Targets of Revenge (38 page)

Nothing.

Then the lights in the front rooms and the veranda went out. That would make it tougher for Raabe to spot his target, but his eyes had already adjusted to the dark. The other man’s had not. He decided to use that momentary edge, rushing silently up the far steps and crouching below the first window.

The light switches had to be somewhere near the front of the home, which meant the man was going to make his move from there. Seconds later the barrel of an assault rifle appeared out the front door. Raabe remained in a motionless squat as he watched the man burst out into the open and begin firing over the side of the deck, spraying shots to his left and right. Raabe used both weapons, tearing the man to shreds. As the Mexican fell backward he kept his finger on the trigger, sending a series of shots into the air until he stumbled to the wooden floor and his weapon clattered to the ground beside him.

According to Romero’s count, all of the men Mateo had left behind were dead, but Raabe was not taking any chances. He jumped off the porch and stooped low, waiting a long couple of minutes for another wave of attacks.

But none came.

Behind him were five vehicles, including a pickup truck and the two cars that had brought Bergenn and him here. He found the key for the pickup in the ignition and started it up. Then he stopped for a moment.

He was still not sure who might still be in the house, but he had no intention of leaving anything behind.

————

It did not take Raabe long to fire up the wooden structure, using shirts from two of the dead guards, gasoline from the cars, and matches he found in the truck. He grabbed some replacement magazines for the two assault rifles, then jumped in the pickup and spun to the back of the storage building. There he hoisted Bergenn and Romero in the truck’s cargo bay, then took off.

There was no telling how soon Mateo and his men would return, or when someone else would spot the growing flames from the old house and come by. He was not even sure where he was going from here, but the first order of business was to get to a safe spot where he could plan his next move.

He floored the accelerator, racing away from the burning building, but did not get more than a quarter mile past the front gate of the farm when he saw headlights coming directly at him. He pulled the truck off to the side of the road, killed the lights, and took both reloaded AK-47s into a ditch ten feet or so ahead of the truck.

As soon as the oncoming car was within range he opened fire—this was not the time to wait and see who was at the wheel. The sedan veered off to its right and screeched to a halt. The driver then threw the passenger door open and dove to safety behind the car.

It appeared the man was alone, but in the darkness Raabe could not be certain. Whoever was there, they were not returning fire.

“Stand up and put your hands on your head,” Raabe hollered across the road.

Then a familiar voice called back, “Only if you promise not to shoot me, Craig.”

It was Sandor.

S
ANDOR STOOD BESIDE
the truck’s cargo bay, staring at the bodies of Felipe Romero and Jim Bergenn.

“He never had a chance,” Raabe said as he began to explain what had happened since he and Bergenn arrived in Reynosa the previous morning.

Still looking down, Sandor said, “Tell me as we go, we need to get out of here.”

Sandor took the wheel of the truck. Raabe slumped beside him in the passenger seat and continued his account of being captured, their escape from the shed, and the shootings. When he was done he said, “Jim . . . ,” as if there were something more he wanted to add.

“It doesn’t seem real to me.”

“Me either, and I was there.” Raabe took a deep breath and said, “That’s a star on the wall I never wanted to see.” Then he became quiet.

Sandor allowed the silence to fall over them as they sped down the road. Then he asked, “What’s the story with the fire?”

Staring straight ahead, Raabe said, “It seemed the thing to do at the time.”

Sandor nodded. “Nice touch.”

After a few more moments Raabe said, “I almost killed you on the road back there.”

“Not really. I was using the night binoculars,” Sandor explained. “I stopped a couple of times to try and get a look at the place before
I came busting in there. I saw the fire start and then you came barreling along.”

“How the hell could I have . . .”

“You couldn’t. Anyway, you did the right thing, you had to figure I was one of the bad guys. I thought about stopping, getting out and trying to wave you down, but you might not have seen who it was in the dark. I didn’t want to stand there to find out if you were going to blow my head off. I kept low in the car, figured you would shoot me off the road. Best I could do.”

Raabe nodded. “How did you find me?”

“Tracked you to your hotel. Bartender there took a hundred bucks to tell me how you and Jim left with one of the locals, guy who works for this guy Mateo. He watched through the front window when his friends showed up and they stuffed the two of you into a couple of cars.”

“How did you find your way here?”

“Another hundred bought me directions to the farm. Said it was the place they were most likely to take you.”

“He was right,” Raabe said with a slow nod. “So where are we headed now?”

“Small airfield, about a half hour from here. We have a plane waiting.”

“What about this guy Mateo?”

“I’ll handle that with Byrnes. Our problem now is the leak. Only a few of us knew you were coming here. The DD, Bergenn, LaBelle, you, and me. Even Romero didn’t know anything until you arrived.”

“Which leaves LaBelle.”

Sandor shook his head. “I’ve known him a long time. Hard to believe, but we need to know. I’ve got a lead on the shipment, but the source is less than credible. I’ll tell you all about it on the plane.”

“Give me the headline.”

“Russian drug dealer in New York says this shipment is coming by container ship into Baltimore, then by truck to New York City.”

“Why would a drug dealer tell you that?”

“I had a gun to his head.”

Raabe nodded. “I guess that
is
a story for the plane. So we’re heading to Baltimore?”

“No, Byrnes organized a task force to follow up on that. Our problem is the leak. If there’s a hole in the pipeline we’ve got to plug it. Otherwise they’ll keep making adjustments and we’ll be chasing our own tail.”

“So we’re going to Dallas.”

“Yes. We’re going to Dallas.”

————

A half hour later, when Mateo returned to his farm, the sun had not yet risen but the sky was alight with the bright flames of his burning house. The enormity of the blaze had already brought some curious onlookers from the neighboring areas but, since everyone knew whose property this was, none of them ventured past the front fence.

Mateo’s driver pulled the Escalade into the parking area, a safe distance from the scattering embers and falling timber. Mateo and his three men got out, staring in disbelief at the inferno. It was too late to call for a fire truck. By the time they arrived only ashes would remain.

Mateo, who had not spoken a word as they approached this disaster, now gave voice to every imaginable profanity. His bodyguards raised their weapons and did their best to surround him, but it soon became apparent that whatever threat may have existed was now gone.

Having spat out the last curse, he led his men to the utility building where his prisoners had been held. They unbarred the front door and pulled it open. The shed was empty.

“Look at this,” Mateo said, pointing to the pile of boxes and sacks his captives had used to escape.

None of his men spoke.

With Mateo in the lead they walked around to the side of the building where the captives had climbed out and dropped to safety. There they discovered the residue of battle—the bodies of three of his guards.

“Mierda,”
he shouted out.

There was no sign of Pacquito or the two Americans.

Mateo was in something of a daze as he staggered back to his car, lost in a sense of dread he had not experienced since he was a mere
soldier in the organization. He understood that the real damage here was not the destruction of his farmhouse or the death of his men. Even the escape of the three hostages was not critical in and of itself. No, the problem would be the consequence he would suffer for his incompetence. Not only would the cartel itself be outraged, but there might be graver reprisals if this debacle compromised the shipment arranged for Adina.

Overwhelmed by the realization of the peril he faced, he did not at first hear the noise as the troops approached.

Trucks and cars were pouring through his front gate and a combat helicopter rose above the horizon. Mateo’s men, seeing that he was in some inexplicable stupor, grabbed him under the arms and began dragging him to the large SUV, but it was too late.

Several armored trucks in the vanguard of this assault screeched to a stop, blocking the front of the property. Someone with a bullhorn announced that they were
federales
and ordered Mateo and his men to throw down their weapons, lift their arms in the air, and give themselves up.

————

It was Deputy Director Byrnes who organized this welcoming party for Mateo.

After Sandor debriefed Raabe on the events at the farm, he grabbed his secure cell and called DD Byrnes. Byrnes agreed that if there was ever a time when the Mexican authorities could do something about the war on drugs—other than pay it tequila-scented lip service as they looked the other way—this was it. Mateo’s traveling retinue was only three men, and he would have no way of knowing that his remaining force at the farm had been completely eliminated. His house was on fire, there would be no place for him to hide, and he was therefore vulnerable to capture.

When Byrnes placed the appropriate calls he was initially frustrated by the usual pushback—it was the middle of the night, they would need time to mobilize, there was no telling how many men they would require since Mateo may have called in reinforcements, and so forth. Byrnes remained calm, letting the wave of bureaucratic
excuses wash over him as he was passed up the chain of command until he was finally patched through to the man in charge. Then he played his trump card. Mateo had just been involved in the kidnapping, torture, and murder of an American DEA operative; the kidnapping and murder of an American agent of undisclosed affiliation; and the kidnapping of yet another American agent whose fate was not being revealed, but who had survived long enough to tell the tale in graphic detail.

“Failure to take immediate and decisive action,” Byrnes told the head of the local drug enforcement team who was now sitting up in his bed, fully awake, “is going to become a diplomatic shitstorm that’ll land squarely on your head. Are you with me on this,
comandante
?”

“Yes,” the man said. “I am.”

————

So, just as Raabe and Sandor took off on the Company plane for Dallas, Mateo and his men were being handcuffed by the Mexican authorities.

In the moments before the
federales
arrived, Reynosa’s top drug lord had been contemplating his fate at the hands of his former associates within the Sinaloa Cartel. Not to mention what might be visited upon him by Adina’s people. They would begin with torture and end up using him for shark bait. Yet now, as he was taken into custody, there was a surprising serenity about him.

Suddenly arrest did not seem all that distasteful.

Mateo was pleased to be separated from his men and shoved into the back of one of the government SUVs. Looking across the yard at his three underlings, he was certain they would try to prove their machismo, preferring a long jail sentence to a betrayal of the
hermandad
.

Mateo, however, had already decided on a less repulsive course of action.

T
HE MEETING WITH
Dan LaBelle this morning was not going to be a friendly gathering in a swanky bar. Raabe cleaned up and changed clothes on the short flight to Dallas Love Field, the private airport outside the city. He and Sandor were met there by a local agent assigned to the Directorate of Support, and he drove them to the government building where LaBelle had his office. It was early and, after showing credentials that admitted them to the indoor parking lot, they found a guest spot and waited.

When LaBelle pulled into his designated space and climbed out of his car, Sandor was behind him, standing against one of the concrete pillars with his arms crossed. “Hello Dan,” he said.

For a second or two LaBelle appeared disoriented. He was alarmed to find anyone waiting for him in this secure parking garage. Then he recognized his old friend. “Jordan. What the hell are you doing here?”

Sandor did not respond. He pointed to the sedan where Craig Raabe was sitting in the back, holding the door open.

“What is this?” LaBelle asked.

“Don’t you know?” Sandor asked.

LaBelle glared at him. “I wouldn’t have asked the question if I did.”

“I’ll do the asking this morning. Get in the car.”

LaBelle hesitated, then stepped forward. “We know each other too long for me to be treated this way.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

LaBelle got in the backseat alongside Raabe. Sandor sat in the
front passenger seat and turned to face them. The local agent stepped out and made sure all the doors were closed.

Sandor asked, “What have you heard about the mission Raabe and Bergenn went on in Reynosa?”

LaBelle responded with a blank stare. “Nothing.” He looked at Raabe. “I told you my communications from Felipe Romero are sporadic. We do everything we can to protect his cover.” Turning to Sandor, he said, “I actually expected to hear back from you before I heard from him.”

“Well you’re hearing back from me now,” Sandor told him. “Felipe Romero is dead. So is Jim Bergenn.”

“What?”

“Bergenn and Raabe met Romero as arranged. Within hours your agent was taken by the Sinaloa Cartel and tortured. My men were captured. The point is, they knew we were coming before we got there. That right?” he asked Raabe.