Divide & Conquer (8 page)

“I have taken over control of this matter and your Director has offered your services to me in the interim.”

“Of course, General.” Pyotr knew exactly who General Borodin was; everybody in SVR did. Just as they knew never to trust him and to thank God every day that they did not work for the GRU and General Borodin.

“Your original orders, do you remember them?”

“Of course,” replied Pyotr, trying to sound as controlled as possible. The impact of what he was being asked to do and the potential repercussions for Russia were enormous. It was bad enough doing it for his own Agency but being an Agent of the SVR doing this for the GRU? The implications had his mind racing.

“Good, do it now!” the voice boomed before the call ended.

Pyotr hit the end button three times on the already dead phone.

“Oh my God,” Alexa exhaled. Her breathing had stopped as she too understood the enormity of the situation, despite her tender years.

Pyotr slumped onto the bed. Thirty years he had given to his country. Thirty years of total devotion to the KGB and SVR and ultimately Mother Russia. He was doomed. They were doomed. After they had carried out their orders, there was no way Borodin would let them live. SVR agents killing a woman and child for the GRU, or even knowing the GRU had had them killed was a death sentence, let alone being the executioners.

Dismay turned to anger as he caught Alexa’s eye. She knew without having to be told.

“Who the fuck is this Sean Fox anyway?” he shouted, banging his fist against the cheap desk.

“The son of the ex-chief of the US Military,” replied Alexa, without thinking.

“Sorry?” asked Pyotr, surprised at Alexa knowing more than he did.

“I googled his name when we got the orders,” she confessed. “Looked it up on the internet,” she explained more fully, given the look of confusion on Pytor’s face. Pyotr was old enough to be her father, perhaps even grandfather, and obviously had not embraced the computer age.

Pyotr remained silent as he computed the information. His brain cells may not be computer age but they were wired for cold war counterintelligence and this had all the makings of some old cold war plan. He shook his head. Whatever it was, Pyotr couldn’t begin to comprehend. He had an order to follow and, like he had for the last thirty years, he would follow it to the letter, even if it did mean his own death. He loved Russia and whatever Russia wanted, Russia got.

He picked up the car keys and with a heavy heart, beckoned Alexa to follow him. He, of course, would help her disappear after the job but Borodin’s GRU was massive, far larger than SVR, with resources just about anywhere. Well anywhere but Laredo Texas obviously. Otherwise, Pyotr and Alexa would have been on their way back to Washington. Alexa had a chance. Pyotr had family back in Russia, he had no chance. This would be his final mission, his swan song.

Pyotr drove as Alexa prepped the weapons, neither spoke as they covered the short distance back to the estate. As they neared the house, Alexa broke the silence. “How do you want to play it?”

“No point beating about the bush, fast and quick?”

“Fine by me!” replied Alexa, cocking the second of the two Tula Arms AS Val silenced assault rifles.

Fast and quick meant exactly that. Pyotr would drive the car as near to the door of the house as possible. They would then assault the door, breeching with a pump action shotgun if necessary before entering the house and killing all inside. They would then exit as quickly as possible. Time on site would be sub one minute if possible.

“Shit!” exclaimed Alexa from nowhere.

“What? What’s wrong?” Pyotr looked around anxiously, desperate to see what she had spotted.

“The boy! We never told them about the boy being kidnapped!”

Pyotr pulled the car over to the side of the road, just before the entrance to the target street. He drummed his fingers against the dash as he leaned over the steering wheel, deep in thought.

“Fuck 'em” he said eventually. “I’m not overly keen to shoot a four year old. Nothing we can do, we’ll just say he wasn’t there. I’m fairly certain a four year old American boy is no great threat to Mother Russia!”

He put the car back in gear and pulled away without further discussion. Pyotr just wanted the whole thing over with. He entered the street and accelerated towards the house.

As they skidded into the driveway, the first and most worrying thing Pyotr noted was that the front door was wide open.

Chapter 15

Katie’s heart stopped. Sean stood before her on the front step. Miguel must have shot her. She must be dead. Sean was dead. He couldn’t be standing there in front of her. It wasn’t possible. Her mind raced while her body remained rigid. Her mouth froze. She was unable to speak for fear of stopping the vision.

Katie felt a hand push at her as the world exploded in her ears. A flash from Sean. She was seeing the light. She was dead.

***

The wife opened the door and just stood agape looking at him. Sean had the pistol up and ready. His plan was fairly simple, kill anybody that was a threat and get information on the boy from whoever was left. Time was of the essence.

A hand pushed at the woman as one of the Mexicans came from behind the door, obviously keen to find out who was there as the woman had just become comatose. As he spotted Sean, he tried to put the woman between him and Sean but Sean had him and squeezed off a round, catching the Mexican between the eyes. He dropped to the floor already dead.

Sean knew there was at least one more shooter and with no time to sugarcoat his actions, he pushed the wife to the floor and stormed into the house. She screamed almost as soon as she hit the floor. The Mexican’s brain matter did not make the most pleasant of landing spots.

Two rounds thudded into the doorframe next to Sean, indicating that the other shooter was in the room opposite. Sean had to keep moving. He dived across the hallway and positioned himself against the wall. All he needed now were a couple of flash bangs and he’d be good to go. One through the doorway quickly followed by himself. Bang bang bad man down. Easy.

A blast of gunfire had Sean falling to the ground. A white-hot pain seared though his leg. Sean grabbed at his leg and was rewarded with a moistness that screamed blood. Sean looked for another shooter before the realization of the American dream home hit home. The walls were paper-thin. The shooter had hit him through the wall. Another burst of fire tore another line of holes. Fortunately the shooter had gone higher and not lower; he hadn’t realized he had already hit Sean.

“Fuck this,” thought Sean diving for the doorway. The rounds were working away from the door not towards it.

As Sean fell into the room, the young Mexican’s rifle was pointing at the far wall. Sean didn’t hesitate and double tapped him. One in the chest and one in the head; it always paid to make sure.

As Sean struggled to get to his feet, the wife rushed in and threw her arms around him. Her brain coated lips making straight for his.

“Whoa,” Sean grabbed her by the arms and held her back at arms length. “I’m not who you think I am!”

“Sean, it’s me! Katie!” she replied excitedly, ignoring his words.

“I’m not Sean!” replied Sean rather awkwardly. “Well, I am Sean, just, not your one,” he clarified even more awkwardly.

As a look of confusion began to register, a screech of tires from the front drive caught both their attention.

***

Alexa was first out and had her AS Val rifle up and ready to fire, the silenced assault rifle was the favored weapon of the Russian Spetsnaz forces.

As Alexa rushed towards the door, Pyotr covered her expertly. The dead body sprawled across the doorstep gave them all the warning they needed. They entered the house, weapons very hot. As Alexa covered the doorway, Pyotr rushed forward. They would clear the house room by room, systematically, just as the Spetsnaz instructors had trained them.

As Pyotr entered the hallway, Sean, reacting to the screeching tires, rushed from the living room. Sean’s weapon was up and ready but so was Pyotr’s and he was already aiming at Sean’s doorway. Pytor hit the trigger before Sean and three bullets instantly spat out of the silenced barrel.

“NO!” was the only sound that could be heard. The female scream covered even the modest spit of the silenced rifle.

Chapter 16

Luis loved watching the night sky from the ranch’s terrace. Miles from any major conurbation, the darkness was almost complete and allowed an unpolluted view of the universe and the infinite galaxies beyond. The stars lit up the sky and produced the most magical canvas, surpassing any of his uncle’s original oil masterpieces, certainly in Luis’ opinion. Who could compete with God Himself?

“LUIS!!!” screamed El Jefe, for the nth time that day.

“Yes, Uncle?” He jumped up in response. The tone was not good, angrier than normal.

“Have you heard?” he asked, agitated, storming onto the terrace from the living room.

“Heard what, Uncle?” asked Luis calmly, noting his uncle’s lack of even the tiniest of glances towards the wonder above him.

“The Gulf Cartel have a meeting with major buyers from the East coast!”

“Where did you hear that?” asked Luis, dismissively. He was responsible for Intel and he had heard no such thing.

Even before the back of El Jefe’s hand hit him square across the chin, sending him crashing to the floor, Luis had regretted his tone of voice. The large gold medallion on El Jefe’s index finger tore into Luis’ cheek and ensured he’d never forget his place again.

“I have ten thousand men at my behest! I hear things!” explained El Jefe, leaning in, menacingly close to Luis. “But you’re supposed to hear them first! Stop looking at the pretty lights and do your fucking job. Get me those contacts!”

As El Jefe stormed back into the house, Luis picked himself up and rubbed his chin. Every now and then he was reminded exactly why his uncle was in charge. Behind his ruthlessness, he was a very bright and intelligent man. Luis occasionally forgot that the Neanderthal brute was as much an act to maintain control, by fear and power, as it was the true nature of his uncle. He was a sociopath, not a psychopath.

Luis wiped the blood from his cheek and walked tall into the living room. El Jefe stood in front of a massive drinks bar, pouring himself a Scotch. He nodded towards a beaten man lying on the floor in the corner of the room. Two of El Jefe’s most trusted men hovered over the man.

“He’s Gulf Cartel. We picked him up earlier today drunk in a bar bragging about arranging a massive deal.”

Luis looked at the man and could see the desperation in his eyes. Both knew it was pointless. The man would be dead within the hour, if he were lucky.

Luis turned back to his uncle. “Fat Jake’s contacts?”

“Must be,” concluded El Jefe, the insinuation being that the man had not confirmed or did not know if they were.

Luis walked over to the man and made him a promise he couldn’t nor wouldn’t even try to keep. “ I promise, if you tell us everything you know, you will live!”

The man quickly relayed as much detail as El Jefe had already given Luis. All he knew was that a big meeting was due to take place in the next two days in Nuevo Laredo. The details were a closely guarded secret, only the head of the Gulf Cartel knew all the details but the rumor was the buyers were very rich and desperate Americans from the East.

“Fat Jake’s contact and my fucking customers!” El Jefe shouted, throwing his glass at the Gulf Cartel man.

Luis managed to avoid the glass as he stepped back from the captive. The ramifications of the Gulf Cartel gaining their East coast business were catastrophic. They were just managing to keep their heads above water while they tried to renew the routes they had lost but losing them permanently to their main rival was unthinkable, not only for the loss to them but the massive gain to the Gulf Cartel. It could spell the end for Los Zetas.

“We have to stop them meeting!” exclaimed Luis forcefully.

“I know that!” shouted El Jefe impatiently. Stating the obvious was not helpful. “I’ll get Juan onto it,” added El Jefe confidently. Juan was his number two in command. El Jefe had no more trusted or loyal follower than Juan Torres. They joked they were twins from other mothers, having been best friends their entire lives. He was also Luis’ arch nemesis; seldom did they see eye to eye but thankfully Luis’ blood kept him safe. While El Jefe lived, Luis, his nephew, was safe.

“Juan is in Columbia, he’s not due back until tomorrow. It may be too late by then,” replied Luis. “No matter what it takes, they can’t meet!” emphasized Luis. “Even if we can’t find the meeting, we have to stop it happening!”

“And how exactly do you propose we do that?” asked El Jefe.

“You’ve got 10,000 men! Use them!” replied Luis matter of factly.

El Jefe eyed his nephew carefully for any sign of dissent but none existed. The suggestion to use his men was a genuine one and had not been meant flippantly.

El Jefe swept his hand in the direction of the captive man before taking a seat. His men did not need any further direction, the captive would be dead in minutes. His body would be tossed in the back of a truck and would be dumped as publicly as possible in the middle of the city.

“Where is the boy?” asked El Jefe as the door closed behind his men dragging the living corpse.

Luis took a seat on a sofa opposite his uncle. He pressed the handkerchief tighter against the wound on his cheek before answering. “In the servants’ quarters. One of the maids is keeping an eye on him.”

The ranch was a sprawling estate, 50,000 acres that skirted the northern limits of Nuevo Laredo city. The main ranch house sat atop a hillside that afforded a view over the majority of both the Mexican and American portions of the linked cities. El Jefe had no interest in farming and after purchasing the farm had quickly removed all but the essential living quarters, removing a number of farm buildings to ensure an unencumbered view to the cities below.

“Get a message to his mother. If the meeting happens with her husband’s men and the Americans, her son dies!” he ordered. “We’ll see if she really does know anything!”