Edge of Battle (50 page)

“I said it the way it was
meant
to be said, Maria,” the Marine sergeant said with a smile. “C’mon in out of the heat.”

“I must go.”

“O-kay, darlin’,” the Marine said. “I’ll see you later. Ay-dos!” Maria rolled her eyes in mock frustration at the Marine’s clumsy attempt at Spanish and headed back to her pickup truck.

The Marine reported by radio that the meals had arrived, the contractor was heading back to the admin area, and he was about to open the bunker door. He rang the outer buzzer, then looked through the viewfinder in the door to be sure the prisoner was up against the back wall as he was supposed to do whenever he heard
the bell, punched in the code to unlock the door, and went inside with the meal. “Chow time,” he said. He put the cardboard meal container on the small metal table, then turned to close the bunker door…

…and he never saw the baseball bat hit him on the side of his head.

Zakharov scrambled to the steel bars of his cell and looked on in astonishment as he saw the Marine guard hit the ground and a woman rush inside to check him.
“¡Usted es un ángel!”
he said happily. “I hope you brought explosives, my dear, because to use his key code to unlock this cell you have to call the security office first, so unless you can do a deep man’s voice you will need a…”

“I wouldn’t worry about any of that, Colonel Zakharov,” a man’s voice said in English—and U.S. Border Patrol agent Paul Purdy entered the bunker. He looked at Maria. “Is he okay?”

“He is unconscious.” She checked his pupils. “No concussion—I think he will be okay. His head is bleeding but not badly.”

“One lump on the noggin and maybe a slight career setback—a small price to pay to rid the world of you, Colonel,” Purdy said casually. He walked to the cell, withdrew an automatic pistol, and began screwing a sound suppressor to the muzzle. “Remember me, Colonel?”

“Agent Paul Purdy. I remember now,” Zakharov said. “You intend to kill me while I am locked in this cell? Is that how an American kills, Agent Purdy—from inside a robotic shell, or when his victim is behind bars?”

“I’ll give you as much as you gave Victor Flores, Colonel—and you don’t deserve none of it.” Purdy dropped into a shooter’s crouch, extended the gun, and aimed.

“I’ll see you in hell, Agent Purdy.”

“Don’t wait up,” Purdy said, and he fired a bullet into Zakharov’s one remaining good eye. Blood, brains, and bone splattered across the far side of the cell, and the almost headless corpse hit the concrete floor with a sickening thud.

Purdy casually unscrewed the suppressor from his gun, turned,
and looked into Maria’s horrified face. “Sorry you had to see that, darlin’,” he said.

Maria tore her eyes off the grisly scene in the cell, looked at the Border Patrol agent, then stood on her tiptoes and gave him a kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Victor would have wanted me to give you that,” she said.

“Oh, I think Victor would have wanted you to give me a
lot
more’n that, darlin’.”

“Stop it, you old letch. By the way—this means I will probably need a new job somewhere, Purdy.”

“I told you, I got you covered,” Purdy said. “I found a nice business for you up in Stockton, good schools for your kids—trust me, darlin’.” He put an arm around her waist. “Now how about you and me head on over to the Joshua Tree Saloon and celebrate with a couple of tequilas? Then maybe take a drive out into the desert and celebrate the new spirit of peace and happiness between America and Mexico?”

“Shall I invite my husband to join us too, Purdy?” Maria asked with an alluring, mischievous smile on her face.

“Ouch. You did it to me again, darlin’—you went and mentioned the ‘H’ word,” Purdy said, putting a hand on his heart as he escorted Maria out of the bunker. “You done broke my heart again.”

Jacket design by Richard L. Aquan

Jacket photograph by Dirk Anschutz /Nonstock/Jupiterimages;

Flames © by Wayne Aldridge / Imagestate; seal by AP Images