Ready to Kill (27 page)

Harv’s ear speaker came to life with Estefan’s voice.
“I’m ready to go.”

“Head north along the main road, and let me know when you have the lumber trucks in sight. Can you duplicate that same whistle Franco’s men used?”

“Absolutely, it’s not difficult.”

“Practice a few times, but not loudly. The digital pattern on your combat uniform is slightly different from what Franco’s men wear, but the darkness works in our favor.”

“What do you think spooked the guy at the gas station?”

“It’s hard to say, but it was probably my size. I’m not as big as Nathan, but none of Franco’s men are over six feet. It could have been my body language. These guys know each other well. They’ve been living in the barracks together. Here’s what we’re gonna do to avoid what happened before.” Harv laid out his plan. “Nate?”

“I think it’s solid. Look, we don’t have a book of rules in play here. I’d like to avoid more killing, but if the sentry makes an aggressive move, you drop him, Harv. Clear?”

“Copy that. I think if we play this just right, it should work.”

“I’ll let you know when I have the trucks in sight,”
Estefan said.

“You’ll be able to see them once you’re past the ore-processing plant. They’ll be on your right at two o’clock—you can’t miss them. The sentry is on the east side of the parking area, sitting in the backhoe’s seat. He’ll be able to see and hear you as soon as you’re past the processing plant.”

Guillermo was bored to tears. What a total waste of time. Jaime and the others were probably laying their girlfriends while he sat in this lousy backhoe and watched a sleeping town. Someone had fired a gun—big deal. Franco’s paranoia went beyond ridiculous—the guy saw demons around every corner. Guillermo tossed his cigarette butt and fired up another. At least it wasn’t raining. He was about to climb down and stretch his legs when he caught movement to his left and focused on the spot. It looked like someone was slowly walking up the road using a cane.

He leapt from the backhoe and hurried over to a lumber truck, taking cover behind it. What idiot would be walking down the road in the middle of the night?

Ducking slightly, Guillermo eased down the length of the truck’s flatbed for a better look. When he reached the cab, he heard the familiar whistle Franco had taught them.

Harv keyed his radio.
“He’s on the move, Estefan.”

Estefan had untucked the front of his shirt to conceal the radio clipped to his belt. Feigning a stomach wound, he bent at the waist and used the deception to respond. “I’m ready.”

“He’s coming around the truck nearest to you. You’ll have a clear view of him in five seconds.”

Estefan clicked his radio and used the assault rifle as a crutch to take another labored step. He knew the darkness prevented the sentry from seeing any real detail.

Weakly, he issued the whistle again.

The sentry called out, “Jaime? Is that you?”

Estefan dropped the rifle and fell to his hands and knees.

“What’s wrong with you?”

Completing the act, Estefan collapsed to his left shoulder.

The guy cursed, slung his rifle over his shoulder, and ran out from between the trucks.

Harv couldn’t have played it better himself. Estefan’s act was totally believable.

The sentry ran over to Estefan and bent down.

In return, Estefan swept his foot and took the man to the ground.

Harv abandoned all stealth and sprinted across the gravel.

The two men were locked in a wrestling contest when Harv arrived. The sentry had a grip on Estefan’s throat and drove his knee at Estefan’s crotch, but Estefan closed his legs in time to avoid what would’ve been a crippling blow.

Estefan elbowed the guy in the nose and seized the guy’s groin. The man howled under the sudden compression but didn’t let go of Estefan’s neck.

Screw this
, Harv thought, and he pistol-whipped the sentry on the side of the head hard enough to draw blood.

The guy reacted by thrusting his foot at Harv’s knee. The pistonlike move nearly caught him off guard. Had he not taken the weight off his leg in time, the blow would’ve sprained the joint. Fortunately, the force of the kick harmlessly swung his leg around. Harv recovered his balance and kicked the guy in the ribs. Amazingly, Estefan’s throat remained connected to the guy’s hand. Drawing on a hiss for strength, the guy tried desperately to twist away from Estefan’s grip on his testicles.

Harv admired the sentry’s toughness, but enough was enough. He clocked the guy again, producing a dropped-melon sound.
That sounded bad
, he thought and hoped he hadn’t swung too hard. He didn’t want the man unconscious, only stunned.

The sentry grunted before going limp.

Estefan coughed and spit blood. He shoved the guy aside and half laughed. “Damn, Harv, it’s a good thing you got here when you did, I might’ve killed the SOB. How’s my lip?”

“Not bad. Your teeth okay?”

Estefan tongued his mouth. “I think so. The asshole nailed me with an elbow on the way down. Shit, he was fast.”

“I saw that. Do you have any concussion symptoms?”

“No, it just stings.”

“Don’t worry. You did okay.”

“Let’s just say I was glad to see you
. . .
And leave it at that.”

“Deal. Let’s get him out of the road. Grab an arm. I’ll get his rifle.”

They dragged him over to the trucks and sat him up against a tire.

Harv updated Nathan via radio. “We took the sentry down without shooting him.”

“Can he answer questions?”

“Barely.”

“Do whatever’s necessary to obtain information you can use to secure the office and barracks
. . .
in short order.”

Harv caught Nate’s unspoken meaning. “Understood.”

Their prisoner didn’t want to cooperate at first, but two dislocated fingers convinced him otherwise. According to the sentry, there weren’t any other men outside. The barracks was empty, but there were two more men in the office. One of them was a white shirt, in command of the men in Santavilla. The other was an accountant, a bean counter who wouldn’t offer any real resistance.

Their field interrogation complete, Harv moved quickly, removing the man’s pants and slicing the legs into long ribbons. He used them like makeshift lengths of rope to both gag their prisoner and tie his hands and feet together behind his back. He and Estefan then dragged him across the gravel and left him twenty feet short of the office.

Harv whispered, “I’ll take the right. It’s about the size of a two-car garage in there, so clear your nine o’clock first. Your head okay?”

“I’m good.”

“NV off?”

Estefan nodded.

Both of them pivoted their goggles up and pulled their Sigs.

Harv reared back and kicked the office door with all his strength.

CHAPTER 29

The door flew open with a violent bang, breaking its shaded window.

Harv rushed inside and pivoted to his right. To their immediate left, Raven’s white shirt sprang forward from a couch to grab an assault rifle just beyond his reach.

Estefan painted his laser on the man’s chest and yelled, “Don’t do it!” The man looked at the rifle lying on the coffee table before retreating back onto the couch. “Good boy.”

Harv’s threat was at his two o’clock position. A small man pushed back from a huge desk and made a mad dash for the corner of the room.

Harv knew right away. This was the bean counter.

More importantly, an open safe loomed in the corner.

Harv couldn’t see any contents; its partially open door blocked his view.

Clearly, the bean counter intended to close it.

Harv yelled, “Stop!”

Ignoring his command, Bean grabbed the heavy steel door and began pushing with all his strength.

Harv painted his laser on a chubby forearm and fired a single shot.

The suppressed report sounded like a heavy book being dropped on carpet.

Two feet above the floor, a red splotch materialized on the wall next to the safe. The meaty arm fell away.

“Stop!” Harv yelled again.

With one arm, Bean continued pushing.

Harv adjusted his aim.

A metallic clank filled the room as a second slug passed through the guy’s other forearm and careened off the green steel door. The bullet plowed into the side of the desk, splintering its wood.

The white shirt shielded his eyes.

Without the use of his arms, Bean’s efforts were over. He collapsed to the hardwood floor and pulled his wounded arms into his stomach. Blood was oozing but not gushing.

The momentum of the safe’s door kept it going. It clanged against its jamb and harmlessly bounced back a few inches. Its lever arm had to be cranked to engage the locking rods.

“You stupid motherfuckers!” Bean cried in Spanish.

“I’ve got ’em both,” Harv told Estefan, also in Spanish. “Clear those doors.”

Estefan rushed over to the north wall and kicked open the door. He darted inside and yelled, “Bathroom. Clear!” He yanked a second door open and pivoted to face it. “Empty closet.”

Harv looked at Bean. “Had enough?”

The guy hissed through clenched teeth. “If you dumbasses walk away, I’ll forget this ever happened.”

“Get up.”

The little man didn’t move.

Harv aimed the Sig’s shimmering laser on the floor between Bean’s legs and fired a third round. More splinters flew.

“I’m not going to ask again. The next one finds that uninhabited melon you call a head.”

With a hateful expression, Bean used his elbows to gain his knees, then ungracefully labored into a standing position.

“On the couch, next to your friend.”

His fingers dripping blood, Bean moved across the room and plopped down, grunting from the jolt. The top of his bald head barely cleared the couch.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” Harv said with mock sincerity. He took a few seconds to scan the room for security cameras but saw none. He had twelve rounds left in the Sig; no need to load a new magazine.

Estefan kept his laser locked on the white shirt’s chest and moved to a better location to see the entire room. “Keep your hands where I can see them and stand up.”

White was about Estefan’s size, but ten years younger. The wispy mustache didn’t do anything for him. The man complied, grudgingly. “Do you know who owns this place?”

“We’ll be asking the questions from now on,” Harv replied. “Keep facing me and reach back. Lift up the cushions.”

White extended his right hand.

“Other hand,” Harv ordered and kept a neutral expression at seeing a Beretta 92 concealed under the middle cushion. He told White to step away from it.

Taking a wide berth around Bean, Harv grabbed the pistol, ejected its magazine, and cycled the slide. A live round cartwheeled to the floor. After reinserting the 92’s mag, he put the weapon in his thigh pocket. He unloaded the HK assault rifle before tossing it into the corner of the room behind Estefan. Blood had already pooled in Bean’s lap. Without pressure bandages, blood loss would become critical in the next twenty minutes.

Harv looked at White. “Take your shirt off.” When the guy just stared, Harv forcefully said, “Do it now.”

White unbuttoned his shirt and peeled it off.

“Toss it over.” Harv holstered his Sig, pulled his Predator, and cut the shirt into wide strips. Looking down at Bean, he said, “I’m going to tie off your wounds. If you try anything cute, I’ll let you bleed out. Are we clear on that?”

“You’re an asshole,” Bean said.

“Lose the tough guy attitude.”

“Better let his sex partner apply the field dressings,” Estefan said. “There’s no telling what diseases that little runt has. Personally, I’d let him die. You’d be doing him—and the world—a favor.”

“Fuck you,” Bean spat, then winced.

Harv knew firsthand that bullet wounds were hideously painful. He looked at White. “You know how to field dress those wounds?”

White nodded.

Harv threw the cloth strips onto the coffee table, swapped his Predator for his Sig, and pointed it at White. “Please proceed slowly,” Harv said. “This weapon has a two-pound trigger, and we wouldn’t want any accidental discharges.”

Harv ignored the safe for now; his priority was getting these two men squared away. It took a minute for White to get Bean’s arms bandaged, but the guy did a decent job.

He ordered White to have a seat next to his buddy and handed Estefan the knife. “Cut me some strips from the sofa’s fabric, and test them for strength. Cut up as many as you need. We’re going to secure our three guests back-to-back around the wooden post in the middle of the room. I want their wrists bound in front of them with their elbow joints secured to one another. Right to left and left to right.”

“No problem.”

Harv used this opportunity to update Nate on their break-in and the two additional men in custody. He told Nate about the safe and Bean’s defiant effort to close it.

“It can wait until after you’ve secured the men. Who knows, there might be something we can use against Raven and Macanas. Maybe the bean counter keeps a ledger in there. We’ll go through it later.”

“The barracks are fifty yards away on the north side of the lumber mill’s main building. I need to send Estefan over there to verify no one’s home. If anyone’s over there, I doubt they heard our entry into the office.”

“You shouldn’t be alone in the lumber mill’s office with no eyes outside. Sit tight. I can be there in a few minutes.”

“Antonia’s feet are tethered.”

“I’ll carry her.”

Harv could only imagine her expression at hearing that. “Nate, she’s one hundred twenty pounds, and you’ve got five hundred yards to cover.”

“You carried me through two miles of pitch-black jungle when I weighed one hundred twenty pounds.”

“I was motivated, but it also took five hours
. . .
You’ll need help humping our gear. Let me send Estefan after he’s secured our prisoners. In a dead run, he could be there in ninety seconds. I’ll kill the lights and wait just outside the door where I can keep eyes on the office and the barracks. He’ll be on his way in under one mike.” Harv released the transmit button. “Watch them for a sec.”

“These two piles of pig shit aren’t going anywhere.”

“Easy, Estefan.”

Harv stepped outside, grabbed the sentry by his collar, and manhandled him up the porch steps into the office. Estefan was slicing a second cushion and testing each strip by putting one end under his boot and yanking on it. The makeshift ties were quite strong—Estefan couldn’t tear them.

Harv wanted to know something before Nathan brought Antonia over here. “Ask the girl if these are the guys who mutilated Mateo’s ear.”

“Stand by.”

“We never touched that worthless drunk,” Bean said.

Harv told him to shut up. After fifteen seconds of silence he was about to radio Nate when his ear speaker came back to life.

“She said no. The men who hurt her father came from Macanas’s compound in southern Jinotega. For what it’s worth, she says the small guy is Raven’s cousin.”

“His cousin?” Harv asked, purposely repeating aloud.

Estefan smiled, then winked at Bean.

The little man’s hateful expression returned.

“That’s what she said. His name is Raul Sanchez, and she hates his guts. She said he’s a complete asshole.”

“Yeah, we kinda gathered that. Estefan’s almost finished securing our guests.” Harv’s radio clicked.

“I’ll be right back.” Estefan ducked into the bathroom and returned a few seconds later, dabbing his lips with tissue. He shook his head. “I hate the sight of my own blood. It really pisses me off.”

“Double-time over to the motel. Switch Sigs with me—yours isn’t suppressed.” Harv also handed him an additional mag. “My laser’s set to a fifty-foot zero.”

“Not a problem,” Estefan said, taking a last look at the bound men.

Harv knew his friend wanted their roles reversed so he could have some quality time with the prisoners, but they weren’t here for that.

“Estefan’s on his way.”

“I’m ready to move out when he gets here.”

Harv killed the lights and activated his NVGs. “I can see all of you clearly. If you try anything, you’ll regret it.”

“What are we supposed to do?” Bean said. “We’re tied up, you dumbass.”

“That’s your third strike.” Harv grabbed the remaining strip of fabric and silently moved in behind Bean. In a quick motion before Bean could react, Harv looped the gag into Bean’s mouth as if using a garrote, then tied it tight. This pint-sized turd hadn’t earned any respect.

Before stepping outside, Harv decided to take a quick look inside the safe and activated the infrared feature of his goggles. Bean’s eyes reflected an eerie iridescence.

Moving silently across the pitch-black room, Harv approached the safe. He pulled the door and stared in disbelief. “Oh, man,” he whispered. “No friggin’ way . . .”