A Touch of Greed (7 page)

There was a pause on the line while Nick and Stevie watched the helicopter follow a northwestern flight path.

“Nick,” Dan said. “That’s pretty risky for the hostages.”

Nick understood the behavior of terrorists; once those gunmen realized the hostages were simply cargo—they were dead. They could see the truck in the distance, flying over potholes, a trail of leaves floating in its wake. Nick’s chest tightened. “Dan, they killed Jennifer Steele. I trust Greg to take the shot.”

There was another long pause, until Greg Parker’s voice came over the phone. “I’ll get him, Nick.”

Of course it wasn’t the gunman Nick was worried about taking a bullet and Parker knew that. The helicopter was following the dirt path now, low to the ground, approaching the red X.

“Slow down, Dan,” Nick said. A moment later, he announced, “Right there. Drop them off right there.”

The chopper hovered for a moment while the two men scrambled out and rolled a spike strip across the narrow dirt path. The helicopter’s nose came down and moved along the road directly at the truck which was coming around a corner a hundred yards away.

Nick knew what the pilot was doing; he was attempting to distract the driver so he wouldn’t spot the snipers waiting for them.

“Don’t get cute, Dan,” Nick ordered. “You’ve got their attention, now get up high and out of range.”

A pool of sweat gathered around Nick’s ear where the phone had been fastened. He switched ears and wiped the damp one with his shoulder.

Stevie and Nick watched the truck take the final turn too fast. They watched it almost tip over, coming up on two wheels before recovering and slamming back down on all four. The sweat continued to drip down the side of Nick’s face as the vehicle approached the spike strip lying across the road. 

Stevie put his hand on his forehead as if waiting for a head-on collision between two passenger trains.

“Lord, be with them,” Nick murmured, the tightness in his chest growing stronger.

As the driver spotted the spike strip, he did what every criminal has ever done in that situation. He slammed on the accelerator. Something about the brain which creates the belief that a vehicle going fast enough can fly over the spikes with impunity.

Nick’s lunch worked its way up his esophagus as the truck plowed over the spikes. A puff of dust emerged as the wheels scraped against the ground. The truck hobbled forward, leaning right and struggling ahead with a maniacal demand from the driver.

Watching from the satellite gave the images a creepy feel. The absence of sound gave the scene more gravity.

Julie was still holding Thomas to her chest when the gunman’s head next to her lurched back. A blotch of red instantly appeared on the back window. Julie and Thomas went down too. The driver must’ve heard the gunshot and immediately skidded the truck to a stop. Nick’s first thought was, he’s going to kill them. If they’re not already dead. There was no telling where the bullet came from and where it went after penetrating the gunman’s head.

The gunman in the truck bed lay slumped, his head unnaturally drooped to his right.

The driver jumped out of the truck and placed his hands on his head, turning in a circle, looking for the snipers. Nick didn’t trust him; he hoped Parker and Jenson didn’t either.

Julie and Thomas were still down, with no sign of movement. Nick had his hand over his mouth, while Stevie craned his neck closer to the screen.

Parker emerged from his nest, his rifle out in attack mode. He approached from the rear of the truck.

On the wireless headset, Nick heard Parker say, “You got the driver, Bill?”

From the opposite side of the road, and the front of the vehicle, Bill Jenson crept out of the woods, knees bent, rifle ready.

“I’ve got him,” Jenson announced.

It was over. But Julie and Thomas weren’t moving. Nick was paralyzed with fear. What had he done? Parker dropped his rifle and pulled himself over the tailgate. Nick could hear him breathing hard as he maneuvered around a lawnmower and got to his knees. First he examined the dead gunman, then shoved his corpse aside. He bent over Julie. Silent. Nothing. Nick’s knees were giving out. He leaned against the desk for support.

Parker placed a hand on Julie’s back. It was dark and hard to see, but there seemed to be some subtle movement.

“Are you okay?” Parker said.

Then Nick saw the most glorious sight he’d ever seen. Parker leaned back and held his thumb up to the satellite image.

“They’re fine,” Parker said into the headset.

Nick gripped Stevie’s shoulders, while Stevie clapped his hands in celebration. Nick had to wipe his eyes while he caught his breath.

The door to the office opened and Matt walked in carrying a cardboard container with three coffees as Nick and Stevie finished off a high five.

“What’d I miss?” Matt asked, with an innocent grin on his face.

Chapter 9

Garza rubbed Julio’s back while the boy lay in bed next to him taking deep, meaningful breaths. He lowered his head and gave his son a gentle kiss on the back of the boy’s neck.

“Sleep tight, Niño,” Garza said, lifting off the bed and softly backing out of the room.

Once in the kitchen, Garza found Victor sitting at the wooden table looking over his laptop computer.

“Any word?” Garza said, grabbing a bowl from the cabinet and opening the freezer.

“Not yet,” Victor said. He nodded to a brown paper bag sitting on the counter next to the refrigerator. “Emelio has paid us for the month.”

“Good,” Garza said, scooping some vanilla ice cream from a container into his bowl. “What about Hector?”

“He paid last week. He is frightened of being late.”

Garza grinned. He appreciated the power of his reputation. He sat down across from Victor and enjoyed his ice cream. A nightly ritual.

Victor’s phone quietly chirped. He picked it up from the table and read from the screen. On his face was a mixture of displeasure and approval.

“Our American contact,” Victor said. “The female FBI agent is dead.”

Garza liked the way it started.

“But Bracco’s wife and child survived.”

Garza dropped his spoon. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “And Juan?”

Victor finished reading the text message, then looked up. “Juan is in custody. The others are dead.”

Garza rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. From all the books he’d read on warfare, he knew how important it was to keep on the offensive. Even though he was virtually untouchable in his lair below the border, he wanted to conduct his business with the least amount of interference from the US government.

Garza stood and placed his bowl in the sink. He grabbed the brown package from the counter and looked inside. It seemed to be the correct amount of money. He gestured for Victor to follow him and the two men walked down a hallway to the front door. When he reached his office door, he held up a finger for Victor to wait as he went in and opened the safe behind his desk, grabbed a satchel, then returned to the hallway.

As they exited the building, a black Cadillac Escalade idled in the driveway. Garza motioned Victor to get in the back seat with him as they had done a hundred times before. Victor would play with his phone and find information for Garza while they drove to town or to pick up a payment. This time, however, as they reached the bottom of the driveway, instead of turning right toward the airstrip where ultra lights would make drops from above, or left toward town, they drove straight. Victor looked up from his phone when the SUV didn’t turn.

“Where are we headed, Jefe?” Victor asked.

“You will see,” was all Garza said, staring out into the night sky, the satchel between his legs.

Victor appeared apprehensive, suddenly studying their surroundings rather than his cell phone. The two men in the front seat remained suspiciously quiet. The dirt road was straight and bumpy and lined with oversized cacti. Their arms jutted out into the headlights like strangely deformed beasts reaching for their prey.

Victor had to know something was wrong because the road they’d taken led nowhere and eventually dissipated into a sea of open desert. His cell phone was now on his lap and his head moved side to side searching for answers.

After a couple of minutes, Garza made eye contact with his driver and nodded. The vehicle jerked to a stop and the two soldiers in the front seat jumped out and pulled open Victor’s door.

The driver pulled Victor from the car while the other soldier pointed an assault rifle. Victor looked back at Garza with shock on his face.

“Jefe?” he cried, as they dragged him from the SUV and threw him down in the middle of the dirt road, the intense headlights forcing Victor to blink back his confusion.

Garza rolled down his window so he could hear the confrontation.

“You are a spy!” shouted a soldier.

“No,” Victor pleaded from his knees. “You are wrong. I am completely faithful.”

“Don’t lie. We have your cell phone records. We know you’ve been calling the United States.”

“Yes, to speak with our people.”

“No, you lie again. Tell us who you’re speaking with and we’ll spare your life.”

“Are you loco? I speak with no one but our contacts.” Victor desperately pointed to the SUV. “Check my phone. You will see.”

“Just tell us a name. That is all. Then you shall live. We will drive away and leave you here.”

Victor seemed to accept his fate. He held out his arms like a martyr and said, “Go ahead and shoot me now. There are no names. I would never be unfaithful.”

“You lie. We know.” One of the soldiers spat on Victor’s pants.

Victor remained with his arms out. His eyes closed. “Please, shoot me. There will never be anyone more loyal to El Jefe.”

The two soldiers hesitated. The one on the passenger side leaned to his left to gain a better view of Garza’s open window. Garza held out his arm with a thumb up. The soldiers lowered their rifles and nodded. Garza opened his door and went around to the front of the car. He gestured with his head to his men and they wandered off into the desert.

On his knees Victor opened his eyes. “Jefe?”

Garza reached out with an open palm. “Come on,” Garza said, pulling Victor to his feet.

Victor was stiff and suspicious. He glanced into the desert to see the two soldiers lighting a match and smoking a joint.

Garza gripped Victor’s shoulders and locked him into a ferocious stare. “You are my number one warrior. I will never doubt you again.”

Victor just breathed.

Garza nodded to the SUV idling next to them. “Come on,” he said. “Get in. We have much to talk about.”

Victor returned to his seat in the SUV and remained quiet while Garza closed the door.

“Relax, Victor,” Garza said. “There’s a spy within our midst. I needed to be sure it wasn’t you. That’s all.”

“So this was just a test?” Victor said, a little puzzlement in his voice.

“That is all.” Garza shrugged. “I apologize if I frightened you.”

Victor shoved his boss affectionately. “Frightened? You want to see my underpants?”

Garza laughed. “You seemed rather nervous, eh?”

“I was prepared to die,” Victor said.

Garza pointed a finger at him. “Because you are loyal,” he said. “You had nothing to barter with.”

Victor took a deep breath and slumped back in his seat, finally convinced he was going to survive.

Garza reached down into his satchel, grabbed a large brown bag and handed it to Victor. He turned the interior lights on so his warrior could examine its contents. “This is for you.”

Victor looked into the bag and turned to Garza with a look of disbelief. “One hundred thousand dollars?”

Garza had trained his men to recognize packages of money and to formulate an approximate amount according to size, weight and denominations.

“Very good,” Garza said. “That is the precise amount.”

“But . . .”

“Because you are my most valuable asset,” Garza said. “I need you to be my eyes and ears. I need you to protect me and to find out who this spy is.”

“Yes, Jefe,” Victor’s voice had regained a sense of authority.

“There is something else,” Garza said, peeking outside at the two soldiers in the distance. “We have a shipment to bring over in forty-eight hours.”

“Okay.”

“This particular shipment is different. It is not something we normally do.” Garza raised his eyebrows for affect.

“Different?”

“Yes. This is not from one of our people. This is from overseas.”

Victor seemed in deep thought. “That man, last night. Him?”

“Yes. I don’t like dealing with such people, but,” Garza pointed to the bag full of money in Victor’s lap. “Their pockets are simply too full of oil money and we cannot afford to miss the opportunity to take their funds.”

“I do not trust that man, Jefe,” Victor said.

Garza frowned. “Me neither, my friend. But once we make this transport we will never have to hear from him again.”

There was a chirp and Victor leaned over to retrieve his phone from the floor. He looked at the screen and said, “They want to know what to do with the border agent’s daughter.”

Garza shrugged. “Tell them to keep her alive for now. She might still be worth something. But they can do whatever they wish in the meantime.” Then he gave Victor a sinister grin. “And I do mean anything.”

Chapter 10

President John Merrick was getting his hair cut in the White House salon while making small talk with Georgia Faucet. Georgia had been the White House beautician for nearly two decades and understood the dynamic of a multitasking Commander-in-Chief. Merrick nodded and gave monosyllabic answers while retrieving e-mail updates on his tablet computer. 

“So when’s he coming?” Georgia said, working her shears along the side of his head.

Merrick looked up from the tablet on his lap. “When’s who coming?”

“You know.”

“No,” Merrick said. “I don’t. Tell me.”

Just then, a large man wearing a gray suit carrying a napkin full of olives came into the small three-chair salon.