The Lawless Kind (15 page)

Our plan to snatch Benjamin was rushed and a successful result depended on its apparent bravado. Ideally, we could have done with more assets, more equipment, and a better get-out plan – a helicopter to fly us all back over the border would have been ideal – but we must make do. Because we were concerned that Molina might be aware of our presence in the country, we’d decided on getting in and out again before he’d made full preparations to deter us. It took a lot of guts, and not a little stupidity, to hope we could sneak into his house without encountering his gunmen, but luckily I’d plenty of both. If this was a trap, we’d just have to spring it.

With everyone’s agreement, including Kirstie’s, we’d decided on the best approach to getting Benjamin away from Jorge Molina unharmed. Trying to snatch the kid while he was outside the walls of Molina’s home would surely mean a gunfight, whereas by invading the enemy nest we stood a chance of spiriting him away without exposing him to gunfire. But would that idea hold up if Molina had been informed we were coming? Had he pulled all of his guards round him and his boy? I really hoped not.

From a distant room there was the murmur of conversation, dulled by the intervening walls. I couldn’t make out words, but the voices helped smooth over any concern that we were walking into a trap. Surely the talkers wouldn’t advertise their position like that . . . unless they were bait? No, I didn’t think that was the case. Perhaps McAdam had reported back to his employer and they’d assumed that we had been frightened off by their surveillance. Or my old para mates had a different agenda than any of us had realised. When I’d mentioned ‘the woman’ to McAdam he hadn’t admitted any knowledge of Kirstie Long, so there was always the chance they’d no idea why we were here in Mexico.

Then why attack us in the desert? Why follow us in Hermosillo?

To hell with the ‘whys’.

I moved on, checking doors as I progressed. Rink was mirroring my actions along the opposite spur of the hall. I came to another closed door, this one at the end of the passage and blocking my way. I leaned close, listening. When no sound came back to alarm me, I pushed open the door and found myself in another short passage at a right angle to the first. This was a later addition to the house, and led to the last of the three wings. If looked at from the front of the house, the wing was furthest to the left. The mumble of conversation was more muted now, meaning that I’d already passed their position. I could hear a TV playing somewhere above me. Unless Jorge Molina had a love of Disney cartoons, the television was playing in a child’s bedroom.

I caught Rink’s attention, pointing above me. Rink nodded and headed to my position. Without waiting for him, I entered the second passage and saw that it ended at the foot of some stairs. As soon as Rink was in place to cover my back I went up, treading softly to the outside edges of the stairs to minimise the noise.

The stairwell kinked back on itself halfway up, and I made sure to stay close to the outermost wall, so I’d have a clearer view as I went round. My SIG was snug against my right breast – many people lead the way with their gun, only to have it knocked from their hand before they see their assailant and I wasn’t going to make that mistake. My caution was unwarranted because the stairwell was empty. I gave Rink the OK sign. As I went up the remaining flight he moved up to the halfway point, covering the lower ground as he came.

The staircase met another landing. A room was directly opposite, the door partly open to reveal a playroom. Toys were discarded where a bored kid had dropped them. There was another room adjacent to it and from under its closed door flickered the blue/black shadows cast by a TV. Donald Duck was berating someone. I smiled back at Rink. He frowned, puzzled as to what had tickled me. I pointed down the hall to another closed door. Jorge Molina didn’t strike me as the fatherly type: Benjamin would have a nanny, and that room was likely hers. Rink moved to cover the door while also watching the stairs.

It was still early in the evening; a nanny wouldn’t have gone to bed yet and the last thing we wanted was for her to discover us. Neither of us was prepared to hurt a civilian, least of all a woman trying to defend a child against abduction. I hoped she wasn’t inside Benjamin’s room with him.

I inched open the door.

The only voice to make a fuss was Donald Duck’s.

The room was too big for a single child lying in a cot-style bed against the far wall. It appeared to have been adapted for a kid, but was too clinical to offer stimulation to a growing and fertile mind. There was only the bed, a sideboard on which the TV played, and a small wardrobe. More like a cell than a goddamn bedroom, I thought. Benjamin was stretched out on his bed in that abandoned way that small children have, his arms flung above his head, legs akimbo. He was wearing blue and red pyjamas, a Spiderman outfit without the facemask. In repose the kid didn’t look anything like his mother, but had the dark hair and complexion of his father. He whistled gently as he slept.

I searched for something to swaddle him in, then decided on taking the boy from his bed, blanket and all. To do so, I had to put away my gun.

Now came the difficult part.

If Benjamin woke with a black-garbed stranger looming over him, face blackened and looking like a bogeyman fresh from under the bed, he would scream the place down. Yet he looked out of it. A quick glance towards the cabinet on which the TV stood confirmed a suspicion. There was a medicine bottle, a local brand that looked like the syrup you feed kids when they’re teething or need help sleeping. Jorge didn’t want his meeting interrupted by a needy toddler and had ensured Benjamin would sleep the night through. Though I didn’t approve of his parenting skills, he’d done me a favour. I picked up Benjamin, pulling the bedding round him, and held him to my chest. The boy murmured, his eyelids flickering, lips smacking faintly, but he didn’t waken. There was a teddy bear in the cot, but my hands were full, so we had to leave it behind. I turned quickly and exited the room.

Rink led the way down the stairs, while I adjusted Benjamin’s weight to hold him in my left arm. We’d made it in, grabbed the boy, but we were a long way from safe. I took out my SIG but was careful to keep it well out of the way of the kid. The corridor at the bottom remained empty. We hurried to the next hall and Rink went ahead. My nerves were on edge, my breathing loud in my ears. I fairly ran up the last corridor that took us back towards the cleaning rooms and the exit door.

We’d almost made it to the large, scuffed fire door when a figure emerged from an adjoining door to our right, obviously with no expectation of running into a couple of invaders. It took a moment for his brain to register what he was looking at and a second or so more to shout a warning. By that time it was too late.

Rink launched himself through the air, his right arm cocked at the elbow. Marginally above the tall guard’s height, Rink drove his fist forward. He was still clutching the stock of his handgun, but it was his knuckles that went directly into the bridge of the guard’s nose. The sound was like someone driving a stake into the ground with a mallet, and the force smashed the guard down. Rink’s momentum took him on top of the man’s body, and he straddled him, taking him quietly to the floor. He knelt on the man’s chest, hand poised to deliver another crushing blow, but the guard was out of it, his face a ruined mess. He hadn’t had chance to let out a cry, but anyone within hearing distance must have been alerted to the concussive smack he took to the face.

I sprang past Rink to the fire exit and hit it open with my shoulders, just as a voice was raised in query from deeper in the house. Rink jerked his chin to tell me to get going. This wasn’t part of the bargain: no one was staying behind.

‘Come on,’ I whispered harshly.

‘I’ll slow them down.’

‘I need you with me. I can’t fight my way past the other guards while carrying a kid.’

That must have made sense because Rink lunged after me as I spun into the short corridor and raced for the exit.

A number of voices – some Spanish, some English – rang out, and the chase was on.

Chapter 19

While it was only the two of us inside the grounds, we hadn’t come without back-up. Kirstie was safe at the base we’d set up in a motel on the east side of Hermosillo, watched over by Harvey Lucas, but Velasquez and McTeer were in position to aid us in our escape.The only problem being, they were still at the far end of the plaza beyond the front gates, waiting in the van they’d parked alongside the vehicles of the utility repair crew digging up the road. Hiding in plain sight was always better than trying to be furtive, and the gate guard had spotted nothing suspicious in one van among others.

We hustled towards the front gate, shouts ringing out as Molina sent his men in pursuit. No one had fired on us yet, but the guards on the rooftops were swinging their flashlights to get a bead on us. I was thankful for Benjamin’s presence in my arms because I could hear Molina yelling at his people not to shoot. In the confusion I doubted that the message would be relayed to all.

‘Keep moving brother, I’ll cover you,’ Rink hollered from behind my shoulder.

I kept moving.

There was a rustle as Rink dropped to one knee, then came the repeated snap of his handgun. I cringed with every shot because as well as keeping the pursuers off my back, Rink was inviting return fire.

Our back-up team must have heard the shots, because there was the sudden roar of an engine from beyond the gates.

Powering on, I hugged the child against my chest, concealing him from those behind, but also using my body as a barrier.

The guard came out of the gatehouse.

He was holding a firearm.

The only good in the scenario was that he was caught in a flux of indecision. Someone must have called him to bar my path, but without placing Benjamin in harm’s way. Jorge Molina was proving a more caring father than I’d thought. The guard brought up his pistol, shouting in Spanish, but he didn’t fire. I had no such constraints. As I ran, I held my SIG before me and rattled off bullets as rapidly as I could squeeze the trigger. Running and shooting is poor form. It’s highly unlikely you’ll hit a target with the gun jostling with each step. But that was fine by me. I didn’t intend to kill the guard, only to show him that he’d best get the fuck out of my way. He seemed the sensible type. He took a staggering run from my path and threw himself down on the floor. I fired another round, saw it strike sparks five feet or so from his head, and he dropped his gun, both hands over his head, yelling surrender. Maybe it would have been better if I’d forced him to open the gate, but there was no time for regret. I charged at the barrier, then swerved towards the gatehouse just as the familiar panel van reversed at speed into the gate. The gate was designed more for intimidation than to be a secure barrier, and it was forced open, the bolts buckling and then giving with a metallic shriek. The right-hand gate sprung wide while the other hung limp on its hinges. The back doors of the van were dented, the paintwork scratched, but the mechanism hadn’t been damaged. Velasquez threw open the doors, standing on the cargo bed with his arms out to receive Benjamin.

‘Get him inside.’ I thrust the boy into Velasquez’s hands. As he twisted round, racing for the far end of the compartment, he hauled up a steel sheet, and placed it between Benjamin and harm’s way. Velasquez propped his gun hand over the steel to offer cover. Already I was searching for Rink.

My big friend was retreating slowly, targeting those rushing him from the direction of the house. Two men were already on the floor, groaning in agony. More than half a dozen others were strung out in the grounds, and because he wasn’t holding their boss’s child, Rink was fair game. Only because they were panic-shooting was Rink still alive. That wouldn’t last long. I released my depleted clip and slapped in a fresh one, racking a round into the chamber. Taking a few steps away from the van to divert fire from Benjamin, I laid down covering fire while Rink worked his way backwards. A clatter to my right alerted me to the guard who’d recently given up the fight. He’d decided he was back in it, and had picked up his gun; now that I no longer held a human shield he wasn’t put off shooting at me. Idiot should have kept his head down. I shot him through the throat.

McTeer threw the van into drive, pulling away from the buckled gates. Velasquez shouted at us to get inside.

‘Go!’ I shouted. ‘Get the boy out of here!’

‘We can all get out now,’ Velasquez yelled. Little Benjamin wasn’t so doped up and began howling.

‘No. We have to slow any pursuit. Do what we agreed, guys. Get the fuck going. Take Benjamin back to Kirstie.’

I moved deeper into the compound, targeting those trying to kill Rink. I was happy to hear the roar of the panel van’s engine as McTeer took it at speed down the plaza, the doors slamming shut and blocking Benjamin from harm.

Molina’s men were seeking cover behind anything that could halt a round. Some were on their bellies on the ground, others concealed behind raised stone flower beds. We were out in the open, and it was a good job that none of the combatants had rifles or we’d be dropped in seconds. Their guns – like ours – didn’t have great accuracy over a distance, but we were better skilled.