Get Back Jack (27 page)

Morrie didn’t move. He took orders from Neagley, not from Kim. He’d made that plain more than once.

“Which side of the house is the office, Morrie?” Kim asked. “Right or left of the stairs?”

“Left,” he said.

Still nothing from Neagley.

“Make it snappy,” Gaspar said, looking out the back windows, weapon ready.

“Morrie. Go. Now.” Kim ordered again, putting the commanding officer’s tone to the words. She looked at her watch. “We’ll be with you in twenty seconds.”

She gave him a little push. It was like trying to push a brick wall. Kim thought he might refuse. But then he turned, took long strides to reach the front door in a split second and continued outside.

Right behind him, Kim reached the foot of the stairs and bounded up two at a time.

At the top of the staircase, she turned left, crouched low and followed along the corridor guided by nothing but survival instinct and the green glow of her night vision. Scanning, Kim led with her Glock.

Twelve steps into the hallway, she tripped over a splayed corpse and fell across. She looked down, under her stomach. A man. Wearing fatigues and a broken neck. She checked his pulse. Nothing. Cooling fast.

Kim pushed herself onto her knees and then stood upright. This time as she advanced, she looked ahead but checked along the floor. A few feet further, she saw a second corpse in the same condition. She bent to feel his carotid. No pulse. Stepped around.

Kim quickly opened and closed doors along the left-side corridor. She found nothing but empty bedrooms.

Several doors led off to the right, south side of the corridor.

Except for the two bodies, the entire floor seemed deserted. Kim heard nothing.

Light seeped below one doorway at the very end of the hallway.

Neagley had to be in that room. And she was probably not alone.

Kim crouched and rode the wall with her back as she eased toward the end.

In her ear, Kim heard Gaspar say, “Company headed this way. Fifteen to twenty seconds out.”

Morrie replied, “Be there in twelve.”

No response from Neagley.

Kim kept moving forward. She said nothing.

Neagley was in trouble. The woman was lethal, but she wouldn’t put her team in harm’s way. Something had gone horribly wrong.

At the end of the corridor, Kim removed one hand from the Glock and slid the night vision down on its strap to hang around her neck. If she burst into the lighted room wearing the goggles, she’d be blinded.

She took a breath. Grabbed the doorknob. Turned and stepped into the room. Stood crouched, ready to fire. Registered a spacious room, Spanish colonial furniture, desk, chair, loveseats facing each other, a heavy coffee table between, lamps, heavy chairs opposite the desk, large draperied windows along the wall opposite the door.

Nothing unusual or out of place.

Except for Edward Dean standing in her sights, behind the sofa with a Glock 19, Gen 4, pointed directly at the back of Neagley’s head.

“Good evening, Agent Otto,” Dean said, as if he’d expected her, which he probably had. He held Neagley’s earpiece up and wiggled it around. “Loyalty’s a bitch, ain’t it?”

Kim first had to warn Gaspar and Morrie and tell them to stop using the cell phone channel. She said, “Let her go, Dean.”

“Or what? You’ll shoot me? I don’t think that’s likely. At least, not until I tell you where to find the hostages.” His tone was smug.

He thought holding a gun to Neagley’s head gave him an advantage.

Kim almost laughed.

“Where are the hostages?” Kim asked because she knew he expected her to.

“Not here, as you’ve already discovered. We moved them a few hours ago,” he said.

“Where?” she asked again, still holding her gun steady on him.

“You brought my money?” Dean replied, as if she was both expected and prepared for a peaceful exchange instead of invasion and rescue.

“Sixty-five million dollars,” Kim said.

“Where is it?” Dean asked.

“Where are the hostages?” Kim repeated.

“You disabled my guards, yes?” Dean said. It wasn’t a question. “But I called backups when Neagley showed up here without my cash. You’ve got maybe three more minutes before they arrive to persuade you. Remember Sanchez?”

Mentioning Sanchez was the wrong thing to do.

In a flash of movement Kim barely saw, Neagley turned, grabbed Dean’s gun, tossed it aside, and held him by the neck in a bare-handed choke hold that threatened to crush his larynx. His eyes bulged. His mouth opened and closed like a fish.

But she didn’t kill him.

Instead, after a moment or two of intense discomfort, she released her grip. Slightly.

Kim said, “Tell me where the hostages are or I’ll shoot you in the head.”

Dean’s voice croaked a whisper. “You will anyway.”

“Oh I’d love to,” Kim replied. “But I’m an FBI Special Agent. My boss would never get over it.”

Dean nodded as best he could with Neagley’s grip still firm around his neck. “Are we making a deal here?” he croaked.

“Where are the hostages?”

He waited another moment and Neagley pressed a bit harder to help him decide. His eyes bulged again and his mouth opened and closed without sound.

She relaxed her grip slightly so he could answer.

“Black Star,” he wheezed out with the slight bit of air that escaped around Neagley’s thumbs. “Texas.”

Dean’s claim startled Kim.

She knew about Black Star. It was a horse farm in South Texas. Fine quarter horses were bred and sold there. It was also a money laundering operation for the Las Olas drug cartel and two other cartels the ATF and Homeland Security had identified so far.

Black Star had been the subject of intense multi-agency undercover work for months. Work that had stretched as far as the Detroit FBI field office. Kim had seen some of the paperwork. She’d examined the forensic accounting.

“Texas? Try again.”

Unlikely that Dean and Berenson would have risked smuggling people across the border to Black Star when there must have been easier, more secluded places closer to Valle Alto. Places where hostages were common. The cartel’s daily business involved kidnapping for ransom as well as selling drugs and guns and other contraband. Anywhere inside Mexico, hostages would receive less scrutiny and less interference from US authorities.

“Black Star,” he rasped again. “I swear.”

“I don’t believe you. And we’re out of time,” Kim said. “Bring him, Neagley. Let’s go.”

Briefly, Kim thought Neagley would ignore the order.

Neagley squeezed Dean’s throat a bit harder. His eyes bulged and his mouth did the trout impression again. For a brief moment, it could have gone either way. Leave another corpse or take another hostage.

“We need him alive to get out of here,” Kim said. “And he can help us with Berenson when the time comes.”

Another moment elapsed before Neagley let him go. She reached into her pocket and pulled out one of the cable ties she hadn’t used on the guards outside. She yanked it hard around his wrists and shoved him between the shoulder blades.

Kim turned and headed back the way she’d come, not sure whether Dean would be alive when they reached the front door or not. And she wasn’t sure she cared, one way or the other. Either option had its problems.

“On our way. Meet you at the front door,” she said into the headset.

“Ten-four,” Gaspar replied.

“Ready,” Morrie said.

Kim smiled and kept moving. She heard Dean stumbling along behind her. Neagley was as quiet as a ghost wearing socks.

Gaspar waited at the ready. When they reached him, he waved all three out ahead.

They hustled out the front door, crouched low to hide themselves as well as possible, Gaspar behind, turning to be sure no one ran out after them.

Kim heard more cheering and booing as they raced quietly toward the armored van Morrie had parked directly at the front entrance.

Morrie clicked the automatic unlock, they jerked open the doors and piled in. Neagley shoved Dean onto the floor between the seats. “Raise your head half an inch and I’ll break your neck,” she said.

Neagley hopped inside and Kim jumped in after them. Gaspar slid the van’s door snugly into place, yanked open the front passenger door and struggled inside.

Before Gaspar had dragged his right leg inside and slammed his door, Morrie pulled out onto Las Olas Boulevard behind a late model sedan departing at a measured pace.

When they reached the intersection of Las Olas Boulevard and TAM 12, Morrie followed in line behind the vehicles leaving the compound and turned east. Empty tarmac stretched as far ahead of the short line of vehicles as she could see in the darkness. With this brief head start, they might have an easy trip back.

Unless Dean’s guards figured out where he was and came after them.

Kim said, “Let’s get this gear stowed. The last thing we need right now is to be stopped while we’re armed like an FBI extraction team.”

Morrie unfastened his Kevlar. “Spending time in a Mexican prison doesn’t appeal to me much, either.”

“You might want to leave that on,” Gaspar said. “We’d be lucky to make it into a Mexican prison if we get caught before Brownsville.”

Neagley said nothing, but she put her booted foot briefly on Dean’s neck and pressed before she pulled off her Kevlar, night vision, watch cap, gloves, and coveralls and dropped them into the secret compartment.

Kim’s gear went in next, followed by Gaspar’s. Morrie removed his gear, too, although it took a bit longer because he was driving. Kim noticed all three kept their guns within reach like she did.

They settled into their seats as if they’d been mere spectators at tonight’s boxing matches while Neagley returned the false floor into place.

Kim felt the evidence bag, soft and pliable, inside her blazer pocket and adjusted the sap low into her trouser pocket against the side of her thigh where she could easily retrieve it. Maybe she’d have a chance to use it. Maybe not. But just in case.

When they reached Villa Hermosa, she’d upload the photos from the burner cell phone to the secure satellite and delete them. Manual deletion wouldn’t be enough and sending anything to the satellite was risky, but she had to do it. Only one choice.

Neagley settled herself in her seat and returned a booted foot to Dean’s neck where he lay in the wheel well. Maybe he was still breathing. She crouched near him and patted him down. Expertly. Thoroughly.

“What are you looking for?” Gaspar asked.

“Dunno,” Neagley said.

She pulled his wallet and a cell phone and flipped both onto her seat. She found a switchblade tucked into his boot, which seemed to piss her off. She unbuckled his belt and pulled it out of his pants. She used it to tie his feet together. She pulled off his shirt and boots and tossed them into the back of the van. Then she returned to her seat, put her foot back on his neck, and stared at the cell phone for a while.

“You know you’re broadcasting a signal to his crew, right?” Kim asked. “They’ll find it and they’ll come to get him with heavy firepower.”

Neagley looked her straight in the eye as she turned the phone on and scrolled through the call log. “Nothing would make me happier, Otto.”

Before Neagley guessed what she’d planned, Kim reached over and grabbed the phone from Neagley’s grasp. Reaction was swift. Neagley raised her hand to strike but Kim had leveled the Glock and aimed it center mass.

“I don’t plan to die tonight in Mexico,” Kim said.

Neagley’s nostrils widened and her brow creased and her breathing quickened with the effort of restraining her impulses. Maybe she wanted to smite Kim. Maybe she wanted Kim to think so. Hard to tell. Kim held the gun steady until Neagley worked it out.

Neagley replied, “Everybody dies, Otto.”

“I’m aware,” Kim answered. She glanced up to catch a road sign. Matamoros 78 kilometers. Which meant forty-nine miles until they reached the Veteran’s Memorial Bridge and crossed safely into Texas again. God willing.

She opened the cell phone and disabled the battery, knowing that would only buy them an extra few minutes at best.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Monday, November 15

9:54 p.m.

Matamoros, Mexico

Morrie drove the van across the bridge and into Texas without mishap. He chose a particular booth and had a quiet conversation with the agent, but no one asked to look inside the van. Nor did the agent take notice of a man in the back wheel well.

First time for everything,
Kim thought. She’d never smuggled a human being across the Mexican border. It was frighteningly simple. Maybe moving hostages across the border was easier than she expected. Maybe Dean and Berenson had moved the hostages to Black Star after all.

Which wasn’t necessarily good news.

Ten miles past the border crossing, Kim said, “Pull over at the next gas station. We need a break.”

Morrie did as she ordered without seeking Neagley’s permission. When he stopped the van, Kim nudged Dean with the toe of her boot. He groaned. He was alive, which was all she cared about right now. He was shirtless, shoeless, shackled, and seriously dehydrated. She rolled him onto his side with her foot. His throat was bruised and swollen where Neagley had choked him. His temple lay against the floor. His eyes were open.

“Where are the hostages?” Kim asked him again.

He cleared his throat. Again.

Kim waited. She pulled the Glock and held it pointed loosely in his direction. “Shall we let Neagley ask?”

His eyes grew wide, wild. Barely audible, he whispered, “Black Star.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said.

He nodded, scraping his face against the floor of the van. “Black Star. Black Star,” he said, as if repeating the words would make them more believable.

Kim stuffed the Glock in her jacket and opened the passenger door. Night breeze rushed into the cabin, bathing her face in welcome coolness. Exhausted by tension and exertion and lack of sleep, she almost fell onto the pavement. Gaspar reached her side in time to steady her.