Suicide Mission (24 page)

Catalina hadn't spent a more nerve-wracking night since the time she had dodged the cartel killers back in Ciudad Acuña, after Marty was killed. Nothing happened, though. Some of the women were taken out of the barracks, then brought back later, and it wasn't difficult to guess what had happened to them while they were gone, but Catalina wasn't among those singled out.

That wouldn't last. As a newcomer, she knew her services would be in high demand.

If that happened before the others showed up, she wouldn't give in. In the past, she might have, figuring that with everything else she had done in her life, it didn't really matter anymore. But the time she had spent with Bill, Bailey, Stillman, and the others had taught her that some things were worth fighting for. The past couldn't be changed, but the way people lived their lives every day was still up to them. They didn't have to allow their past mistakes to rule them. Human dignity meant something to her again, and she wouldn't let anyone take it away from her.

So she would fight. It wouldn't be hard. None of the guards considered the female prisoners a threat. Catalina could tell that by looking at them, watching the careless way they acted around the women. They believed that all the women were too beaten down and terrified to ever fight back.

When the time came, they would find out how wrong they were about her.

 

 

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Jackie Thornton asked nervously as Cole steered the jeep along the rutted track that barely qualified as a road.

“Of course it's not a good idea,” Cole said. “We're headed right toward a whole training camp full of cartel killers and bloodthirsty terrorists who want to murder as many Americans as they can. But you knew this job was going to be dangerous when you agreed to it, didn't you?”

“I didn't like prison,” Jackie said. “I never could sleep much. And when I did sleep, I had nightmares about all the bad things I done.”

“Well, there you go. You have a chance now to make up for those things, and either way, you won't be going back to prison, my friend.”

“If that's supposed to make me feel better, Cole, I ain't sure it does.”

“I don't care if you feel better or not. Just do your job.”

“Which is what, exactly?”

Cole smiled thinly.

“Helping me blow the hell out of that camp.”

He wasn't sure how far along the canyon they had come. The way it twisted around, judging distances was practically impossible. But it seemed like they ought to be getting to the camp soon. Eyes had been watching them for a while, Cole was sure of that.

So he wasn't surprised when he steered the jeep around another bend in the canyon and found two jeeps waiting for them, both with machine guns mounted on them and filled with men carrying automatic rifles. As the weapons were leveled at them, Cole slammed on the brakes, brought his jeep to a skidding stop, and thrust his hands in the air as a smile broke out on his face.

“Whoa,” he said. “Take it easy, fellas. We're not looking for trouble. We just want to do a little business.”

At least one of the men spoke English. He stalked forward, menacing Cole and Thornton with his rifle, and said, “Business? What sort of business would we have with the likes of you, gringo?”

“I have something to sell. It's in the back. Show them, Jackie.”

Thornton started to get out of the jeep. Instantly more of the rifles pointed at him. He held up his hands in plain sight and said quickly, “Don't shoot. I'm just followin' orders, like you.”

The leader of the cartel gunmen gestured with his rifle, jerking the barrel toward the tarpaulin-covered object behind the seats of the jeep.

“Uncover it,” he ordered. “Carefully.”

“Trust me, I'm gonna be mighty careful with this thing.”

Thornton untied a couple of pieces of rope and pulled the tarp back, revealing a large metal case.

“I have to open it to show you what's inside,” he said.

The leader hesitated, then jerked his head in a nod.

Thornton flipped the latches and raised the lid. Cole waved a hand at the cylindrical object inside the case and said, “Just in case you don't know what you're looking at, gentlemen, that's a tactical nuclear weapon. A suitcase nuke, if you will.”

 

 

Alfredo Sanchez joined Tariq in the dining room of the building that housed their quarters and those of the other upper-level occupants of the camp. Sanchez smiled and said, “You slept well, I trust, amigo?”

Many times, Tariq had been tempted to explain to Sanchez—forcefully, even—that the two of them were not friends. But let the man think whatever he wanted to. Their association was almost over.

Tariq and Anwar were leaving Barranca de la Serpiente later today, and as far as Tariq was concerned, it would be just fine if they never returned. The camp could continue its operation without him.

And it would be needed, no doubt about that. With the United States in a shambles from the devastating biological blow that was about to be unleashed upon them, well-trained, ruthless men would be required to move in and complete the job of taking over the country, bit by bit.

Next they would strike at what was left of the U.S. communications industry, crippling it. The left-wing politicians who ran things in America just thought they knew what it was like to have a captive media. They would soon learn how pathetic their grip really was.

The power transmission grid would follow, going down in a series of precisely timed strikes. Some Americans liked to tar his people with the brush of being stuck in the Middle Ages; soon, cut off from each other, huddling in the dark, afraid, the infidels would learn what the Middle Ages had really been like.

In two months, maybe three, the United States would be ruled by a strict but benevolent Muslim government, and sharia would be the law of the land. The citizens who were left would embrace their new destiny, since it promised peace, at least, and a degree of security. Those who could adapt successfully to this new order would be taken in. Those who couldn't would be . . . eliminated.

The idea that a relative handful of warriors could win such a decisive victory against what was still a military power was amazing, Tariq knew. But that was the way wars would be fought in this new age.

The New Sun might not have risen in San Antonio, but it was a new day, nonetheless.

With those thoughts in his head, was it any wonder that Tariq paid little attention to whatever it was that Sanchez was babbling about?

“What did you say?” he asked the Mexican.

“I said we're going to have some entertainment again today,” Sanchez replied. “The Pit of Blood will once more be a battleground of life and death.”

“I'm leaving,” Tariq said curtly. “Anwar and I have things to do.”

Tariq hadn't told Sanchez or any of the other savages about the Night Flowers. They didn't need to know. The camp could continue in operation even though the Mexicans were ignorant of what was about to happen. It was enough that Tariq and a few of his trusted associates were aware of the truth.

“You can stay long enough to watch the fight, surely,” Sanchez said. “There was a man among the prisoners we took yesterday . . . a gringo, from the looks of him, probably down here looking to buy drugs . . . but such a fighting man we have not come across in quite awhile. It will be a special battle.”

Tariq found such spectacles only mildly entertaining. He would rather kill infidels than watch them kill each other. But Sanchez seemed so determined, and Tariq supposed it wouldn't hurt. Anwar wouldn't have everything packed up and ready to go until later in the day, anyway.

“All right,” Tariq said. “We will pay a visit to the Pit of Blood. But you had better not disappoint me, Sanchez.”

Sanchez smiled and said, “Trust me, amigo, when you see this monster, you will not be disappointed.”

 

 

Bill wondered if today was some sort of crazed killer holiday. The camp didn't seem to be as active. Nobody came to the barracks to haul out any of the prisoners so they could “practice” on them. The men huddled together and talked quietly among themselves, glad to be spared for even an extra few hours of life.

That changed late in the morning when several guards came in and brandished their automatic weapons, causing the captives to cringe and shrink away from them.

“You!” one of the men said as he jabbed the barrel of his rifle at Bailey. “On your feet!”

Bill recognized the man as Jorge, the leader of the group that had held up the bus the previous day.

Bailey climbed to his feet, not getting in any hurry about it. He wore an insolent sneer on his face.

“What do you want?” he demanded.

“You'll find out soon enough, gringo,” Jorge said. He looked around the room at the other men, then pointed out two more, both fairly well-built. “You and you. You will come with us, too.”

The men couldn't argue, not with half a dozen automatic weapons trained on them.

Bill didn't want them taking Bailey out of here without taking him, too. With contempt dripping from his voice, he said, “You're brave men, when you have all the odds on your side.”

Jorge had been about to leave, but he paused to glare at Bill.

“I remember you,” he said. “The
viejo
who gave me trouble yesterday.” A leer stretched across Jorge's face. “The one with the oh-so-pretty niece. I think I will take her to my bunk tonight, old man. What do you think of that?”

Bill leaned forward and spat, narrowly missing Jorge's boot.

The man swung that foot at him in a kick that grazed Bill's shoulder. Bill made it seem like the blow had landed with more force than it really did and fell to the side.

“Get up,” Jorge snarled. “You're going to the Pit of Blood, too, old man!”

Holding his shoulder to make it appear that he was hurting, Bill climbed awkwardly to his feet. Jorge clubbed him between the shoulder blades with the rifle butt, driving him toward the door. Bill stumbled outside into the blinding sunlight with the other prisoners.

Jorge had called him a fool, but
he
was the dumb one, Bill thought. Jorge had played right into his hands.

Whatever happened, he and Bailey were still together, ready to fight side by side.

The guards marched the four prisoners across the camp. Bill saw a crowd gathering in the distance, and as they came closer, he saw that it was a mixture of the cartel gunmen and the terrorists who had come here from all over the Middle East to refine their skills at killing Americans.

Along the way they passed within about fifty yards of a long, low, white building. Several jeeps had just pulled up in front of it, leaving a cloud of dust hanging in the air behind them to swirl slowly and disperse. Men got out of the jeeps to go into the building, and Bill noticed that a couple of them seemed to be under guard.

A shock went through him as he recognized Braden Cole and Jackie Thornton.

At least, he thought the two men were Cole and Thornton. At this distance, with the dust in the air, it was hard to be sure. Also, the guards hustled the men inside the building so quickly that Bill didn't get more than a glimpse of them.

His heart pounded. He tried to control the reaction and stay calm. But if Cole and Thornton really were here, that meant some sort of operation had to be under way. Once the GPS signals told them for sure where the camp was located, Wade and Megan had the responsibility of planning the team's next move. Bill had no way of knowing what that was, but he felt reasonably sure of one thing.

Hell would be popping in Barranca de la Serpiente before too much longer.

Tariq was watching Anwar pack containers of the deadly spores in a case cooled by dry ice when Alfredo Sanchez hurried into the lab. The Mexican looked excited about something.

“Our guards just captured two Americans,” he announced.

Tariq frowned and asked, “Were they spying on the camp?” Everyone involved in establishing this place had been sworn to secrecy, but such a high level of security was difficult to achieve in practice, even with the threat of death hanging over the heads of those who might break it. It was possible the American intelligence apparatus had gotten wind of Barranca de la Serpiente and sent someone to check it out.

Of course, they wouldn't be able to do anything to stop what was going to happen, Tariq thought.

“No, they weren't spies,” Sanchez said. “They were driving boldly right up the canyon. They
wanted
to be taken prisoner and brought here.”

Tariq's frown deepened.

“Why would they want that? Surely they know we kill Americans.”

“They claim to be arms dealers who want to do business with us. And as proof of that . . .” Sanchez apparently couldn't resist a dramatic pause. “They have brought a nuclear weapon with them.”

Anwar hadn't been paying any attention to what Sanchez said. He'd been too caught up in the preparations to move his lethal little creations.

But at the mention of a nuclear weapon, he straightened from the case where he was packing the spores and turned around sharply.

“What was that?” he demanded.

Sanchez nodded and said, “Yes, a suitcase nuke like the one that was supposed to blow up San Antonio. These men claim to have gotten it through connections in the Russian military and
Mafiya
, the same way you got the other one.”

That was crazy, Tariq thought. Yet he had no doubt that other such devices existed. It was impossible to know how many objects of destruction the collapse of the Soviet empire had set free upon the black market more than thirty years earlier. Many of them still had to be unaccounted for.

“Can you bring it in?” Anwar asked eagerly.

“Wait a minute,” Tariq said before Sanchez could answer. “How did these men know where to find us?”

Sanchez shrugged. He said, “We've had to obtain a great deal of weapons and ammunition, for your men as well as ours. You know there's always a grapevine. There are always rumors, no matter how hard you try to prevent them. And when it comes to dealing in death, the men at the top of that chain are a small group. Word gets around.”

That explanation didn't really satisfy Tariq, but he had to admit that what Sanchez said was true.

“Men such as you speak of would not simply drive in as if they were door-to-door salesmen.”

“They might if they believed they have a strong enough hand to play,” Sanchez said. “There is nothing stopping us from looking at what they've brought to us. If something is not right, we can always kill them.”

“Yes, I suppose,” Tariq agreed, although it was with some reluctance. “Have them brought in.”

“And the bomb,” Anwar added.

“And the bomb,” Tariq said with a nod.

A moment later, ringed by armed guards, the two Americans came into the lab. Both were smallish men, and rather weaselly in appearance, Tariq thought. One appeared to be nervous, while the other exuded a confidence that bordered on arrogance. That annoyed Tariq, but he kept the feeling in check.

The confident one stepped up to Sanchez and said, “I'm Braden Cole. Are you the man in charge here?”

“No,” Tariq said as he moved forward. He ignored the angry glance Sanchez gave him. “I am.”

“It's good to meet you, then,” Cole said with a nod. He didn't offer to shake hands. Instead he nodded at the other man and went on, “This is my associate, Mr. Thornton.”

“What do you want?” Tariq asked coldly.

“I think we're in a position to do each other some good,” Cole said. “You need weapons, and we can supply them.”

“Look around you. Do you see any shortage of weapons?”

“I see men armed with rifles and pistols,” Cole replied with a smile. “I'm talking about something on a much larger scale.” He half-turned to sweep a hand toward the case that a couple of Sanchez's men had just brought in and placed on a lab table. “I'm talking about being able to unleash hell on your enemies.”

Tariq thought rapidly. The Americans had covered up the fact that a suitcase nuke had almost gone off in downtown San Antonio several weeks earlier. So Cole wouldn't be aware that Tariq had already had his hands on such a device. If Cole and Thornton were trying to put something over on him, they would soon learn what a bad mistake that was.

“Let's have a look,” Tariq said coolly.

Anwar crowded forward in excited anticipation as Cole went to the case and snapped the latches open. He lifted the lid, and as the object inside was revealed, Tariq's heart slugged a little harder in his chest. The carrying case was the same sort that had housed the other bomb, and the cylindrical shape was similar, too, if not exactly identical. Tariq supposed there might be slight differences in the weapons, depending on where and when they were manufactured.

“My friend needs to take a closer look at it,” Tariq said.

“By all means.” Cole stepped back and waved for Anwar to come closer.

After several minutes of scrutiny, Anwar looked at Tariq and nodded.

“It appears to be real. It would take more detailed examination to be sure, though. One thing concerns me.”

“What's that?” Tariq asked.

“There doesn't appear to be a triggering mechanism.”

Tariq glared at Cole.

“What good is a bomb that can't be detonated?”

“Don't worry, there's an internal triggering mechanism,” the American said. “In fact . . .” He glanced at a watch strapped to his wrist. “If I don't call my people in another five minutes, they'll transmit a satellite signal to it and set it off, and this whole valley will cease to exist.” Cole's face hardened. “We're not fools, you know. We didn't just waltz in here trusting in your good will.”

Anwar's eyes widened at the threat, and Sanchez's elegantly casual posture vanished as he stiffened.

Tariq remained as stonily expressionless as Cole himself did. He said to the American, “You're bluffing.”

“I never bluff where two million dollars is concerned. And my life.”

“Two million dollars?”

“That's the price. And here's how the deal works. I call my people and tell them that we have an arrangement. Then you come with me back down the canyon. We leave the device here. Once Mr. Thornton and I are out of danger, you make a call—I know you have sat phones, just like we do—and have your people transfer the two million. As soon as I receive word that the transfer has gone through, we part ways. You come back here, and my friend and I leave. Simple enough?”

“How do we make the bomb operational?”

“You'll get an email detailing the procedure. It'll be waiting for you when you get back.”

“But in the meantime you still hold the threat of a nuclear explosion over this camp.”

Cole shrugged and said, “At some point you have to trust the people you're doing business with.”

Tariq remembered saying much the same thing to men he had later betrayed. But that was for his holy cause, and these Americans had no such cause, only an unholy lust for wealth and power.

He looked at Sanchez, who said coldly, “You claimed to be in charge, amigo. The decision is yours.”

Tariq drew in a deep breath. He said to the Americans, “All right. We have an agreement.” He glanced at Anwar's work with the Night Flowers, which was not yet complete. He saw no reason not to carry on with the packing as planned. The suitcase nuke could remain here in the camp to be used later as they finished the work of taking over the United States. “But we can't leave yet. It will still be an hour or more.”

Cole quirked his thin lips and shrugged.

“As long as we have a deal, we're in no hurry. I need to make that call, though.”

Tariq nodded and said, “Go ahead.”

Cole reached in his pocket and took out a slender satellite phone. Anwar said, “You may not get reception on that in here.”

“Our signal is strong enough,” Cole said confidently. He punched numbers into the phone, waited a moment, and then went on, “This is Cole. We have a deal. Proceed as planned.” He broke the connection and put the phone away again. “All right. Now we have all the time in the world.”

“Then perhaps you'd care to join us,” Sanchez suggested, as cool as ever again now. “We're about to indulge in some entertainment.”

“What sort of entertainment?” Thornton asked, the first time the man had spoken.

Sanchez smiled and said, “Tell me, have either of you gentlemen ever heard of the Pit of Blood?”