Targets of Revenge (37 page)

Bergenn nodded, then ran the short length of the shed, toward the front, to have a look. He turned back to Raabe and said, “They can come at us from either direction. And we’ve only got one gun with limited ammo.”

“No kidding.” Raabe looked down at Romero. “How you doing, man?”

The DEA agent was on the ground beside him. “I’m dead” was his raspy answer.

Even in the darkness, the severe bleeding from his leg was apparent. Romero was trying to put pressure on the wound, but he was losing the battle.

“Damn,” Raabe said. “We need to get a tourniquet on that right now.”

“Forget it,” Romero said. “Femoral artery, man. I’ve seen it before. I’ll bleed to death before you run out of bullets.” His voice told them he was already progressing from shock to a loss of consciousness.

Bergenn and Raabe shared a look, then Raabe said, “Screw it. I’ve got the gun. Jimmy, tie that thing off.”

Bergenn ripped off his shirt, knelt down, and began to apply a tourniquet to Romero’s thigh. He used a stick on the ground to tighten the dressing.

Meanwhile, another barrage of shots began.

“We’re out of time here,” Raabe said. “I’ve got to make a move.”

Bergenn got up and stood beside him. “You took down one man so, by Romero’s count, we have four to go, not to mention two at the gate. That Glock you’re holding probably has a dozen shots left in the magazine, so unless you’re Annie Oakley, you better have one helluva plan.”

Raabe nodded, then dropped to the ground, stuck his head out just beyond the corner of the shed and had a look. Flames were bursting from the heated barrels of the automatics being fired at them. Using those as targets, he squeezed off three quick rounds, then pulled back.

“You hit anything?”

“I didn’t hear anyone scream. You better check the other side again.”

But even as Raabe spoke those words, it was too late. One of Mateo’s men, armed with an AK-47, stepped out from the front side of the building and opened fire.

Bergenn was facing him. He never had a chance. In a matter of seconds his chest was torn apart by a dozen shots. He managed a final act of heroism, willing himself to remain standing for those final seconds of life so he could provide his friend a human shield, giving Raabe time to put two shots in the Mexican’s face.

Both Bergenn and his killer fell to the dirt, dead before they hit the ground.

Raabe’s instinct was to reach out for Bergenn, but that urge was
trumped by his years as a professional. He charged past his fallen partner and grabbed hold of the dead guard’s AK-47, just as a second man emerged from the shadows at the front corner of the building. Raabe, on one knee, took the man out with a four-shot burst.

He jumped up and raced to the rear corner again. It appeared quiet on that side. Spinning around he was confronted by another attacker making a flank move. Raabe opened fire with a series of shots aimed at the man’s head. The guard fell onto his back, the assault rifle still in his hands as he shuddered, then gasped his last breath.

“Four down, three to go,” Raabe said, assuming the men at the front gate had joined the assault.

He gathered up the second AK-47 assault rifle. After checking both sides of the shed again, he turned to Romero, prepared to hand him one of the weapons.

But the young man was dead. Somehow, in the crossfire, he had been hit again. In the darkness, Raabe could not tell if he had died from the first shot or the last.
What does it matter?
Raabe asked himself as he stood there, his back to the building, an AK-47 in each hand.

He took a moment to bend down and turn Bergenn onto his back. His friend’s chest had been riddled with shots and he was covered in blood. He felt his neck for a pulse, knowing what he would find. “Shit,” Raabe said aloud. He found himself wishing he could take dog tags from the necks of his two fallen comrades.

Then he stood tall again and checked the magazines in the two rifles, confirming he had plenty of ammunition.

All he needed now was a strategy.

C
RAIG
R
AABE HAD
to make some quick decisions, and none of them was going to be easy. He was tormented at the prospect of leaving Bergenn and Romero behind. Good soldiers never abandon their fallen teammates to be desecrated by the enemy, and the thought of what Mateo and his men would do to these bodies made Raabe shudder. Sadly, he realized there was nothing to be done about that right now.

He had not learned much since arriving in Reynosa, but his responsibility was to escape from here, chase down Mateo and, more importantly, find whoever it was Mateo had gone off to see.

At the moment, Raabe had two basic choices. The first would be a frontal assault, trying to take out the remaining guards. On the plus side of that option, he was now fully armed and, even facing a three-to-one disadvantage, he was undoubtedly far more skilled than the men he would have to take down. Unfortunately, there were many negatives. The guards knew the layout of this property and he did not. They probably had called for reinforcements by now. And, despite the fact that he had two assault rifles, there was no way of knowing the size or scope of the arsenal he would be facing once he left the cover of this building.

His other alternative was to simply disappear into the night. That would give him a chance to make his way to safety or, even better, circle back and outflank his prey. The night was cloudy and dark and for the moment he was still behind the far side of the building, away
from the lights at the main house. The field that stretched out directly behind him appeared to be planted with corn, and that would provide decent cover. Before he got there, however, there was unprotected ground he would have to cross, fifty yards or more, before he would reach the stalks. Obviously, the farther he got from the safety of the shed, the more visible he would become from angles to his left and right, assuming Mateo’s men had positioned themselves on the points.

He concluded that the other play, coming out from behind the shed and rushing headlong at three invisible targets, was too reckless. Having made his choice he took a moment to discreetly check each corner of the building.

No one seemed to be coming.

Heading back to the center of the wall he had another look at Bergenn. He shook his head, drew a deep breath, and broke into a run dead ahead.

Raabe kept low and moved fast. Even in the darkness he knew his shadowy figure would eventually be spotted. And it was. Less than ten yards from the nearest line of crops he heard gunfire erupt from behind.

He veered off to the right, farther from the main house, then dove to safety as shots whizzed around him, some of them low and spitting dirt into the air. He clambered to his feet and, still in a crouch, headed deeper into the field, doing his best to become invisible, trying not to rustle the tall stalks as he ran. He was moving as quickly as he could, cutting left on a vector that would take him around the back of the main house.

Whether or not they were coming after him, he was not going away.

————

Just as Craig Raabe had said to Jim Bergenn minutes earlier, there were no heroes on the other side of the wall. Once the three remaining guards saw Raabe dive into the cornfield, none of them ventured forward. Instead they fell back to the relative safety of the front porch of the main house. There they took cover, watching for any sign of the American.

“He has one of the AK-47s,” one of the men said.

“At least one.”

“And maybe extra magazines.”

“But he didn’t return fire just now.”

“Would you? Why waste the ammunition?”

“He’s making a run for it.”

All three nodded.

“What do you think we should do?”

“Maybe we should check to be sure the other two are dead.”

They all looked at the distance between the main house and the storage shed, which appeared to have grown considerably now that there was an armed man out there in the darkness.

“They’re dead. If they weren’t, they would have taken off with that one.”

The others nodded.

“What did Rico say? They sending anyone from Reynosa?”

The guard who had spoken with Rico nodded. “At least four men. He was calling them.”

One of the others shook his head. “By the time they get here, that
maricon
will be long gone.”

“Maybe,” the guard said.

————

Raabe continued to wend his way through the field, staying thirty or forty yards into the corn rows, keeping the main house in sight as he circled across the rear of the home toward the other side.

It was a bit incongruous, it occurred to him as he picked his way through the dense plantings, that a man like Mateo would be raising corn. It was understandable that he was not going to grow marijuana or coca leaves in plain sight. On the other hand, if an operational farm was a cover for his more nefarious—and profitable—activities, Raabe wondered who the man thought he was fooling.

He stopped for a moment, perched on one knee. There was nothing he could hear or see that indicated pursuit.

The night was oddly quiet after the explosions of gunfire.

Raabe stood a little higher, getting a better view of the house.

No one appeared to be moving.

Which was not necessarily a good sign.

They might be waiting for reinforcements, not to mention the return of Mateo and his henchmen. Why take their chances now when their three-on-one brawl might become ten-on-one? But Raabe had two weapons and limited ammunition. Time was not on his side.

He began moving again, running faster now, approaching the end of this field. As he came even with the far edge of the house he faced about the same fifty yards of open space he had rushed across to get to the safety of these cornstalks. Off to his right was another open area, unplanted ground with shallow furrows, nothing high enough or deep enough to cover him.

Well,
he told himself,
the shortest distance between two points is a straight line
.

————

Mateo was still with Adina when his man Rico received the call about shootings at the farm. Rico stepped forward, leaned down, and whispered into Mateo’s ear, “We need to talk. Now.”

Mateo knew his lieutenant well enough to realize that he would not have interrupted his discussion with Rafael Cabello unless it was truly urgent. He made his apologies and followed Rico outside. The two men stood so close their cheeks nearly touched.

“Trouble at the farm,” Rico murmured.

“Tell me.”

Rico related what he had heard.

Mateo told him to arrange for reinforcements. “And don’t say anything to the others,” he ordered. “Not until we’re in the car. I’ll wrap this up as soon as I can. You stay out here and make the calls.”

Inside, Adina was waiting patiently to ask, “Everything all right?”

“Perfecto,”
Mateo said. “Just a misunderstanding, which I have rectified.”

“Good. Now returning to the status of my shipment. Where were we?”

Mateo gave the appropriate assurances, did his best to seem unhurried,
but soon said, “It is very late and I am anxious to attend to my guests in Reynosa.”

“You will let me know what happens,” Adina said. It was not a question.

Mateo resented the tone but, under the circumstances, he was in no position to argue. “Of course,” he assured him. “You will be the first to know.”

A few minutes later, after cordial goodbyes, Mateo and his three men were back in the car, racing for home.

————

Raabe ran as low and fast as he could. To his amazement, there were no shots fired as he reached the back corner of the main house. The lights remained on inside. No one was patrolling this part of the grounds. It was clear they assumed he had simply run through the corn rows in the hope of finding safety and had continued beyond the confines of this farm. They were not in pursuit. It was also clear that these men, regardless of how ruthless, were not disciplined professionals.

Raabe stayed below the level of the windowsills as he made his way around the far side of the house. He was at the edge of the front porch, but he was not about to risk the noise he might make climbing up the three wooden steps. Instead, he checked behind him, then got on his knees and elbows, the two AK-47s secure in his hands, and crawled around to the front.

Now he could make out their voices. It sounded like there were only two men sitting on the porch, just above him, discussing what they should do before the others arrived. It was not clear if they were talking about Mateo and his men or reinforcements, but Raabe ignored their banter. Judging as best he could, he figured they were somewhere near the middle of the deck. There was no point in risking discovery by attempting to drag himself any closer. Instead he jumped to his feet and began firing before they knew he was there.

Raabe had been correct, there were two of them. He aimed for their chests, and neither one was able to get his weapon off his lap before Raabe strafed them with repeating shots from both rifles. Both
men were driven backward off their chairs in a mangle of blood, torn flesh, and shattered bones.

Raabe dropped back down for cover, left to wonder where the third man might be. He did not have to wait long.

A hail of gunfire was unleashed, but they had no angle on Raabe. The shots seemed to be coming from somewhere on the main floor of the house but Raabe was protected by the front of the portico, which stood more than three feet off the ground. Raabe stayed low, leaving the floorboards to get the worst of it. Rather than retreat back around the side from where he had come, Raabe scampered forward. The firing stopped as he continued ahead, listening for any sound of the shooter.

All had become quiet again.

The odds were good that the shooter was repositioning himself, or possibly making a run out back to circle the house. Raabe was in no mood to wait. Having reached the far right corner of the porch, Raabe got to his knees and had a quick look.