Locked and Loaded (15 page)

They waited until they were on the open road, visibly clear of Roberto’s men, before either said a word.

“Holy Christ!” Alvarez exclaimed once in normal traffic. He ran his fingers through his hair. “I didn’t even see that coming. I just dove for the floor, figured you had snapped and were about to pull some crazy Rambo shit! Then once the shot got fired, I was expecting a chain reaction that would bring down hellfire from our teams. How’d you see that, man?”

“I told you, Colombians had been spotted on the cargo ship. I knew they’d be gunning for Salazar, and the setup didn’t make sense. All his men on the ground had a clear shot at us. Why would some dude take a risky shot to hide and try to hit us, when one of the guards on the ground could have easily popped us at point-blank range? Hide, for what? It wasn’t like we had visible backup in there that they had to worry about, right?”

“True, true,” Alvarez said, wiping his brow.

“If anything, they would have played with us and intimidated us, not had a hidden sniper to kill us so the shot came without us seeing it. The whole goal of terrorism is to terrify. A quick shot you never see coming isn’t anything but merciful.”

“Damn … okay, you’ve got a point. But, man … how in the hell did you figure all that out in three seconds?”

“I wasn’t trying to figure it out in three seconds. I started placing the pieces on the chessboard from the moment I saw how the board was set up when we drove in and got out of the car.”

Alvarez extended his fist toward Anthony’s and pounded it. “Glad to have one of the dudes who gets more done by five
A.M.
than most people get done in a week on our team.”

“Thanks for bringing me in, man. Took balls to stand there in front of Salazar with a long story.”

“We try,” Alvarez said with a half smile. “But we’re gonna have to change cars and go to his house in yours. This was the flyest thing I could get out of the impound lot. Reach under the dashboard and feel for duct tape. My encrypted cell is mounted there. This is a need-to-know incident back at headquarters, especially since you just got promoted into the inner circle.”

Following Alvarez’s instructions, Anthony felt beneath the dashboard until his hand came into contact with the taped-down cell phone. Once he’d recovered it, he stared at the display.

“You’ve got a lot of missed calls, man.”

Alvarez accepted the phone and hit a speed dial button. “Talk to me people. We’re still alive,” he said quickly as soon as the call connected. His eyes widened and he glanced at Anthony several times. “Damn it!” He punched the dashboard and pressed the phone to his ear. “Yeah, well add this to the list: Captain Davis just took down a Colombian family sniper—yeah, one of Guzman’s men, at the Largo Food warehouse. That’s earned him a promotion. Assad trusts him now, and so does Roberto … he actually saved Roberto’s life, so he’s in good. We’ll find her. Tell Hank, we’ll find her, all right. Yeah. Bye.”

“What happened?” Anthony took the phone out of Alvarez’s hand and began dialing his unit. A sick feeling clawed at his gizzard as he waited for the call to connect and for Alvarez to speak.

“They got Agent Wagner,” Alvarez said, eyes blazing. “A clusterfuck happened in Miami. Bruno and his men got ambushed, the house was—”

“Hold it,” Anthony shouted, going to his connected call. “Lieutenant—what the fuck, over?”

“We had to blow the compound to cover our tracks,” Lieutenant Hayes said quickly. “The Colombians came in and murdered Salazar’s home security team at his compound … just overran the place, sir. They were staking it out and lying in wait for Salazar’s men to bring Special Agent Wagner there, where we can only assume they were planning to abduct her. We were in the hold pattern you’d established, sir, and just watching them—when one of them found a DEA bug. That started a whole grounds search and they found a military C4 brick behind the drainpipe in the back of the house. We had fifty Colombians on-site, with maybe ten to fifteen of Salazar’s men. You had gone dark, sir. The colonel gave the order to blow the grounds to keep a call from going out that could alert the enemy and jeopardize the mission.”

“Damn!” Anthony pounded the door with the side of his fist. “What is the status of Special Agent Wagner?”

“We lost her, sir.”

“What the hell do you men you lost her, Lieutenant? Clarify!”

“She’d taken down a shooter at the hotel, one of the three combatants that killed five of Salazar’s men—and from there was involved in a high-speed chase with a Durango and an F-150 that made it almost to the grounds as we blew the compound, sir. We trained our sniper fire on the two vehicles that boxed her in after the impact of the blast. We got a couple of them, sir. But we lost some visibility due to billowing smoke, and the choppers had to navigate around it. That took our eye off the ball and we lost a visual for several minutes. But we followed both black vans, and DEA and local authorities went after the Largo Food van that emerged onto the road and out of the smoke a half mile away. Helicopters got to the warehouse, but by then, ten eighteen-wheelers had left the garages. We couldn’t tell which one to follow, sir. We set up roadblocks for all Largo Food trucks and vans. She wasn’t in the Largo van or the black vans, sir.”

Anthony rubbed his hand down his face. “Keep me posted, Lieutenant,” he said as calmly as he could. “Out.”

Alvarez looked at him. “It’s the Colombians that have her, isn’t it?”

Anthony nodded.

“Fuck me,” Alvarez murmured and briefly closed his eyes. “They think she’s Salazar’s woman, and for the double-cross, will send him mental torture tapes showing them doing God only knows what to her, body parts … you know how this works, man.”

“If I have to go to Colombia myself and meet with Guzman, I’m gonna get her back before any of that happens.” Anthony kept his gaze on the road before him. “We never leave our own—and I
definitely
never leave mine.”

CHAPTER 11

The sound of gunshots rang in her ears, then suddenly the vehicle she was in felt like it had collided with something solid. Banging, tumbling, her body hit seats and interior walls with a thud as the bone-grating sounds of metal scraping against metal burned into her consciousness. Then just as suddenly her body was wrested from the dark confines and smoke filled her nose.

Coughing and sputtering, she was flung into another vehicle. Once again, the brightness that had peeked through the knap of the burlap went dark as a door slammed above her. Wheezing, she tried to get her bearings to no avail. But this time the space was smaller, tighter, and what felt like a wheel was at her back. Instinct told her she was in a trunk. She used that knowledge to calm herself as she tried to feel around for anything behind her that she could use to cut the nylon ties. Unfortunately, she came away wanting. The trunk was clean and the car had a new car smell to it.

After a long time, the vehicle stopped, bright light danced through the burlap again, and her body was lifted up and out of its enclosure. To her surprise, the burlap was gently pulled up and over her head. She stood face-to-face with Rico, Bruno’s second-in-command. Dirty tears streaked his face as he stared at her.

“It’s all gone, Señorita…” He swallowed hard and shook his head. “Forgive me for having to take you like this, but it was the only way to keep you safe. The Colombians…”

He cut away the nylon ties at her hands and feet, and then stood, assessing her. “Are you hurt?”

Still partly in shock, she shook her head no and allowed tears of relief to spill down her cheeks. His shirt was bloody and she could see that he’d been shot in the arm. When she looked at his wound, he wiped his brow with the back of his forearm.

“Just grazed. I’m lucky to be alive, so are you. We have to hurry. It’s too hot to get you out of Miami right now. I drove to West Palm Beach where Roberto has arranged for a private charter. The hacienda is gone. Bruno is dead. A lot of good men died today. They blew up the entire place … the yacht. You have to be with Roberto now to be safe.”

“What’s happening, Rico?” she whispered. Staying in character wasn’t hard. She’d been traumatized, bodily shaken, and seeming upset was no stretch.

He shook his head. “I’ve said too much already, even mentioning Colombians.
Por favor,
if you care anything about me, don’t let Roberto know I said that. Say … say you overhead one of the killers mention that, if you must. But right now, I have to get us on that flight,
comprende
?”

*   *   *

Anthony sat in a gold silk-embroidered Louis the XIX chair at the table next to Agent Alvarez, facing Roberto and Hector Salazar before an outrageous buffet of Cajun shrimp, jambalaya, crabmeat, spicy rice and beans, étouffé, and a variety of salads, along with carved lamb and barbecued beef brisket. Security guards toting heavy artillery were strategically posted around the outer doors of the huge dining room. Highly polished, sixteenth-century mahogany winked through the hand-crocheted lace tablecloth as a bottle of Dom Perignon was opened and poured.

Roberto waited until the flutes were filled and the server had left the four men alone. He lifted his glass. “To new alliances.”

Anthony lifted his glass and waited to sip from it until Roberto had.

“Eat,” Roberto ordered the men at the table. “This is a wake. We’ve lost much, but will have it replaced tenfold. Some of what happened could not be avoided. But we are still standing.”

A terrible sinking feeling twisted in Anthony’s gut as he put a few shrimp on his plate.

“I lost many good men today,” Roberto said, not speaking to anyone in particular as he sloppily helped himself to the various dishes on the table. He stopped and looked at Anthony’s small helping. “A man who knows not to appear too greedy. I like that,” he said, nodding and sending a chastising glance toward Alvarez and his brother. “But we grew up poor,
sí
? I vowed to never know hunger again, even on my last day alive if it should come to that … so I give you permission to eat your fill here at my table as my new head of security.”

Hector choked on his sip of champagne. “But we do not know this man?”

“I know that Bruno is dead. I know that this man saved my life and was willing to take a bullet for me and you. Our men could have gotten the wrong impression when he went for Assad’s gun and blown his head off—but he was focused on the shooter that none of us saw. That is why he has earned the right to that title and can sit here now with you and me. His cousin,” he added, waving toward Alvarez, “is here out of respect because he brought me his family and made a good recommendation, even if his flashy car was unwise. Juan Morales was a good decision … and I reward the good and punish the bad. It is the law in the family.”

Hector eyed Anthony and then lowered his gaze and began eating in disgruntled silence. Anthony picked up a shrimp and ate it quietly, hating to have to waste time here with Salazar when Assad was out there and, more important, Sage was in the hands of barbarians. He knew his unit was all over tailing Assad, but no one had a bead on Sage.

“They blew up my home,” Roberto said in a too calm tone while still eating. He spoke as though he was discussing the weather. That was when Anthony truly decided he was mad. “I lost perhaps twenty … maybe twenty-five good men today. The property can be replaced. I had insurance for that and the yacht … boats … cars … and will have county inspectors paid to blame it on a gas main. I still have favors on the police force, and they’ll collect all the shells and make things tidy. These good men at my home, unfortunately, lost their lives because they had eaten too well from my table and had gotten soft. Madre de Dios rest Bruno’s soul.”

Roberto continued his litany waving a jumbo shrimp, using it to emphasize his erratic point. “Just like I had these imported because the Gulf is poisoned, you can always find what you want in the world if you have enough money. I don’t believe the reports of men who’ve been paid off. I pay men off to to say what I want. We, the wealthy, know how the game is played. We sell bullshit to the ignorant, trusting peasants and they must buy what we sell because they have no choice. Money is power—and that gives you choices. One must know when and how to employ one’s power and choices. A good soldier knows when to eat well, but also when to then become lean for the battle. Are you a good soldier, Juan?”

“
Sí
. The best,” Anthony said without blinking, hating Salazar the more the man talked.

“Bueno!”
Roberto said, laughing, and then bit into the massive shrimp he’d been waving around. “Good men are replaceable, mercenaries can always be found, a small army can always be raised, but an excellent man with no fear is very rare find indeed … just like it’s hard to find a good woman.”

Roberto pushed back from the table and wiped his mouth with a gold-toned silk napkin and then threw it into his plate. The others at the table stopped eating and waited.

“They stole from me my peace of mind today. That is rarer still and there is no insurance policy to cover that. It was a message that my family could not be safe, my woman and one day my children will not be safe … that is what you are saying when you attack a man’s home and try to kidnap the woman he lives with—the one who would one day be the mother of his children.” Roberto pulled out his cell phone and sent a text message that no one could see and then put it back into his breast pocket. “So, Juan, since you are more than a good soldier—self-proclaimed as the best—you protect that which is very valuable … irreplaceable to me,
sí
? You guard that thing with your life and succeed where Bruno failed me, and you will be a very wealthy man.”

The sound of feminine footfalls beside heavy boots twisted the shrimp in his gut as Roberto stood, making every man at the table get up. Sage entered the room with a dirty-faced, bloody guard who looked like he’d been in a firefight. Her white linen blouse was dirty and ripped, just like her pants. She hesitated when she saw him, and Roberto took note.