Trail of the Chupacabra tct-2, page 27
part #2 of The Chupacabra Trilogy Series
“It wasn’t just the drugs that didn’t arrive,” the man with a heavy Eastern European accent said to the Padre. “I want my cars.”
“Yuri, calm down,” the Padre said. “I know you’re upset. I am, too. The incident at the harbor was only a minor inconvenience. I’ll replace the merchandise. You’re not the only one who lost something. I lost an entire container ship. They’re not easy to replace.”
“If we were in the Ukraine right now, you’d be a dead man.”
“Yuri.” The Padre’s demeanor suddenly became ice cold. “Don’t threaten me.” Two of the Padre’s men with AK-47s took a step forward and stood by the Padre. “You’ll get your product and your goddamn cars. But don’t you ever threaten me.” The Padre stared straight into the gangster’s eyes. “Ever.” Yuri looked around the facility as rest of the Padre’s men quit what they were doing and watched the two notorious drug moguls face off. “Back to work!” the Padre yelled. His men immediately complied. “Like I said, I don’t go back on a deal with a partner. And I promise you want to be a partner with me on this one.” The Padre motioned to the massive meth lab being assembled around them. “Once this is complete, I’ll make you the largest methamphetamine dealer in Europe. If you want a Lamborghini, you’ll be able to buy the company.”
“When do you start production?” Yuri rubbed his double chin.
“The lab will be complete in a few more days, but it will take several weeks to have the precursor materials delivered from overseas.”
“This site is remote, but not that remote. How will you keep it hidden?”
“I’ve had some of the best technicians in the world working on the filtration systems, and with the lab this deep underground, it can’t be spotted from the air.”
“What if someone talks? You’ve, how do you say? Put many of your eggs in a basket.”
“I’m only using my most trusted men in the facility. They are men with families. They know what I’ll do if I have to. Everything is going to be fine. Now, come with me. I want to show you how the process works.” The two men walked toward the freight elevator at the end of the production floor. Above them, Barquero crept farther down the platform.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Going in Hot
The school bus crept along the bank of a small stream as the members of STRAC-BOM used the vehicle’s headlights to illuminate the surrounding area of desert. They all were on the lookout for coyotes. Coming to a bend in the shallow riverbed, the bus slid to a halt. Inside the bus, Private Foxtrot cinched up his armor. The metal chest plate made of sheet steel, arm and leg greaves, and helmet with a pronounced crest on top had all come from the Padre’s collection. Hundreds of years old, it was now about to meet the Mexican desert again.
“I’m going in,” Private Foxtrot said as he adjusted his conquistador’s helmet. “Cover me, you bitches.” He stood at the bottom of the stairwell. Taking a piece of chewing gum out of his mouth, he stuck it on the window. “Don’t anyone touch that,” he said before clanking his way out of the bus with the metal detector. Flashlights duct-taped to the barrels of rusty shotguns and old deer rifles poked out from the windows.
“Clear right,” Fire Team Leader Charlie said.
“All good left,” added Team Leader Alpha.
“Bravo?” asked the General.
“Uh, yeah. Nothing in back,” Fire Team Leader Bravo replied. “Nothing but tumbleweeds.”
“Commence searching, Private Foxtrot,” the General ordered. Private Foxtrot began to scan back and forth over the area with his device. “It’s right around here, I think…pretty sure, anyways.”
“Hurry up, Private,” the General implored. Private Foxtrot tried his best to remember exactly where the spot was. In the dark, with flashlight beams dancing back and forth, it was difficult for him to remember. The Private stopped scanning and looked up. He thought he’d seen something move just beyond the reach of the flashlights’ range.
“What’s the matter, Private?” asked the General.
“Thought I saw something over there.”
“Anyone see anything?” the General asked his men.
“Nope,” Private Zulu responded.
“Negative! The correct reply is negative!” the General shouted as his face turned red. “How many times do I have to tell you, Private?”
“Sir, sorry, sir!” Private Zulu called out. “Negative!”
“That’s better. Now, Foxtrot, get back to swinging that damn detector. I want to see you busier than a one-armed monkey with two peckers.”
“Yes, sir.” Private Foxtrot resumed panning back and forth with his device. Every once in a while, he thought he saw something creeping in the distance, but he didn’t dare stop his searching. For fifteen minutes, he plodded along through the desert. The bus followed close behind him. The Private stopped in his tracks and took a whiff of the night air. “Damnation,” he said as he pinched his nose.
“What the hell is it now, Private?” the General asked.
“Something awful rank-smelling out here, sir.”
“What is it?”
“Don’t know. Think it’s over there a piece.”
“Check it out.” The Private wandered in the general direction of the noxious odor.
“Holy crap,” Fire Team Leader Charlie said. “That stink could knock a buzzard off a gut wagon.” He tied a camouflage bandana over his nose and mouth.
“Found it, sir.” Private Foxtrot stood over a decomposing pile of entrails and cracked bones.
“Status report,” the General said. “I want details.”
“Think it might have been some kind of animal. Maybe a goat.” Inside the bus, Private Zulu swallowed hard.
“Team Leader Charlie?” the skinny private asked.
“Yeah.”
“You know what dead goats mean?”
“Now, don’t you go getting all riled up about those chupacabras again.”
“You seen the look in the eyes of those coyotes. They weren’t natural-looking eyes. They had the devil in them.”
“Like, he has a point, man,” Ziggy added.
“No more talking about chupacabras!” the General ordered. “Private Foxtrot, keep going.”
“Maybe I ought to switch out with someone for a spell. I’ve got a blister the size of a half dollar on my foot, and this Spanish armor ain’t helping anything.” The private adjusted the heavy helmet on his head. The helmet’s wide, downward-sloping curved brim impaired his peripheral vision.
“Negatory. Move out.”
“But it’s pretty fresh, sir.”
“Irrelevant, Private. Find me my treasure.”
Private Foxtrot reluctantly resumed his search.
• • •
Cesar briefed the men in his vehicle on what to do when they arrived at the target location.
“No more waiting around for the Padre. This time we’re going in hot. I want you to take down anyone who looks like a threat. You see someone with a gun, you have my authority to shoot first.”
“Do you have a ghillie suit I can borrow?” Avery asked. “I left all my sniper gear at home.”
“You’re not going in with us,” Cesar said. “I want you to stay in the vehicle. Keep listening for transmissions.”
“No fair.”
“That’s enough from you.”
“You wouldn’t even know where this guy was if it weren’t for me.”
“And I can still have you locked up for being in this country illegally. Get ready, men. ETA to target, one minute.”
“You guys suck.” Avery opened another Mountain Dew and went back to playing his video game. The convoy of military vehicles arrived at the scene just as two army helicopters were coming in low and fast. They stopped and hovered fifteen feet in the air as troops in black gear fast-roped to the ground. Two cartel guards by the door of the facility unloaded their weapons in the direction of the advancing troops. Using heavy machinery for cover, Cesar led his men forward.
“Sergeant! You take a squad through the main doors,” Cesar yelled over the din of the helicopters and gunfire. “I’m taking one to the loading bay.” Hunched over, Cesar ran from cover to cover, his squad of men behind him. Three cartel gunmen in the loading dock sprayed AK-47 fire in their direction. Five more of the Padre’s armed men came out of the bay to join them. Cesar pulled up behind an excavator. Sounds of heavy gunfire came from inside the building. “Ortiz, can you drive that bulldozer over there?” Cesar pointed.
“Yes, sir.” The soldier ran to the heavy machine while Cesar and his men poured automatic fire at the loading dock. Ortiz started up the bulldozer and raised the heavy hydraulic blade. Putting the machine in gear, he slowly advanced toward the cartel soldiers. Rolling across the open ground, Cesar and his men fell in behind the earthmover. A door gunner from one of the helicopters sprayed the dock with large-caliber bullets that tore apart the rear portion of the tractor-trailer backed up to the dock. Cesar pulled out a grenade and motioned for one of his men to do the same. Stepping from behind the advancing bulldozer, both men arced their grenades toward the bay. Two loud explosions sent bodies of cartel soldiers flying.
“Ortiz!” Cesar yelled. “Head straight for it!” As the lumbering vehicle approached the loading dock, two cartel members, covered in blood, threw down their assault rifles and put their hands over their heads. Cesar’s men zip-tied the captives’ hands and feet before Cesar led his men to the freight elevator.
“Take it down!” he ordered as he reloaded.
• • •
The Padre froze when he heard the sound of gunfire coming from above. He pulled a gold-plated automatic pistol from his suit and chambered a round.
“What the hell is going on?” Yuri asked. The Ukrainian’s bodyguard pulled out his pistol.
“They’re coming,” the Padre said calmly to his men. “Prepare for them.” A dozen of the Padre’s men stopped moving equipment, and pulled machine guns and assault rifles from storage cases.
“I thought you said this place was safe?”
“Shut up, Yuri.”
“Don’t tell me to shut up! This is bullshit…you said this place…” The Padre shot Yuri in the face and then turned the gun on his bodyguard. They fired at the same time. Both men fell to the floor. The Padre’s bodyguards shot Yuri’s man with everything in their magazines. His body twitched and jerked as the bullets tore his body apart. The Padre struggled to his feet. He had a bullet wound in his left shoulder. Yuri’s body lay prone on the lab’s floor. The Padre shot him in the face again.
“I said… shut up!”
• • •
Private Foxtrot clanked along in his Spanish armor as he waved the metal detector back and forth.
“Hot damn!” he yelled out as the needle on the meter jumped all the way to the right. “Found it!”
“All right, boys, time to dismount,” the General commanded. “Bring out every entrenching tool we have.”
“Like, what do you want me to do, man?” Ziggy stroked Nancy’s back.
“Grab a flashlight and watch the perimeter. And keep that damn lizard out of my way. Out of the bus, boys!”
The men of STRAC-BOM began digging in the hard desert soil.
“Dry as a dang powder house down here,” Private Tango said as he chipped away at the packed dirt. The men had been digging for over an hour.
“Like breaking rocks.” Private Zulu took a break from digging.
“Private, quit your lollygagging,” the General said. “Church ain’t over till the singing is done.”
“I’m not lollygagging, sir. I’m just resting a spell before I get tired.” He went back to digging. Privates Tango and Zulu shrieked simultaneously like little girls.
“Calm down.” Fire Team Leader Charlie looked around the bottom of the hole and poked with his shovel.
“Dead hand…dead hand,” Private Zulu mumbled as he crawled out of the hole and wiped his hands off on his uniform.
“Well, well, well.” Fire Team Leader Charlie lifted something out of the soil with his entrenching tool.
“What is it?” the General asked as he pointed a flashlight into the small pit.
“This old fellow ain’t going to be dealing southpaw from the deck anymore.” Fire Team Leader Charlie held up the skeletal remains of a left arm balanced on the blade of his shovel.
“Is the rest of him down there?” the General asked as he examined the bones.
“I reckon so.”
“Well, get him out of there.”
“What do you want me to do with this?”
“Like, can I have it, man?” Ziggy held the squirming Nancy under one arm while he reached for the relic. “Like, my store specializes in this stuff.” Ziggy took the remains of the arm and sniffed it. Struggling to hold Nancy still, he took the skeleton arm, stretched it over his shoulder, and scratched his back with it. “People, like, pay top dollar for this stuff.”
“You’re as crazy as a soup sandwich.” Fire Team Leader Charlie went back to digging with the rest of the men.
“I’m really not, like, crazy, dude.” Ziggy examined his new treasure. “Avery just says I’m, like, mentally hilarious.”
It took a few minutes for the men to remove the rest of the skeleton. As the various pieces were excavated from the ground, Ziggy laid them out in anatomical order. “I, like, need the hip bone, man. The foot bone connected to the…leg bone. The leg bone connected to the…hip bone,” Ziggy sang as he worked at reconstructing the skeleton.
Private Tango heard a dull thunk as his shovel hit something solid. The men all looked at each other.
“We got something, General.” Fire Team Leader Bravo got down on his hands and knees, and began sweeping away dirt with his hands. “It’s wood. Looks like some kind of long crate.”
“You’re sure it ain’t a chest?” Private Zulu asked. “’Cause I never heard of a treasure crate, just a treasure chest.”
“He’s right — it’s definitely a crate,” Private Tango said as he started to dig around the sides.
“Like, you sure there isn’t a hip down there, man?” Ziggy pointed into the pit with the skeleton’s bony arm.
• • •
Avery sat in the military vehicle outside the Padre’s facility and fumed. He distinctly remembered General Morales’ comments about the value of the reward for the Padre’s capture being contingent upon the level of involvement of the individual claiming the money. They’re trying to cut me out. Rip me off on some Mexican technicality. You can’t trust anyone in this country. The fighting now seemed to be contained inside the facility. Around the grounds, only a few army soldiers remained on lookout. Avery opened the door and performed a barrel roll onto the hard ground. Springing to his feet, he took a karate stance. His eyes panned left and right and then left again, but his head didn’t move. Tiptoeing between the heavy machines, he reached down and picked up a broom. Unscrewing the handle from the brush, he attempted to break it over his knee. It didn’t work.
“Son of…” Avery hopped around on one leg while the other throbbed in pain. Avery took the broom handle and stuck one end in the ground. Holding the top of the long wooden stick, he placed his foot in the middle of it. He tried to snap it. Avery fell over. The stick rolled away. Picking it up, he jammed one end into the space between the tire and wheel well of a backhoe loader. Pulling back with all his strength, he leaned his weight into it. This time the broom handle snapped. It sent Avery rolling over backward. Dusting himself off, he took the two pieces of broom handle and began to alternate swinging them diagonally back and forth in front of his body in a looping motion that brought the sticks up and around his head.
“Strike, strike, deflection,” he said as he swung the sticks. Avery whipped the sticks back and forth, faster and faster in a crisscrossing figure-eight pattern. “Block, block, deflection, strike, strike.” On the balls of his feet, Avery moved side to side with small, hopping jumps. “Evasion, evasion, deflection, strike, strike. Keep the sticks moving. Never stop moving. Don’t let your opponent judge the range of your sticks. Block, block, strike…strike…deathblow!” Avery leapt in the air and took a huge downward swing with one of his sticks. “Victory is mine.”
Avery placed his arms at his side and bowed deeply to his imaginary sparring partner. He wasn’t at all happy with the weight and balance of his sticks, but they would have to do. He hoped he wouldn’t run into any Filipino martial artists inside. The odds weren’t good, but they’d die laughing if they saw his pathetic fighting sticks. Avery marched to the main door. Stepping around the bodies of dead cartel gunmen, he ducked inside.
• • •
Deep underground, Barquero watched as the Padre’s men began to barricade the massive meth lab against Cesar and his men. The majority of the Padre’s men took positions around the freight elevator at the far end of the facility as the gunfire above intensified. The rest of the Padre’s men went to guard the stairwell that Barquero had come down. He knew he couldn’t kill all of them. He needed to wait for Cesar. Then he could kill the one he wanted the most. Barquero slowly lowered himself from the platform above the facility’s floor and dropped to the ground. In the chaos and confusion, no one noticed as he hid behind a stack of chemical containers.
