PRIMAL Reckoning (Book 1 in the Redemption Trilogy, the PRIMAL Series Book 5) (23 page)

“Why?”

Bishop
looked confused.

“Why are
you helping them? They’re not your people. It’s not your land. Why do you, an
American, care what happens to a handful of ranchers?”

“Because
I made a promise to someone that I’d help. Because sometimes doing the right
thing is more important than anything else.”

Ramirez
seemed to consider the answer. “This is true. That is why the Sinaloa cannot
help you.”

Emilio
thumped the table with his palm. “Why not? I thought you wanted to help the
people.”

“We do.
That is why we cannot start another war. We fight the Chaquetas and they will
ask for help from the Juarez cartel. The peace is tenuous, and if it’s lost
then many, many Mexicans will die.” He turned to Bishop. “You are a military
man, yes? You understand that sometimes the good of the many outweighs the good
of the few.”

He could
not fault that logic.

“But this
doesn’t mean I won’t help. Any damage you do to the Chaquetas will only
strengthen my position. Do you need weapons?”

He shook
his head. “No, what we need are experienced fighters. We are a handful,
standing in front of an army.”

Ramirez
shrugged. “I’m afraid that is the one thing I cannot give you. Explosives,
weapons, information, these are things I can provide.”

Bishop
spooned some slow-cooked pork onto his plate. “In that case, what can you tell
me about the Chaquetas’ other ventures?”

“They are
thugs. Guns for hire that other cartels use to do their dirty work. They have a
base in Buenaventura, perhaps one hundred men, at the most. They’re not heavily
involved in smuggling.”

“Nothing
else, no recent ventures?”

Ramirez
fixed Bishop with an intense glare. “Either you are very well informed or you’re
good at guessing.”

“I just
want to know my enemy.”

“I get
information from a contact in the police. He told me the chaquetas have
purchased a farm near Nueva Piedras. I think they’re going to try and grow
their own marijuana.”

“That’s
interesting.” He ate another spoonful of pork. “By the way, this is delicious.”

“My cook
is one of the best. I’ll have her pack some for your men.” He pushed his chair
back and rose. “I’m sorry to seem rude, but I promised my wife I’d spend time
with the children tonight. Duty calls.” He shook Bishop’s hand and hugged
Emilio. “If there is anything else you need, just ask.” He left them in the
dining room.

Bishop
finished his food and waited as the maid cleared the table. Emilio wore a heavy
scowl. “The trip was for nothing.”

“No it
wasn’t. We can use this information to hurt your enemies. And if we need more
weapons, we know where to ask.”

The maid
reappeared with a cardboard box laden with plastic food containers. Bishop thanked
her and carried the food out to the truck. He managed to stow it on the back
seat before the slobbering dogs reappeared. He pushed them off and climbed back
into the cab. “So what’s the go, Emilio, you and Ramirez family or something?”

The rancher
started the truck and drove them back to the guardhouse. “He’s my nephew. He
was a good boy, and then he married the daughter of a Sinaloa Lieutenant. I have
not spoken to him since.” He lowered his window and took Bishop’s Beretta from
the guards.

“That
piece of information might have been useful prior to the meeting,” Bishop said
as he slipped the weapon back into its holster.

“You
didn’t ask.” Emilio turned on the Bronco’s headlights, drove through the gate,
and accelerated down the track.

Bishop pulled
out his iPRIMAL and wrote a few notes. Tomorrow would be a big day. In between
babysitting the farmers and working out how to deal with the police chief, he’d
investigate the Chaquetas’ farming operation outside Nueva Piedras.

***

Pershing tossed his satellite phone on
the car seat next to him and rubbed at his temples. It was long after sunset
and Howard and his intel team were still no closer to identifying who was
helping the Mexicans. The only good news from the fat bastard was the
availability of a Predator. The drone would spend a few hours over the Veda
ranch later tonight. Hopefully it would give him some insight into who was
there. Not that it mattered. His army would crush them regardless.

His
driver flicked on the indicator, and a moment later pulled the Chevy off the
road into a gas station. They drove past the brightly lit service center and parked
next to a silver SUV. Burro got out of the front passenger seat and walked
around to the other car. A moment later he opened Pershing’s rear door and
Felipe Guzman peered in.

“So now
you whistle and I come running,” Chihuahua’s chief of police snapped.

“You’re
the one who didn’t want to talk on the phone. Now, quit your squawking and get
in.”

The
senior police officer climbed in and pulled the door shut.

Pershing
tossed an envelope into his lap.

“What’s
this for?” He pocketed the cash.

“It’s for
the SWAT team you’re going to lend me for the Veda ranch tomorrow morning.”

“SWAT?
What the hell are you talking about? I’ve given you police officers already.”

“I need
tactical operators not donut-munching dimwits. I need your SWAT team first
thing in the morning. If you’ve got an armored car, they’re going to want that
as well.”

“Are you
fucking kidding me?” He tossed the money back in Pershing’s lap and grabbed the
door handle.

“I lost four
of my boys at the ranch today,” Pershing said as he gripped the policeman’s arm.
“These farmers are running a goddamn illegal militia on your turf. They’ve got
mercenaries training them, and now they’ve got automatic weapons.”

Felipe
shrugged. “I don’t give a fuck. The more criminals you get killed the better.”

“The guys
we’re up against will close the mine. You know what that would mean.”

“What?”

“The gold
dries up and there’s no more cash. My people aren’t gonna keep funding that
fancy lifestyle of yours, Felipe.”

The chief
slid back into the seat and held out his hand. Pershing handed him the
envelope. “How many men do you need?”

“At least
twenty.”

“They’ll
be there. But…”

“But what?”

“I want a
cut of whatever you’re doing out at Nueva Piedras.”

“Come
again?”

“You’re
not the only one with good intel. I don’t want to know what you’re doing, I
just want a small cut. In return I’ll make sure my people stay well clear.”

 
“I just gave you fifty grand, Felipe.” He
contemplated the offer. “I tell you what; your boys show up tomorrow and help
me capture the mercs, then I’ll consider doubling it.”

“My men
will be there. You just remember who runs this town,” the police chief said as
he got out.

Pershing
waited for him to drive off and Burro jumped back into the Chevy. They were ten
minutes down the road when he finally asked the question he’d been pondering. “Burro,
hypothetically speaking, how much would it cost to have that greedy son-of-a-bitch
killed?”

The lieutenant
grinned at him in the mirror. “I’d take care of him for free, Mr. Pershing. You
want me to make it happen?”

He shook
his head. “No, he’s still useful. For now.”

CHAPTER
28

Bishop’s eyes flashed open and he
sniffed. The smell drifting into the living room was delightful. He unraveled himself
from a blanket and stumbled to his feet. He groaned, every inch of his body
seemed to ache. Glancing out through the windows he saw it was still dark.
There was still a faint flicker from the smoldering dozer. He noticed Mitch and
Mirza’s sleeping bags were already rolled up. He walked into the kitchen.

Emilio
was sitting at the table with a mug of coffee in his hands. Pablo was in front of
the stove, stirring the pot that had to be the source of the amazing smell.

He pulled
a chair out from the table. “What’s cooking?”

“
Huevos a la Mexicana
,” said Emilio.

“Eggs
Mexican?” guessed Bishop.

“Very
good.” Emilio poured him a mug of black coffee. “Your friends are outside.”

Pablo put
a plate of food in front of him. Bishop guessed why they were called Mexicana.
The green bell peppers, tomatoes, and eggs represented the colors of the national
flag. “Have they eaten?” he asked.

Emilio
nodded. “They didn’t want to wake you.”

“Any luck
convincing our friend to leave?”

He shook
his head. “He says you will defeat the narcos. His sons are outside practicing
with their new AKs.”

“They’re
going to come back in force, Emilio. We won’t be able to stop them, even with
extra guns.”

The
rancher nodded. “I know. But, we can try.”

Bishop
quickly devoured the plate of food, strapped on his chest rig, and grabbed his
Tavor assault rifle. He noticed three of the SMAW-D rockets they’d recovered
from the cartel were gone. Mitch and Mirza would have taken them to their
overwatch position. He placed the remaining launcher next to the door.

“
Gracias
,” he said to Pablo and stepped
out into the darkness. He walked between the trucks, past a corral, and up a
ridgeline. The moon was still above the horizon and it cast a silver light across
the ground. As his eyes adjusted he moved faster, climbing quickly. When he
arrived at the crest he stood silently, turning his head as he searched for the
pair.

“Morning,
Bish!”

He
snapped his head in the direction of Mitch’s voice. It had come from only a few
feet in front of him. He gave a grunt as he crouched next to where his two
comrades were sitting. Their camouflage made them almost invisible. “You guys
enjoying the view?”

“Just keeping
an eye on things,” said Mirza.

“How long
was the Pred on station?” Bishop asked Mitch as he took a seat.

“Two
hours. Wouldn’t have seen much. Just the vehicles.”

“Good
stuff, anything from the ground sensors?”

“No mate,
all clear at the moment.”

“Mirza,
how did the training go?”

“I took
them through the rifles and the machine gun. They’re eager, but there’s only so
much I can do in a few hours.”

“Yeah,
thanks anyway.”

They sat
enjoying the silence for a few minutes. There were still stars in the sky, but a
faint glow on the horizon meant dawn was not far away.

Bishop
broke the silence. “We need to be prepared to remove the farmer and his boys,
by force if required.” He paused. “I really didn’t want it to come to this.”

“None of
us did, Bish,” said Mirza.

There was
a red flash from the tablet at Mitch’s feet and he picked it up.

“What is
it?” asked Bishop.

“One of
the sensors is going off its tits. I think it might be faulty.” His fingers
danced over the screen. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding.” He passed the tablet
across to Bishop. Mirza leaned over his shoulder.

The
screen showed a still from the tiny infrared camera Mitch had strapped to a
fence post three miles down the road. It was another bulldozer. Steel plate had
been welded on all sides of the earthmover. Now it was a mobile pillbox.

“Faaaaark!”
exclaimed Bishop. “We don’t have the firepower to take that down. The rockets
we captured aren’t even going to dent it.” The SMAW-D rockets had thermobaric
warheads designed for bunker-busting; they were not armor-piercing.

“It gets
worse.” Mitch showed another photo, this time of an armored dump truck
bristling with rifle barrels.

“We need
to pull out,” said Bishop. “Send those images to my iPRIMAL. I’ll show them to
Pablo.”

“Mitch
and I’ll cover you,” Mirza said. “If we can’t stop them we’ll withdraw back to the
farm.” He cupped a hand to his ear. “You hear that?”

In the
distance they heard the clanking of the dozer.

“We’ve
got twenty minutes till dawn,” said Mirza.

“We’ll be
gone in ten.” Bishop skidded down the slope back to the farmhouse.

***

Pershing had his driver pull over in the
cover of a small ridge, two thousand yards from the farm. He was not going to
make the same mistake twice. When his blitzkrieg was underway he planned to
walk up the rise and observe through a pair of binoculars. “Any of you gentlemen
want a coffee?” he asked Burro and the police tactical commander.

The two
men were eyeing each other off like a pair of junkyard dogs. It would have
amused Pershing had he not needed them to work together to clear the ranch. He
had his armored vehicles ready to go as well as the two police pickups jammed with
SWAT operators. All he was waiting for were his buggies.

“Yeah, Mr.
Pershing.” said Burro.

The
police officer shook his head. “My boys can have this wrapped up in half an
hour if you let us go now.”

“Patience.”
He stamped coffee into the press and prepared an espresso for Burro. “You’re
not dealing with dirt-poor
autodefensa
,
these people have professional help.”

The
officer adjusted his thigh holster. “How do you mean?”

Burro
took his cup. “They’ve killed a fair few of my men,
hombre
.”

“That
wouldn’t be very hard, would it?”

Pershing
finished another pour and took a sip. “Gentlemen, gentlemen. We’re all friends
here. All of you are getting paid. There’s plenty of money and plenty of
killing to go around.” He savored the freshly brewed espresso shot. “There’s no
change to the plan. Burro and his boys will punch in with the dozer and the
dumper. They will draw fire and suppress. Then SWAT will move through from the
flank and clean up whoever’s left. We’ll use the buggies to cut off any
squirters.”

The
policeman thumped his chest plate with his fist. “My men should go behind the
dozer. We won’t need your fire support.”

“You may
well not. But it’s better to be safe than sorry, and while I’m paying the bills,
I get to make the plans.” He smiled. “That clear?” He turned to Burro. “Where the
hell are those buggies, son?”

“They’ll
be here soon. We should start without them, before it gets too light.”

Pershing
considered the suggestion. The longer they waited the more likely the occupants
of the farm would be ready and waiting. “OK, let’s go.”

Burro
issued a command into his radio and the dozer started clanking forward. The
armored dump truck filled with Black Jackets crunched though its gears as it
followed. The police pickups waited for their commander then moved off to the
flank.

Behind,
Pershing heard the throaty roar of the V8 dune buggies. He smiled as he walked
up the rise, his plan was coming together.

***

Bishop
bolted down the hill. He leaped over rocks, skidded in the scree, and fell
three times before reaching the bottom. Sprinting across the field to the house
he burst in through the back door. The kitchen was empty. He pushed open the
door to the living area. The farmer and his sons were crouched behind the
smashed-out windows. The AKs taken from the dead cartel men were held ready.

“They are
coming,” said Emilio. He was covering the other set of windows with Miguel and
Gerardo.

“Yes, and
this time we can’t stop them. We need to go.” He held up his iPRIMAL and showed
them the photo of the armored bulldozer.

Emilio
translated for the pig-headed rancher. Pablo looked at the screen, mumbled something,
and shook his head. He aimed his AK back out the window.

“He will
not leave. He says you can blow it up again.”

“Then
Pablo is going to die here with his sons.”

The
clanking of the dozer was audible now along with the roar of its powerful
diesel engine. Bishop glanced out the window. Dawn was upon them, the sun
rising directly behind the beast as it trundled closer. He thumbed the transmit
button on the side of his rifle. “Hit them with everything you’ve got.”

The telltale
thunk of a high-explosive round from Mitch’s PAW-20 echoed off the mountains.
Pablo looked out the window eagerly and watched as the grenades slammed into
the dozer, obscuring it in dust and flame. The men in the house cheered. But,
the dust settled and the armored tractor still approached.

“Bish, we’re
taking fire,” Mirza transmitted. There was a roar as one of the rockets they’d
taken from the dead gunmen streaked down from the hillside and slammed into the
dozer. Another two rockets streaked through the air, this time hitting the
armored dump truck. The heavy beast shrugged off the blows and lumbered on. Mitch
and Mirza had expended their entire HE arsenal without stopping either of the
homemade tanks.

Bishop fought
the urge to fire at the earthmover. He knew the bullets would be wasted. As he
aimed, the dump truck moved out from behind it and accelerated forward. When it
was a hundred yards away it turned broadside to the house. The side of the
truck bristled with rifle barrels.

“Get
down!” yelled Bishop as bullets smashed into the building, splintering wood,
and shattering glass.

One of
the farmer’s sons gave a grunt and fell to the floor. The others cowered as
Bishop took a smoke grenade from his vest and flicked it through the open
window. Ignoring the cracks of bullets around him, he grabbed the wounded
teenager by the collar and dragged him into the kitchen.

“Bish,
we’re taking heavy fire. Withdrawing to you,” transmitted Mirza.

“Roger,
one of the lads has taken a hit to the chest. He’s in the kitchen. I need you
to stabilize him and get everyone in the trucks. Bishop propped the boy against
the stone wall. He felt around his back. There was a small exit wound. It was
bleeding but not heavily. The kid was lucky; the 7.62mm full metal jacket round
had punched clean through.

Emilio
crawled into the kitchen. “Is he alive?”

Bishop
tore a field dressing from his vest and handed it to him. “I need you to hold
this on both sides of the wound.”

Mitch’s
British accent came over the radio. “Bish, mate, you’ve got cops closing in
fast. They’re trying to flank you.” His suppressed machine gun snapped in the
background.

“Roger.
Keep hitting them. I’ll have a crack at the dump truck.” Bishop grabbed the
last SMAW-D and dashed out the back door. He armed the rocket launcher as he sprinted
behind a water tank, the slung Tavor bouncing against his chest as he ran.

Shouldering
the rocket launcher, he leaned around the corner. The dump truck filled his
sights. He squeezed the forward safety and thumbed the red button. The weapon
thundered and the rocket hit the rear wheels of the truck with a boom. Bishop
dropped the tube and back sprinted as the police SWAT unit spotted him. Bullets
kicked up dust as he skidded around the corner.

As he
caught his breath, he saw Emilio and Mirza lifting the wounded teen into the
back of the Bronco. Mitch ran past him, skidded onto his front and started
firing the machine gun at the advancing police.

“Pablo,
we’re leaving!” Bishop screamed. The rancher looked defeated as he climbed into
his truck with his remaining son. Emilio and Mirza were already in the Bronco.
Miguel and Gerardo were waiting in the blue Dodge pickup.

Bishop
leaped over the tailgate into Pablo’s pickup. He thumped the roof of the cab
and they took off.

“GO, GO, GO!”
screamed Bishop as the old house started to shudder. The other two trucks
followed, Mitch jumping in the back of the Dodge pickup after firing a long
burst.

With a
roar the building collapsed as the dozer smashed its way through the rancher’s
home. Bishop braced his feet against the tailgate as the truck accelerated. He shot
at the earthmover out of frustration.

“That was
a tad close,” Mitch’s voice came through over the radio.

***

The trucks raced across the paddocks leaving the bulldozer and
the cops in their dust. The Bronco led, Emilio at the wheel. They bounced
across the field, following a narrow track that wound through the hills and
would eventually join the road to town.