Redemption (41 page)

Guerra crossed the theatre to the stage while Namara moved toward a door that opened into a corridor. He seized the handle and opened it slowly. There was a mattress on the floor in front of him and several cameras on tripods. There was a man, too, in the process of abusing a child. The creak of the door attracted his attention and alerted him to Namara’s presence. Namara fired two bullets in his heart and head when he tried to get up. Jets of blood hit the wall and what was left of the man crashed into a corner of the room, disrupting several cameras on their tripods. Namara realized at that moment that there was another man to his left. He swung his weapon around, but the other man was faster than him. He seized the little girl and pressed a knife against her throat, using her as a shield against Namara’s fire.

It was the man from his visions. He was facing off against a man he’d already seen. Just like his visions, Brakan had a completely tattooed face, and most of his body. His tattooed eye sockets gave him an appearance that was diabolic, inhumane.

“Stand aside, or I’ll kill her!” he growled from behind the crying girl, couldn’t have been more than twelve years old. Namara stood back to let Brakan through. In the corridor, he regarded Namara, whose appearance was no more human than his. His mud-smeared face made him look like a dark shadow. All Brakan could see were the whites of his eyes, which were staring at him.

“Who are you!?” he ordered, still holding tight to the girl.

“I’ve been looking for you,” said Namara.

“Drop your weapon! Or she dies!!”

Guerra watched the scene from a slight distance. Namara dropped his charger to the ground and ejected the bullet in the chamber of his gun. He dropped that too, and continued to stare Brakan down.

“Let her go, it’s between you and me now!”

Brakan pushed the girl roughly and she fell heavily several meters away.

“You were looking for me, hero!? I’m here! Take me!” he said menacingly, drawing his knife. He smiled and lowered his position, moving toward him, pronouncing words backwards like in a satanic ritual. “Eht serif fo lleh lliw nrub uoy evila!”

“Come on!” said Namara.

“The fires of Hell will burn you alive!!!” he cackled.

  Brakan slashed at his throat, but Namara pulled back in time. They circled each other, face to face. They sized each other up like two savage beasts. Brakan launched again at Namara to puncture his stomach. Namara dodged it. On Brakan’s third strike, Namara struck the fist clutching the knife, breaking all the bones in his hand. Brakan cried out and dropped the blade. Namara kicked his shin and broke his tibia. The end of the bone tore out of the skin, spraying blood. Brakan cried out again. Namara bounded toward him and seized his throat. Brakan’s whole weight was in his hand. Namara glared into his eyes for a few seconds, seized him by the shoulders and threw him onto the ground. The splintered bone perforated his back and lodged itself into his heart. He babbled in agony around the blood streaming out of his mouth and then died, impaled on his own tibia. The girl stood immobile, staring at Namara. In tears and naked, she seemed unable to move, unable to speak.

“Don’t worry. It’s over, kid, I’m here to get you out! We’re leaving this place together, ok?” said Namara.

The girl nodded her head and wiped her eyes.

“What’s your name?”

“Jovanna,” she responded feebly.

At the same moment, Guerra knelt by Brakan’s mangled corpse to confirm that he was in fact dead.

“Goddammit... Namara,” muttered Guerra with a grimace.

“Jovanna, are there others like you here?” asked Namara.

She pointed down the corridor with her finger.

“Ok! James, find her something to wear!”

“Way ahead of you,” he said as he cut down one of the curtains.

Namara moved down the corridor and found Brakan’s cells. They were full of children of all ages, some very young.

“Jesus Christ… How’re we going to get them all out,” he muttered while the little eyes fixed upon him.

“Step off, Namara, I’m going to blow the locks!” said Mike, entering with Gonzo.

“Holy shit, are you kidding me?” said Gonzo, staring at the kids behind iron bars.

*     *     *

Twinkie carried the last bag stuffed with bundles of American banknotes.

“It’s empty!” said Taz, stepping out of the safe.

“Hopefully,” said Twinkie, hoisting the bag onto his back to leave.

“How much do you think we got?” asked Kamilia, having just returned from carrying a bag out to the vehicles.

“A lot... that's what I know,” said Taz.

Ming Mei walked in with a backpack full of documents on her shoulder.

“That’s if for me. I took everything that might be relevant,” she said.

“They just escorted the kids to the vehicles. Gonzo and Mike are with them. Namara and Guerra are waiting for our signal to burn it down!” said Taz, listening attentively to his radio.

“Then let’s get out of here,” said Kamilia.

“Namara, you’re good to go!” said Taz over the waves as he led the way out of the mansion.

“Understood! You’ve juiced everything?”

“Affirmative, Danny, it’s all gonna burn.”

Namara set fire to Brakan’s corps that had been sprinkled with gasoline in the centre of the pentagram. In a few seconds, the fire spread to the walls and climbed the curtains. It rushed down the corridor along the trail of gasoline they’d poured to reach the superior stages of the residence. Namara stood there watching Brakan get eaten by the flames.

“Come on, Namara! We gotta go, everything’s burning!” shouted Guerra.

They ran up toward the exit. The fire had spread to all the walls in a few minutes, becoming a more and more powerful inferno. They left through the central door and ran as fast as possible from the house. Others waited for them at the edge of the vegetation lining the terrain. Namara, surrounded by the others, turned to watch the house be consumed by a thousand flames that licked the sky. They stayed for a few minutes to admire their handiwork; then, they disappeared into the vegetation as the sun rose peacefully.

CHAPTER 68

San Matanza, Mexico.

“Yes, hello?”

“Armando?” asked Namara at the other end of the line.

“Yeah?”

“Erick Vandal. Do you remember me?”

“Erick! Yes, of course! Have you found anything else?”

There was a long silence.

“You told me you would want to know if we ever found the truth.”

“Yes, of course! Have you…
found them
?”

“Yes.”

“Who are they? Tell me!!”

“Yes, but you have to promise me something…”

“I’m listening.”

“No matter what you see, do not intervene. Stay away, you understand!?”

“I heard you, but how did you find them?”

“It’s a long story. I was never a journalist, Armando, you need to know that. Who I am isn’t really important. What’s important is answers.”

“Yes, yes, of course! What do I do?”

“Tomorrow evening, six o’clock. 278 Escondido. Stay back and wait. Don’t come alone, come with people you trust. Come with a van. If things turn out bad, get the fuck out. Understand?”

“Yeah, but… what are we doing?”

“Nothing. You’re doing nothing but watching. You’ll get the answers you were looking for. Your theory was good. They
are
Satanists and there
is
a network. We’ve taken out a lot, but tomorrow we’ll finish the job.”

“Who are you!?”

“Be there tomorrow, Armando.”

Namara hung up the handset and continued to look over the satellite photos that Andy had sent him by email. There was clearly a lime green shed in the back yard of the garage on Avenue Escondido. Same lime green that he saw in his visions, same lime green found on Ed's shotgun stock. In his visions, he’d seen some turning red thing, and there was clearly a sort of old windmill, painted red, at one end of the yard. The old propeller indicated the direction of the wind. Everything in his visions had been proven true. He had spoken with Jovanna upon their return and asked what she remembered of her kidnapping. She recalled being held underground and the only thing she saw through her restraints, when they carried her out of the trunk, was green. Lime green. The same shade, in fact, that Namara could see in the photo. He was sure now that he’d found the hiding place of the Desert Devils. He closed the screen and took a gulp of coffee.

*     *     *

Armando waited patiently at the wheel of his vehicle. The three women and the man that accompanied him were all those that had lost a member of their family to these killers. Erick had told him to bring only those he trusted – there was no-one he would trust more in this situation. He checked his watch. It was 6:00. Nothing in sight. He scanned the garage that corresponded to the given address. The garage had just closed its doors and there was no activity in the neighbourhood.

Then, three black Yukons in a row arrived at full speed. The first vehicle braked suddenly in front of the padlocked doors of the garage’s back yard. Men in black, armed and hooded, climbed out of the three vehicles. One of the men, brandishing a mace, smashed the padlocks with a powerful blow. The metal gave and the doors opened, giving way to an immense scrap yard. The men ran inside.

“What’s all this?” demanded a woman in the back of the van.

“Answers... We’ve got to wait,” retorted Armando.

CHAPTER 69

When Namara opened the doors to the green shed, he found exactly what he’d been looking for. A staircase descended about ten steps underground to a steel door that looked to be locked.

“Mike!” said Namara, motioning him forward.

Mike descended the steps and pulled out a plastic explosive strip, which he pressed onto the door from top to bottom. He rushed up the stairs and motioned everyone back before activating a detonator. There was an explosion and a flash of fire. A piece of the door flew out the shed and landed a few meters away from them. Taz threw a blinding grenade through the door into the smoky interior.

The explosion of the grenade gave sign to the group to enter. Twinkie was the first down, followed by Gonzo. It was a bunker, small and concrete. Less than a meter from the door was a room with a wooden table at which several men had been in the process of eating. The room was set out as a place where they could sojourn, having everything they would need, including a kitchenette and a television. A card game was in process on the table, but most of the cards had been scattered by the explosion. Blinded by the flash from the grenade, they tried to gun down their enemy with their submachine guns. Gonzo and Twinkie fired at their targets with maximal precision to minimize ricochets in the tight space while Namara, Guerra and Mike ran down the corridor to the three cells.

Namara burst into the first unlocked cell, a concrete windowless room with a steel door. A man was waiting inside with a pistol. Namara’s reflex was quicker than the decision-making capacity of the man. He didn’t have time to fire before taking a bullet in the heart. What Namara hadn’t noticed was the presence of another man hidden behind the door. He fired several shots to his chest. Namara’s reflex, despite the gunshots, let him seize the hand that held the pistol. With his other hand, Namara chopped his neck. He repeated the hit until his attacker’s eyes dulled. The pain of the shots finally struck him, but the bulletproof vest had absorbed most of it. Three young women were sitting in the corner of the room.

“Clear!” cried Namara, signing to the women to stand.

While Namara tried to catch his breath, he recognized the faces of the men he’d killed. The men were indeed Eduardo’s. The noise of the explosions, the blinding grenades and the gunfire was heard throughout the little bunker.

“Clear!” cried Guerra, followed by Mike.

Namara got the women out of the room and found that Guerra and Mike had some with them as well. About ten women in all climbed toward the exit with the group.

“There’s a woman’s body in a cell. It’s too late for her,” said Guerra, glancing at Namara as he lurched out of the bunker. They ran to escape the yard in the direction of the vehicles where Shinsaku, Ming Mei and Kamilia waited at the wheel. Armando watched the young women stream out of the yard.

“My God…”

He drove forward with his van and Guerra recognized him. He motioned him closer.

“Can you take them with you!?” he asked urgently.

“Of course!” he said, climbing out of the driver’s seat to open the truck’s rear doors.  His friends climbed out to help. They filed one-by-one into the van.

“Twinkie, burn everything that’s left!” cried Taz.

“Understood!” he shouted, seizing his Arwen shotgun. He inserted incendiary cartridges into the magazine and ran to the front of the garage. The cartridges blew through the windows into the interior. In a few seconds, flames licked out of the open windows. Namara, who had raised his hood, walked around the vehicles to gather his thoughts. He didn’t feel good. One of the bullets had hit; he realized this when he put his hand to his chest and wiped a lot of blood. He was losing pints, but he hadn’t realized it from the adrenaline. It had slid right under his vest. He felt the ground turn under his feet and measured his breathing, trying to recover. Breathing was hard. There was a trickle of blood spilling over his lip.

“Namara, what are you doing! This is no time to take a tour!” shouted Guerra. “We need to skedaddle!”

At that instant, Namara collapsed. He was face down, unmoving on the sandy ground. All froze when they saw him go down.

“Shit! He’s hit!” Guerra ran in his direction, followed by the rest.

“What’s happening?” shouted Kamilia, sticking her head out of the vehicle as they ran by. She had no way of seeing what had just happened behind her.

“Namara’s hit!” said Gonzo.

“Fuck!!” she cried, pounding the steering wheel.

Guerra and Gonzo turned him onto his back. Blood was running out of his mouth, but he was semi-conscious.

“Come on, you bastard, you’re not going out like this. Hold on!” begged Guerra, pulling his arm over his shoulder. Gonzo did the same and they had him up.