Echoes of a Distant Summer (96 page)

Jackson looked at Carlos, then a smile spread across his face. “Of course,” he acknowledged. “Of course!”

The meeting with Lincoln and Dan did not last long. As they sat around a table in the nearly empty bar, Jackson laid out the plan of attack and emphasized that the plan could not be undertaken without their assistance. No one spoke after he finished. Finally, Jackson prodded them, “What do you think?”

Dan shook his head and said, “I love you and you’re my brother, but
I think this is some crazy shit! I can’t do this! I’m not a soldier! Even if I wanted to, I’m out of shape. I get exhausted going for pizzas!”

“Oh, come on,” Pres protested. “You’re always bragging about how you had to hike ten to fifteen miles away from your truck to bag an elk. How bad a shape can you be in?”

Dan explained, “There’s no pressure in hunting. I take my time. And believe me, if elk had high-powered weapons, I wouldn’t be hunting them! Anyway, I wouldn’t be an asset for this mission. I’d just get my fat ass shot off!”

“This is not a suicide mission!” Jackson declared. “I love Elizabeth and I will do everything in my power to rescue her, but I will not needlessly risk your lives. Rhasan is also coming with us. If I didn’t think we had a high probability of success, I wouldn’t allow him to come and I wouldn’t ask you. This is a solid plan and we’ll have an update on any changes in fortifications before we commence. Flak jackets will be issued to everyone and we’ll have the element of surprise on our side.”

Dan shrugged. “I appreciate that, but can’t you get somebody else? I mean, hire real professionals?”

Jackson shook his head. “Not by tomorrow.” Then he looked at Lincoln, waiting for his response.

Lincoln took a deep breath and said, “I owe you and I want to help you. I would come to you if something like this happened to Sandra, but I’ve got some serious concerns. Going to Mexico to attack a drug lord on his home turf doesn’t sound smart, I don’t care what kind of holiday it is. No matter how well planned you have this, there is a real possibility one or more of us could be killed! They have rocket launchers too!”

Jackson nodded. “I wouldn’t lie to you. This is dangerous. I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t really need you. All I can say is we’ll surprise them and hit them hard before they can mount a defense!”

“There’s another concern I have,” Lincoln continued. “Neither Dan nor I has ever killed anyone. We—”

“Wrong!” Jackson corrected. “Have you forgotten the Mission Street Titans? My grandfather’s head of security disposed of three bodies that night: the one that Wesley clocked with that lead pipe, the one Dan knocked down those stairs, and the one you drove over when we were trying to get away.”

There was another period of silence, then Dan barked, “They really were dead? We weren’t just drunk?”

Pres surmised, “So that’s why it never made the papers.”

Lincoln tapped the table and said, “Even if that’s true, we have never killed anyone with premeditation. And I for one don’t know that I have the nerve to do that!”

“I’m not worried about your nerve,” Jackson replied. “I’d trust you with my life.”

“That’s what scares me,” Lincoln admitted.

Dan asked Pres, “You’re going, I take it?”

Pres nodded and replied, “Got to be there for my village.”

Dan looked at Lincoln then pointed to the sketch. “Go over the plan again and tell me exactly what I have to do.”

Jackson recounted the plan once more and once again was met with silence. There were a few questions then more silence.

Dan shook his head. “I don’t know about this, man.”

Lincoln asked, “Once we’re inside the compound, we don’t have to move? We shoot from cover?”

“Like you’re hunting from a blind,” Jackson confirmed. He watched as they studied the sketch and when he thought he saw a weakening in their reluctance he said, “Let me sweeten the pot. As managers, you guys made between forty and fifty thousand last year, am I right?”

Lincoln and Dan nodded, but Pres scoffed, “I wish!”

Jackson stated, “I’ll give you five million dollars each if you come with me! You’ll get the money whether we rescue Elizabeth or not. You can live quite well on the interest of the principal. Even if you only get six percent a year, that’ll be more than six times your annual salary. You can have the lives you’ve always dreamed about!” There was another silence.

“Five million dollars!” Dan grunted. “That’s a lot of money! It would solve a lot of my problems, that’s for sure.” He looked intently into Jackson’s eyes, seeking to plumb their depths.

“Go ahead and accept,” Jackson urged, meeting Dan’s stare with a smile. “I know you love me and I know you want to help me, but I also know this is a dangerous thing to ask.”

Lincoln interjected, “You’re offering us money to come with you? We’re not mercenaries! Five million dollars can’t buy our lives!”

“I know it can’t!” Jackson retorted. “I’m in a tough situation right now. If I had time I’d use the total resources that I had at my disposal and I’d probably spend fifteen to twenty million dollars hiring the best professionals and equipment I could find to mount this assault. But I don’t
have time. So the money that I would pay strangers, I’m offering to the people I love. It will serve as a form of insurance for your families should the worst happen.”

“You really have access to that kind of money?” Dan asked. “That’s fifteen million dollars sitting around this table!”

Jackson confirmed with a nod of his head, “Twenty million, counting Wesley’s family. Yes! I have it!”

Lincoln was also studying Jackson and when he spoke he pushed his words as if they were pawns on a chessboard. “There is no doubt, five million dollars would change the quality of our lives. But if I go with you, it won’t be for the money. It’ll be because of our relationship and I trust that you have a good plan.”

Jackson nodded. “Understood.”

Lincoln continued, “You told us the bulk of your grandfather’s estate was in those lost certificates. Does your offer depend upon finding these certificates?”

Dan concluded, “Suppose no one finds the certificates?”

“The answer to your questions, gentlemen, is that your families will be taken care of whether we come back or not. My grandfather has enough property and other assets to pay this agreement in full whether the certificates are ever found or not. I will draw up a letter indicating these amounts as the legal debt that I owe each of you. I’ll get the appropriate language from my attorney and get it notarized tonight. You’ll have your notarized statements before we take off.”

Lincoln pushed back from the table. “I need to talk with Sandra. Can I get back to you in an hour?” Jackson nodded.

“I don’t need to talk to Anu. She’d never agree anyway,” Dan said with a shrug, then a grim smile spread across his face. He stuck his thumb up and said, “Five million dollars buys a lot of gumption. I’m definitely in. And there ain’t no discussion on that.”

“Thank you! Your participation means the world to me!”

Lincoln stood up and said to Jackson, “We’re going to be placing our lives in your hands tomorrow morning. I’m hoping that your intelligence work is accurate.”

Jackson stood up as well. “The best that money can buy.”

When Pres and Jackson returned to the house, they sat discussing the logistics of the raid with Carlos.

Carlos explained, “The plane will be here at two-thirty tomorrow morning. We’ll leave for Ensenada around six in the morning. We don’t
have a definite takeoff time yet, but everyone should be at Moffit by four. We’ll meet up with the Ramirez brothers when we arrive. Tell people to wear black and just to bring one change of clothes and toiletries. Weapons, flak jackets, and everything else will be provided. We’ll go over the plan of attack and everybody’s assignment while we’re in the air. We’ll go over it again when we arrive and make whatever changes are necessary.”

The phone rang. It was Lincoln confirming his participation.

Pres concluded, “I guess we’re a go. Okay, we’ll be there by four. See you tomorrow morning.”

Jackson and Carlos were left in the dining room looking over Carlos’s hand-drawn layout of San Vicente’s mansion. Jackson asked, “How do we keep the police out of this? From what you’ve told me San Vicente is pretty well connected in Tijuana.”

Carlos smiled. “One of my cousins, Tomás Zacatecas, works in Tijuana in a police outfit called Grupo Beta. He’s going to help us.”

“Grupo Beta? What’s that?”

“They primarily spend time protecting illegal immigrants from getting raped and robbed by thugs and other police agencies; sometimes they even have shoot-outs with other police. He’s one of the good guys and he hates San Vicente. He’ll put out the word that San Vicente is going to war with Gaxiola; that’ll keep the federales and the police out of it for a while. Unless they get paid up front, they don’t generally get involved in drug dealers’ wars.”

“How much time will that give us?”

“Max? Maybe an hour from the time we fire the first shots. And we only have that much time because San Vicente’s mansion is pretty far out of Tijuana and almost everybody will be celebrating the holiday. Get that map of Mexico off the shelf. I want to go over with you our possible escape routes and the weapons we’ll need.”

Jackson retrieved the map and said forcefully, “This is different from eighteen years ago. There’ll be no stopping this time until I’ve rescued Elizabeth and I’ve killed them all!” It was no longer his grandfather’s world in which he had become entangled, it was now his own. The men he was fighting were his enemies and the responsibility for success lay firmly on his shoulders. As he bent over the map and focused his attention on Carlos’s discussion there was no doubt in his mind that the name Tremain would once again instill fear.

T
he rain began as they left the lodge and it fell as if a hole had opened in the heavens. Sheets of water traveled across a darkened landscape like waves rushing an unknown coast. The rain drummed on the canvas top of the jeep with the roar of a drum corps playing an eternal funeral march. Visibility was extremely poor, but all Jackson had to do was follow the taillights of the vehicle in front of him. There were periods of straight highway, but for the most part the road was tortuous as it curved around the foothills of Durango. They drove without a break for two hours. It was six-thirty in the evening and the rain had ceased by the time they drove down into a small valley which contained an isolated dirt airstrip. As he got out of the jeep, Jackson wondered whether Maria was still alive.

A twenty-passenger plane waited at the end of the airstrip next to a small hangar. Five men were already on the plane waiting when they boarded. No sooner than they had fastened their seat belts, the plane was airborne. Jackson was introduced around. The only man that he had known previously was Esteban Muñoz. He was one of the men who had taught Jackson how to ride and take care of horses when Jackson was ten years old. Esteban greeted him warmly and acknowledged that Jackson had grown into a strong young man. Jackson nodded in response, but said nothing. The seriousness of the situation inhibited light discussion. The flight lasted three hours. The plane landed at another airstrip identical to the first, except there was no hangar. Jackson rubbed his legs to get the blood circulating and exited the plane behind Carlos. Night had now fallen and with it came a cold and gusting wind. Jackson was unprepared for the chill and force of the gusts. It nearly blew his straw hat, with El Indio’s feather, off his head.

“Give me the feather,” said Carlos, leading Jackson around the plane’s wing toward the luggage bay. “I’ll put it away for you, so you’ll be able to take it home with you. The hat you can lose.”

A large, metal-paneled truck pulled up to the edge of the runway. Jackson helped Carlos carry a heavy box that had
BAZOOKA
stenciled on its lid. He teamed with Carlos until all of the plane’s baggage had been loaded into the side compartments of the truck. Jackson noticed that they unloaded considerably more equipment from the plane than they had taken on. He had seen boxes containing short-barreled trench
mortars and automatic rifles being loaded into the truck along with numerous wooden boxes of ammunition.

Jackson was watching the lights of the plane as it taxied and lifted off into the overcast night sky when his grandfather clapped him on the shoulder and handed him a sheepskin coat and a bandolier of shotgun shells. His grandfather gestured to the bandolier and said, “That’s for your ‘pig’ gun.” The old man turned and walked away before his grandson could respond. Jackson watched as his grandfather continued to bark out orders and direct traffic.

There was no doubt in Jackson’s mind now, he was participating in a war. He had little time to ponder this thought, for the call was given to climb aboard. He followed Carlos into the back of the truck and pushed past a heavy woolen curtain into the bright atmosphere of fluorescent lights. The truck’s interior had been converted to a control center. There was a bank of shortwave radio equipment sitting on a counter at the far end of the compartment and fold-down padded benches were situated along the sides.

Carlos waved Jackson to a seat and went to stand beside El Negro, who was sitting next to Hernando at the radio. Hernando was wearing earphones and flipping switches on the bank of radio equipment. Jackson felt a surge and a slow rocking as the truck turned and got under way. Culio sat down next to him and indicated that he should fasten his seat belt. The ride was rough until they reached a highway then it was easygoing. After they had been driving about half an hour, foil-wrapped packages of soft-shell tacos were handed out along with big bottles of Fanta soda. Jackson gobbled his tacos down. He had forgotten how hungry he was. There was no taste to the food, it merely satisfied his hunger. He could not savor it.

The pins and needles of anxiety began to prick Jackson’s consciousness. He wondered how he would react to killing a human, whether he would experience a guilt greater than any he had previously known. And sometimes, in moments of confusion, he let his thoughts drift to Maria. He had tried not thinking about her, to stifle his concern for her, but his will was not equal to the task. The fear that she was already dead was strong and he could not rid himself of its clammy logic.