You want to lead the way or would you like one of my men to?” There was no condescension or sarcasm in the request. John knew the FES lieutenant was showing him respect by allowing him to make the call, since it was his idea.
“I’ll do it.” He moved around the left side of the garage, the lieutenant and the rest of Bravo Team close behind him.
Always coming up with the good ideas, aren’t you, John?
John knew that if there were anyone inside the garage with any type of military training, someone would likely realize the entrance to the garage was susceptible to a frontal assault. John just hoped that whoever was making the decisions inside would be delayed by the ongoing gunfight for at least another thirty seconds, which was all John and the Bravo Team members needed.
He reached the corner of the building and stopped just long enough to peer around the edge, concealed by the lingering darkness.
Nothing. So far, so good.
He jogged quickly along the side of the building.
Please let it be a direct shot to the front bay doors.
He took a deep breath, exhaled, and leaned around the corner. From his vantage point, John had a direct view of both the attached building, which looked like a large guest house, and the villa. The good news was that there were no security reinforcements coming from either building. The bad news was that lights were turning on in several windows.
We only have a minute or two before they step up their defense. So much for the element of surprise, he thought wryly.
He turned to Lieutenant Garcia and said, “No forces in sight; however, we only have a minute or two. Lights coming on all over the place. As soon as I turn this corner, I’m keeping my weapon trained on the bay doors. I need you and the other team members to cover the entrances to the villa and that building. Stay close to me. Once we get to the open doors, I’m going in as quietly as I can, and I need you right behind me. Ready?”
Lieutenant Garcia nodded and once again turned and relayed his orders. He looked back at John and said, “Ready.”
Even though the run to the first bay door lasted only seconds, to John it seemed like an eternity. He was completely exposed to both buildings on his left.
Move it, old man!
He was fit for forty-two—more so than most twenty-year-olds—but he knew Father Time was gaining ground on him. It wasn’t that he’d lost a step: his hand-to-hand encounters in the last few days had proven that. Rather, it was that recovering from those fights seemed to take a lot longer than it used to. As a result, he realized he’d have to rely upon his wisdom and experience. As he ran for the door, he hoped both would serve him well in the next few moments.
He crossed the last few feet to the door as the sounds of the gunfight inside the garage grew louder. He heard multiple men shouting at one another in Spanish. He sensed, rather than heard, the rest of Bravo Team halt behind him.
He glanced around the corner, and with just a glimpse of the interior, his trained eye immediately calculated all options. He knew what he was going to do.
This is going to wake the neighbors.
He turned to the lieutenant, who wore a questioning look as to why John hadn’t gone into the garage. He explained his plan and turned back to the door to execute it.
I hope the guys in the back have some cover.
He dropped his pack off his back, rifled through it, and found what he was looking for—the M18A1 Claymore mine. He pulled out the mine, the command wire, and the plastic trigger. He armed the mine and unrolled approximately twenty feet of wire. He looked back to see that the Bravo Team members had withdrawn per the lieutenant’s instructions but continued to cover the front of the villa and the attached building.
As soon as the mine was ready, he stepped around the corner and saw six security personnel, arranged in a semicircle behind three large SUVs, still firing toward the open doorway. He bent down and firmly planted the mine in the gravel near the frame of the bay door. He looked up just in time to see an HRT member almost 150 feet away.
Even at this distance, John knew the FBI agent had seen him plant the mine. He pointed and moved both hands apart, indicating that he and the other team member should move away from the doorway and take cover.
Without waiting for a response, John ran back to the rest of Bravo Team, the Claymore’s wire dangling from his right hand. All of them were in the prone position and had their weapons trained on the villa.
John dropped down to the ground on his stomach, grabbed the plastic trigger in both hands—memories from Fallujah briefly surfacing in the dark corridors of his mind—and compressed the detonating lever.
KABOOM!
The resulting explosion sent steel balls ricocheting through the garage in a wave of death and destruction. All six security members were killed by the flying steel that caromed crazily inside the structure. John felt the entire building shake with fury as the lethal balls punctured its skin.
As John had hoped, the flying steel also punctured the several-hundred-gallon fuel tank John had spotted on the right side of the garage. The secondary explosion made the detonation of the anti-personnel mine sound and feel like a firecracker.
THUD-whoosh!
With a thunderous roar that rattled John’s teeth, an enormous fireball blew through the garage. The tin roof was torn into pieces that were flung in all directions, raining sheet metal and wood all around them. The explosion illuminated the entire compound in a bright-yellow glow as the thunder echoed off the surrounding hills.
With his ears ringing, he turned back to the FES lieutenant. Even as hardened as the young man appeared to be, the look of amazement on his face made John smile. “I think that did the trick,” John said. Lieutenant Garcia still just stared at him. “Now for part two.”
Giving the young man another moment to relay instructions to the team, John stood up, grabbed his M4, and put it in the ready position. He sprinted across the gravel driveway toward the second building as the rest of the team assumed positions next to him. They moved in-line toward the second objective, with approximately five feet of separation from one to the next.
Let’s see what’s behind door number two.
ALPHA TEAM
Other than the two men in the kitchen, Alpha Team had yet to encounter any members of the cartel’s security force. They’d followed two curved staircases that led from the foyer, with its black-and-white marble floor, up to a landing in the middle of one enormous hallway that ran the length of the entire second floor of the villa. The place resembled a small hotel rather than someone’s home.
Logan led the team along the right half of the wide hallway as Special Agent Foster took the other part of Alpha Team down the left. Logan moved as quietly as he could down the lengthy corridor. Fortunately, the plush carpet provided plenty of sound suppression—he was virtually silent. Commander Vargas and four Alpha Team members, all from Vargas’s FES unit, followed.
Where the hell is El Fuego’s security?
At the far end of the corridor stood a large, ornate set of dark wooden doors that occupied the entire width of the hallway.
El Fuego’s room, I’m sure. Subtle.
They had already cleared the first two of the four other large rooms that branched off the hall, both empty. Now they moved down the hallway and positioned themselves outside the next two doors. Logan initiated the count. One . . . two . . . He never reached three.
A salvo of automatic weapons fire burst through the door in front of Commander Vargas, sending splinters flying through the hallway. The Alpha Team members instinctively lowered themselves into a crouching position in case the shooter within decided to spray bullets through the wall as well as the door. Commander Vargas grabbed a flash-bang grenade off his vest, pulled the pin, and held it for what seemed to Logan like an eternity.
The shooting stopped, and Logan heard a man’s voice shouting in Spanish, followed by the sound of something metallic falling to a hardwood floor inside.
Bastard’s reloading . . .
Commander Vargas must’ve had the same thought. Rather than wait for the shooter to finish, he grabbed the door handle, cracked the door open, and tossed the grenade into the center of the room. Logan quickly put his hands to his ears for protection. The rest of Alpha Team was already prepared. A moment later, the flash-bang detonated.
Boom!
The confined space of the guest bedroom amplified the explosion as the flash of light shot out the crack in the doorway.
Logan heard a man scream from inside.
Too bad for you, asshole, he thought as Commander Vargas entered the room, his weapon up and searching for the target.
For some reason, the shooter—wearing nothing but a white tee shirt and blue boxer shorts—having been blinded and deafened, still tried to stand and raise the AK-47 he held in his right hand.
Logan saw Commander Vargas, obviously aware of the rules of engagement, lower his UMP and fire two rounds in rapid succession into each of the man’s legs.
Pop-pop! Pop-pop!
The bullets shattered the man’s right kneecap and his left shin, eliciting a howl of pain that turned into a high-pitched shriek. He dropped the AK-47 and began to writhe on the bedroom floor in agony.
Logan watched as Commander Vargas kicked the assault rifle away from the downed man, grabbed him by his black hair, and screamed, “Cómo se llama usted!”
The man was in no condition to resist, but he couldn’t hear after being deafened by the grenade. Vargas screamed at him again and pointed at the middle of his chest. The wounded man finally understood and muttered “Eduardo Montanero” between sobs.
Commander Vargas looked at Logan, who shook his head to confirm it wasn’t their target’s voice.
On to the next room, Logan thought.
Commander Vargas rolled the wounded shooter onto his stomach, ignoring the man’s pleas for medical assistance. He zip-tied his hands behind his back and exited the room, closing the door behind him, the man’s screams now diminished by the wooden door.
He looked at Logan as he said, “He’ll live. The cleanup team can deal with him. He’s not our priority.”
Logan appreciated the level of cold calculation in Commander Vargas’s decision, nodded, and turned back to the last door. Once again, he initiated the silent countdown. One . . . two . . . three . . . go! He reached for the handle of the door with his right hand and began to turn it.
Before he could push the door inward, a man’s deep voice boomed throughout the hallway, “Hijos de puta! Me buscas?!”
Logan didn’t understand Spanish, but he turned to the sound of the man’s voice originating from the end of the corridor. What he saw turned his blood to ice.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
Standing in the doorway of the master bedroom was an overweight, dark-skinned Mexican man of average height. He wore an open, dark-red satin bathrobe, his thick black chest hair sticking out in tufts where the front gaped open. His outfit was completed by a pair of navy-blue pajama pants and what looked to Logan like a pair of yellow fluffy slippers. The man had a short-cropped beard and a thick mane of black, wavy hair jutting out in all directions. The look on his face was one of unadulterated outrage.
Uh-oh. El Fuego looks pissed, Logan thought.
Alpha Team momentarily gawked at the cartel leader as the scene suddenly transformed from shockingly comical to imminently dangerous when they saw what he held. The object that had drawn all of Alpha Team’s attention was the large, round, hose-shaped nozzle pointed in their direction. Immediately behind the nozzle was a small foregrip, now held in El Fuego’s left hand. The weapon also had a second pistol grip, which he held in his right hand. The oddly shaped weapon was connected to a dark hose that snaked its way to a tank worn on his back.
Logan’s mental threat-weapons database recognized the US Army M9A1-7 flamethrower from the Vietnam War era, its nozzle glowing with a small blue flame. Before Logan had time to formulate another thought, El Fuego let out an unintelligible roar and pulled the trigger.
The hallway was filled with a tremendous whoosh! as liquid flame rocketed toward Logan and the rest of Alpha Team like an angry serpent intent on consuming them all.
BRAVO TEAM
The building they’d thought was attached to the villa based on satellite imagery in fact stood alone. A covered walkway with an aluminum roof was all that connected it to the main house. Upon closer scrutiny, it wasn’t a guesthouse at all but only disguised as one.
In reality, it was a concrete, rectangular structure with no windows, painted a faded cream color to match the main villa. A large ventilation system ran the length of the entire structure, and multiple chimneys jutted from the rooftop. John knew it was significantly more ventilation than a building its size required.
What the hell is going on inside?
The sounds of gunfire continued from deep within the main house. In the back of his mind, John hoped that Logan and Alpha Team had captured the target. Regardless, he had a big problem of his own to solve.
John and Lieutenant Garcia huddled under the walkway, standing off to the side of a stainless steel metal door professionally installed into the side of the building. A single handle was the only fixture, and it didn’t budge when John tried it. The ten-digit key combination lock adjacent to the door only complicated matters. The door was several inches thick, and John knew nothing short of several well-placed charges would remove it from its frame.
John was calculating their options when they suddenly heard a series of beeps from the combination lock.
Someone was coming out.
Fortunately, only he and Lieutenant Garcia would be seen by whoever was opening the door. The rest of Bravo Team was providing security between the two buildings and were spread out against the walls.
Realizing he had nowhere to go, John quickly stepped away from the door, drew his KA-BAR fighting knife, and waited. Lieutenant Garcia reacted similarly. He stood to the left of the door, his assault rifle slung across his back, a curved blade held in his right hand.
John hoped the sounds of battle and the morning dusk would conceal their presence long enough for them to act.
Wait for it, John. Wait for it.
As soon as they heard the last beep, the door swung outward and the barrel of an AK-47 appeared through the opening. John waited until the man’s left arm appeared, grasping the wooden foregrip under the barrel.
John lunged forward, snatched the barrel of the weapon with his left hand and violently yanked it down and toward him. The startled member of El Fuego’s security stumbled forward out of the doorway and toward John. As his momentum carried him forward, John lunged upward with his right hand, burying the KA-BAR into the man’s rib cage. The blade pierced the guard’s heart, killing him before he even realized what had happened.
As John guided the dead man to the ground, a second security guard appeared in the doorway, a look of horror on his face as he saw what had befallen his compadre. He raised his AK-47 toward John.
Lieutenant Garcia grabbed the man by the throat and jerked him backward as he slid the curved blade into the man’s spine, causing him to arch his back reactively. Lieutenant Garcia plunged the blade in farther until the man shuddered and grew still. He let the dead man fall to the sidewalk as the security door began to close.
John caught the edge of the doorway before it shut.
Well, that’s one way to get inside.
He peered into the opening and saw a short hallway that led to a much larger, illuminated space. He heard hurried voices speaking in Spanish, and he looked at the lieutenant.
“They’re panicking from the gunfire and explosions and trying to figure out what to do next,” Lieutenant Garcia said.
“Well,” John said with a wicked grin, “let’s not give them the time to figure it out.”
ALPHA TEAM
Logan lay facedown on the hardwood floor of the guest bedroom, the one they hadn’t had time to clear before El Fuego decided to incinerate them in his ad hoc crematorium. Heat rushed over him from behind.
Screams of pain emanated from the hallway. The other team members hadn’t been able to find shelter before El Fuego pulled the trigger on the flamethrower. I wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for whoever’s on my back.
Before Logan could react to the flow of thickened and ignited fuel that had snaked toward him, one of the team members had crashed into Logan, propelling him forward and through the door he’d been about to enter.
He felt the man push off his back. Logan rolled over to his right side to see Commander Vargas regain his footing. Logan likewise scrambled to his feet as the screams continued above the roar of the flames dancing in the hallway. There was no time for a “thank-you.”
Logan looked around the room for another way out. He cursed at the sight in front of them. One of the two large sliding windows was open. A sheet tied to the bedpost closest to the window hung out of it.
“Motherfucker. I’ll bet that’s our guy,” Logan cursed. “He must’ve heard us coming and squirted. We need air support now, but first we have to deal with El Fuego.” He knew there was little chance the other men caught in the firestorm in the hallway would survive, but they had to do something.
He grabbed an M67 fragmentary grenade off his vest and spoke rapidly as he pulled the pin. “He’s going to have to stop that blaze shortly. It’s a burst weapon. As soon as he does, I’m leaning out and tossing this down his fucking throat. As soon as it goes off, I’ll rush down the hall after him. You go left and tend to our wounded. Call the helos and tell them to use their FLIR radar to try and spot anyone outside the compound trying to escape. He’ll probably head into the mountains.”
No sooner had he finished speaking than the hallway, brightly illuminated moments before, suddenly went dark. In one swift motion, Logan lunged to the door in a kneeling position, his right knee forward and his left leg stretched out. As his knee touched the floor, he released the spoon and flung the grenade as hard as he could around the doorframe and into the hallway. He didn’t even look; he didn’t want to expose himself to the madman with the flamethrower. Luckily, his aim was accurate.
As the grenade landed down the hallway and bounced toward El Fuego, Logan stood up, his Kimber .45 in his hands, waiting to move. Logan watched Commander Vargas reach around his back for the small medical kit. He pulled out the morphine shots from inside.
Might at least give our wounded men some comfort, Logan thought.
Logan didn’t have time to further contemplate his team’s fate. The grenade detonated.
BOOM!
Logan was rewarded with a loud scream as the concussion reverberated down the hallway toward them.
Logan broke cover, turned into the hallway, and dashed through the inferno after his prey. He caught a glimpse of four shapes on the ground, but he didn’t linger to see if they were moving. There was no time.
The hallway was on fire on both sides of the wall. Smoke crept along the ceiling. Paint peeled and blistered as the heat devoured it.
My own personal version of hell. What a nightmare . . .
Logan moved through the flames, himself a shadow, toward what remained of the doorway to El Fuego’s bedroom. Both doors had been blown off their hinges, disintegrating in the grenade blast.
Logan sensed a very large, open space beyond the doorway as he approached. Unfortunately, El Fuego was nowhere near the entrance. Logan hoped the grenade had killed him instantly.
He reached the gaping hole that was now the bedroom entrance. He paused, listening. He heard the sound of metal scraping, followed by a loud crash as something large fell over.
Logan didn’t want to give El Fuego any more time to recover from the explosion. He stepped through the opening and into El Fuego’s inner sanctum, the Kimber raised in front of him.
On the floor twenty feet away lay El Fuego. He was wounded but still moving. Logan didn’t think he was going to expire of his own volition in the immediate future. He quickly scanned the rest of the room and confirmed it was empty.
El Fuego was at the base of a cabinet with built-in shelves. He tried to lift himself up to reach the top shelf, making painfully slow progress. The hose and flamethrower gun trailed behind him. The metal canisters on his back had been punctured by grenade fragments. A dark liquid slowly oozed from several of the holes and flowed onto the back of his red robe and exposed legs. Amazingly, he still wore his yellow fluffy slippers.
His hand was inches away from his objective, a nickel-plated .45 secured on a stand. Logan realized it must be loaded.
Nice. Functional as well as aesthetically pleasing. This guy doesn’t quit. I’ll give him that much.
Logan lowered the Kimber and fired a single shot into the back of El Fuego’s left leg. The man slumped backward to the floor, screaming in pain as he grabbed his shin. He rolled over onto his side, his back up against the cabinet, and stared defiantly at Logan.
Logan quietly said, “I told you not to move . . . or maybe I didn’t. Sorry. It’s been kind of chaotic out there. Regardless, it looks like you’re going to live, depending on what you can tell me about Juan Black.” Logan’s expression was impassive as he stared into the face of the murderous El Fuego.
El Fuego breathed hard and emitted a short laugh. “Fuck you, gringo. You’re not even here for me? I’m not telling you anything, pendejo.”
Logan nodded. “I thought as much, but let me tell you what I think.” He smiled as he continued, the grin catching El Fuego off guard. “I think Mr. Black was in that guest bedroom we just left, and I’ll also bet you have no idea who or what he really is. I can tell you one thing: his name is definitely not Juan Black. As for you, you’re done. There’s a Mexican army unit on its way to take you into custody. It’s your lucky day, asshole. You get to live. I’m going to tie you up first though, just in case you get any more bright ideas.”
El Fuego said, “Mexican army? You must be one stupid American. I probably pay half of them. You really think they’ll take me in? Or keep me if they do? I’ll be back here within weeks or months. It’s the way things work down here. You and your country still haven’t figured it out yet. You can’t stop us. There’s too much money for the politicians, cops, and military. It’s never going to end, puta. I’m never going to end.”
Logan ignored the man’s rant, despite knowing it was partially—if not completely—true. He started to walk toward El Fuego when he heard a small sound behind him. He whirled and raised his pistol, only to see Commander Vargas standing at the door. The solemn look on his face told Logan everything he needed to know about the fate of the men caught in the firestorm.
Commander Vargas shook his head and beckoned Logan over.
God damn it. Logan had been hoping some of them might live, even though he’d suspected otherwise.
“Logan, they never had a chance. I’m sorry for your men and for mine. We can mourn them later and pay tribute to them on our own time.” Commander Vargas looked down at El Fuego, his voice hardening. “But for now, what about this piece of shit?”
“He doesn’t know anything,” Logan scoffed. “I shot him in the leg because he was trying to reach that weapon on the top shelf. It’s a nice pistol, by the way, a collector’s item. I bet he keeps it loaded. I was going to leave him for the cleanup team.”
Commander Vargas continued to stare at El Fuego. “I called in the air support. The helos should be in the area within minutes. As soon as you get outside, contact the pilots on channel seven. I told them to start looking for movement in the trees and on the hills. They’ll relay the information to you as soon as you contact them.”
“Thanks. What are you going to do now? Sounds like there’s still a hell of a fight going on outside. You reach Bravo Team?”
Commander Vargas smiled faintly. “Yes. Lieutenant Commander Concepción is dead. He was killed as they entered the garage. Lieutenant Garcia is in charge now. John is still alive. He’s responsible for the explosion we heard.” He paused, shook his head, and said, “Your man blew up the entire garage. There’s nothing left. Probably saved several lives doing it.”
Logan nodded. “That sounds like John, all right. He’s a bit of an overachiever when it comes to explosives.”
“So it seems. They’re about to enter the attached building. It’s apparently some kind of production facility,” Commander Vargas said.
“Go figure. Well, at least it’s going to be out of service after today. Thank you. And again, I’m sorry about your men. I’m going after Juan Black. Can you tie this piece of shit up for me?”
Logan stepped toward the door when Commander Vargas grabbed him by the arm.
Logan looked up, his eyebrows raised. “Logan, this man is evil. Nothing more. He’s responsible for the deaths of hundreds if not thousands. I’ve seen his handiwork before. If we take him into custody, he might be able to buy his way out with the corrupt officials I know he’s connected to.”
Logan knew where this was going, but he said nothing.
“Logan, what I’m saying . . . what I’m asking is this—from one man of honor to another, do you object if I take care of El Fuego myself? It’s the only way justice will be served, especially in Mexico.”
Logan didn’t hesitate. He’d considered it briefly himself. “I agree. He made his choices a long time ago, and now it’s time to pay for them. And if you think he could walk, then do it. Sounds like he’s had it coming for a long time now.”
Commander Vargas nodded once and said, “Thank you. Now go find Juan Black while I tend to this matter.”
Logan was almost at the door when he paused, turned around, and said to El Fuego, “I was wrong, asshole. It’s not your lucky day. But even better, you were wrong about that last point. You are about to end.” He saw Commander Vargas reach into a cargo pocket and pull out a metallic shape he recognized as a lighter. “I hope you burn in hell, after you burn here.” He turned and ran down the flaming hallway to pursue his real target.
A stunned El Fuego sat on the ground, contemplating his imminent demise. He looked from the empty space Logan had just occupied to Commander Vargas, but there was no mercy to be found. His sentence was about to be rendered, the full horror of it slamming him in the gut.
Logan reached the midpoint of the hallway as he heard a loud whoosh, followed by screams. He smiled, his righteous outrage and desire for justice temporarily satiated.
That’s what you get for playing with fire.
Several moments and screams later, a loud gunshot echoed down the corridor. Commander Vargas had shown El Fuego a small token of mercy at the very end.
That’s better than what you deserved, you sonofabitch, Logan thought and kept running. He had more pressing matters to attend to—catching Juan Black.