A Touch of Greed (25 page)

Nick’s pulse pounded in his ear as he tried to match the cadence of Matt’s stride, keeping the noise of their footsteps to a minimum. Another object came into view through the infrared illuminator. It was on the floor on Matt’s side of the tunnel. A male body. As his partner approached the man, he leaned over and felt the neck. He examined the corpse through his goggles which were becoming increasingly more difficult to see as the light diminished even further. He turned to Nick and shook his head.

Matt stepped over the corpse and continued on. Nick didn’t know if it was the confined quarters or his PTSD, but he found it harder to breathe as well. He felt drops of sweat trickle down his temple as his gun hand began to tremble. He couldn’t afford an attack. Not now. But Dr. Morgan had warned him about the possibility under extreme stress.

There was a sound ahead. It wasn’t a mechanical sound, but a thicker, more complex noise. Matt must’ve heard it too, because he stopped and lowered himself into a crouched position. The movement continued on for a few more seconds, then stopped. It was probably only twenty yards ahead of them, but still outside the reach of their vision.

A powerful light pelted Nick’s eyes and temporarily blinded him as he squeezed his eyelids shut and threw off the night vision goggles. He tried to open them, but immediately squinted into submission. The intensity had assaulted his pupils and forced him to crouch down with his head between his knees.

From next to them, he heard an ominous voice crack the silence of the tunnel.

“Welcome to Mexico,” the voice said.

The voice had power and confidence and Nick was certain it was surrounded by a large supply of armed soldiers. It was the voice of death.

Nick heard Matt murmuring curses, obviously just as blind as Nick. The overhead lights had come to life and left them helpless.

“I would drop those guns now if you would like to survive a few more seconds,” Antonio Garza said. “I will allow you a proper good-bye. One deserving of a respected government agent.”

Nick dropped his gun, but didn’t hear Matt’s gun land. His eyes began to adjust. Through squinted vision, he was able to see Matt crouched down, his gun still in his right hand.

“Please, Mr. McColm, do not try any of your Mad Max crap,” Garza said. “It will only quicken your death.”

Nick could see Garza now, standing behind a tall man with his rifle pointed at Matt. There were another five soldiers with their assault rifles also trained on his partner. They were never going to survive this encounter and Nick knew this was their only chance to take Garza with them. Matt was capable of taking three or four down in just a second.

“Shoot him,” Nick urged.

Matt seemed to examine the entourage of weapons facing them and his expression lost all its vengeance. As if he’d resigned himself to the fact they were leaving this earth and might join Jennifer Steele in a better place.

“Shoot, damn it!” Nick shouted now, his voice bouncing off the walls.

Matt held out his gun with two fingers. As the weapon fell to the floor, Nick’s heart dropped into his stomach and immediately thoughts of Julie and Thomas flooded his mind. The ones he’d left behind.

“Good boy,” Garza said. “Now, let’s step inside and have us a quick drink.”

The group of soldiers spread apart and left a path to an opening in the tunnel forty yards away. Nick and Matt walked between the soldiers, getting some shoves along the way.

As they stepped up through the opening, Garza gestured to a couple of wooden chairs waiting for them in the middle of the room. The soldiers patted them down thoroughly, then pushed them into the seats, while Garza walked over to a bar and poured a drink into a shot glass. One of the soldiers began tying Nick’s hands behind his back with bailing wire while Garza’s main enforcer tied up Matt’s. The soldier squeezed Nick’s wrists so tight, he instantly lost feeling in his fingers. The wire dug into his skin and his capillaries began seeping blood down his hands. The more he tried to fight, the more pain it caused.

Garza raised his shot glass and said, “This one is for you, Victor.” He pointed to a TV screen hanging on the wall and added, “He’s the one who suggested we monitor the mine for company.”

On the screen was a clear image of Stevie sitting on the pool table, talking on his cell phone with his gun at Chizek, who looked smug as ever.

Garza downed his drink, then went behind the bar to produce a chainsaw with red stains and bits of meat clinging to its teeth. “And it was Victor’s idea to lure you into our basement,” Garza said, casually plugging the power cord into the wall. El Carnicero.

Victor acknowledged Garza’s words with a terse nod, then grabbed his assault rifle and looked at their hostages with a penetrating glare.

Once Nick and Matt were tied up, Garza reached behind the bar and seemed to press something. A moment later, there was a mechanical noise while the basement wall began sliding back into place. The wall groaned until it slammed shut like a tomb. All the marines in the world couldn’t save them now.

Garza turned to Matt and sighed. “Revenge is a dangerous aphrodisiac, my friend,” he said, almost looking remorseful.

Nick felt a spike of bile rise up and attack his throat. He forced himself to hold it down, his chin quivering with the need to vomit. He exchanged glances with Matt. A tacit good-bye. In a way, Nick was glad they were together at the end, the way it should be.

Victor stood in front of the two agents and kept his rifle trained on them. He gestured with his head to the other soldiers. “Get upstairs,” he ordered. “Make sure the perimeter is secure. We don’t want any surprises.”

The soldiers immediately stomped up the stairs without hesitation.

Garza held up the chainsaw and smiled. “My father was a master butcher. He always warned me about using chainsaws to cut up the cows. He said it left bone chips in the meat.” Garza shrugged. “That’s where he and I disagreed. I could cut up a cow in half the time it took him with a band saw.”

El Carnicero put on a pair of safety goggles and turned on the chainsaw, holding it up with experienced dexterity. The high-pitched motor pierced the room, the chain rattling with anticipation. Nick thought about pushing off the chair. He needed Victor to shoot him, get it over quick, before the pain began. Garza was known for prolonging the torture for hours, even days, leaving a victim to watch their body parts torn from their torso until the heart could no longer support the remaining organs.

Garza turned off the chainsaw and held the handle at his side. By his expression, Nick could tell he was extending his sick pleasure, enjoying the moment as long as possible.

“Do not worry about the noise,” he said. “The room is soundproof.” He turned to pour another drink into his shot glass.

Nick was ready to roll off the chair, maybe push quick enough to force Victor to fire at him. The man was watching him carefully, prepared to make it happen. Nick’s brain was flush with neurons firing and blood rushing and floaters skewing his vision. His body was all ready to shut down. Before it malfunctioned completely, he needed just enough energy to cause the gunshot.

Garza tipped his head back and dumped the drink down his throat.

Nick blinked back tears of frustration. He’d allowed them to be trapped and suddenly wanted more than anything to say good-bye to Julie. He was going into shock and needed to control his breathing and regain his composure. 

Nick realized his brain had been completely corrupted, though, when he saw Matt stand up.

Garza was wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, when Matt kicked the chainsaw from the assassin’s hand and grabbed him around the throat. Nick had to blink a couple of times to be sure it was really happening.

Garza looked confused as Matt’s grip forced his upper body to bend unnaturally backward, over the bar. As Garza fought off Matt’s attack, he glared at Victor through the corner of his eye. He tried to say something, but his windpipe was crushed.

Matt punched Garza straight-on and drew blood from the assassin’s nose, while Victor stood there with his rifle out in a firing position.

Nick watched like he was at a movie theatre, his mind not able to comprehend what he was seeing.

Garza hit Matt with an uppercut and dazed him. Matt lost his grip for a moment and Garza looked at his enforcer with fire in his eyes.

“Victor!” Garza shouted. “Shoot him. Now.”

Matt kicked Garza in the chest and forced him up against the bar, his back cracking with the collision.

“His name is not Victor, you piece of shit,” Matt snarled at him.

Garza looked puzzled.

Matt connected with a roundhouse kick to the side of the head which buckled Garza’s knees.

“His name is Marco Diaz,” Matt sneered. “We were in the same Special Forces Unit together. A brotherhood which can’t be washed off with money or power.”

At the same moment Nick put it together, the reality came to Garza’s startled face. Victor was the CIA’s plant. 

That’s when Matt moved in and pummeled Garza with a barrage of punches. The fury came out of him with rapid combinations. One to the head, then the body, then two to the head. Whack. Whack. Whack. Whack. The sound of knuckles hitting flesh filled the room, while Garza’s body reacted to every punch like a crash test dummy.

From behind him, Marco Diaz said, “That’s enough, Matt.”

But Matt didn’t stop. He kept punching, uttering small sounds of grief as he pounded the assassin until Garza finally slumped to his knees. Every time Matt connected, he muttered, “Jimmy,” then, “Ricky,” then “Jennifer,” purging the anguish from his heart. Garza’s bloody face held no sense of comprehension. He lingered on his knees with vacant eyes, then collapsed forward onto the floor.

Matt stood over the man with pent up anger still oozing from his soul, breathing like he’d just sprinted a marathon.

Marco came behind Nick with a pair of wire cutters and snapped his wrists free. Nick rubbed his wrists, smearing blood all over his hands and grateful for the opportunity.

Matt seemed to notice his Special Forces teammate for the first time. He took two long, exasperated steps toward Marco and wrapped his arms around the man’s shoulders in a bear hug.

“When I saw you in the tunnel . . .” Matt gasped. “I thought I was seeing things.”

“I know, buddy.” Marco patted Matt on the back, then pulled away to look him in the eyes. “I am so sorry.”

He didn’t need to finish. They all knew what he meant.

Matt nodded and gave Marco a crooked smile. “We got the bastard, didn’t we?”

“That’s right,” Marco said. Then his face turned serious. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

Nick’s mind began to clear. “What about the bomb?”

Marco rolled over Garza and pulled a cell phone from his pocket and handed it to Nick. “Here’s the detonator. It’s not on a timer, so we should be okay. But the sooner the bomb squad gets to it, the better.”

Nick checked Garza’s pulse. The assassin would survive the beating. Barely. He patted Garza’s body and removed a gun and a blade from his belt holster. On the TV screen, a squad of soldiers were already flooding into the mine, following Stevie’s arm as he pointed down the tunnel entrance.

Marco went behind the bar and pushed a button. A second later the hydraulic wall began to open. Then he came over and pulled Garza up to hoist him over his back and carry him into the tunnel and drop him into an open cart.

“Tell me something,” Nick said. “Is Decker on his payroll?”

Marco nodded, then pulled out his own cell phone. “It’s all right here. You’d be surprised how high it goes.”

Marco suddenly ran up the stairs, two steps at a time.

“Where you going?” Matt asked.

“Give me thirty seconds,” Marco said, then shut the door behind him.

Nick grabbed Matt’s arm. “You okay?”

Matt’s eyes glistened from the emotional strain he’d just endured. It must’ve been therapeutic, however, because Matt grinned for the first time in days. “I’m okay,” Matt said.

The basement door opened. Nick grabbed Garza’s gun and readied himself, until Marco came down the stairs, holding a young boy in his arms. The boy was still half-asleep and in his pajamas. He was rubbing his eyes when Marco gently placed him on his feet next to Matt.

Nick raised his eyebrows at Marco.

“I keep my promises,” Marco said, running behind the bar and pulling open a knife display on the wall.

“What’s your name?” Matt asked.

“Julio,” the boy said, softly.

Marco returned holding a briefcase in his right hand. “C’mon,” he said, grabbing Julio and tossing him over his shoulder. “Let’s go home.”

“What’s that?” Matt asked, pointing to the briefcase.

Marco smiled. “We’ll talk.”

Chapter 29

The East Room of the White House was a large, high-ceiling room, elegantly decorated with chandeliers and gold curtains. Because of its size, it was used for special ceremonies, entertaining dignitaries and the occasional dinner. This time the large room was set up for a special press conference.

Behind the podium, in a walkway, hidden from the crowd of reporters, Samuel Fisk stood still while a couple of White House aides groomed him. One woman patted his face with a round sponge pad, while a male aide fixed his tie.

President Merrick lingered next to him, examining the sheet of paper containing Fisk’s opening statement.

“You ready for this?” Merrick asked.

“I’m a little hungry.”

“Of course you are.”

Merrick seemed to scrutinize the speech until he dropped the paper by his side and looked at the two aides. “Are we about done here?”

In a matter of seconds, Fisk and Merrick were left alone. The only sound came from the gaggle of reporters milling around, anticipating the sudden press conference.

“What about the bomb?” Merrick asked in a soft voice.

“What bomb?” Fisk replied, with an innocent expression.

While Merrick stared, Fisk could see the wheels turning inside.

“So, we don’t mention it?” Merrick asked.

“Why?” Fisk said. “Nothing good could come from it.”