The Surge - 03 (38 page)

“I’m tempted to take you up on that. Knowing that corrupt old bastard, he’s sitting down there right now trying to figure out how he can make a profit with his newfound knowledge.”

The two rangers pulled out of the parking lot without incident, heading directly for the warehouse and their makeshift HVAC hide.

Twenty minutes later, Zach was wishing BB had accepted the wager.

Men were rushing all over, the anthill of activity both on and around Vincent’s yacht, some trying to carry large boxes of supplies up the gangplank at the same time as others were trying to exit. The number of sentries had been tripled.

Zach could see Ghost was still aboard, as well as the female hostage from Texas. Vincent was hustling here and there, trying to direct traffic and issue orders, but, in reality, making things worse. The ranger had to chuckle when he saw the crime lord’s eyes often scanning the sky as if he was looking for the helicopters that would deliver death from above.

“It won’t be long now,” Zach grinned.

Another 20 minutes had passed before El General decided he’d dillydallied enough. Strings of harsh orders were barked up and down the pier, resulting in several of the guards rushing to man the heavy dock lines that secured
La Rosa
to the bank.

Zach heard the powerful diesel engines crank, puffs of black smoke rising from under the yacht’s stern. The gangplank was pulled aboard, a man wearing the whites of a ship’s captain supervising the final steps before casting off.

Through his binoculars, Zach watched the vessel’s master jog up a flight of stairs and into what the Texan assumed was the bridge. The engines revved as
La Rosa’s
bow began to drift out into the river. Again, the throttle was applied to the big diesels, this time followed by a sickening screech of metal against metal.

Dense clouds of black smoke now boiled from the exhausts, but
La Rosa
didn’t move.

Panic ensued aboard the boat, the captain reappearing and shouting for the dock lines to be reattached before his now-dead vessel drifted too far out into the current. Men were scrambling fore and aft, lines and rope arching through the air.

Vincent and Ghost arrived on the deck just as
La Rosa
was being pulled back toward the shore, at least 20 men straining to tug the huge yacht back to her mooring.

It was obvious that the ship’s owner wasn’t happy with her skipper. Zach watched Vincent’s hand gestures and body language, wondering if the captain was going to be executed right on the spot. The woman from Texas inserted herself between El General and the captain, trying to calm the situation down.

The captain shrugged his shoulders, pointed toward the engine room, and seemed to be begging for mercy. Ghost stood beside his boss, taking it all in without the slightest reaction.

While he would have loved to stay and watch the show, Zach had to retreat from his cardboard hide and prepare for the next act of the drama.

The ranger rushed down the stairs and through the warehouse, finding his partner waiting in the idling pickup. “I’d give them 20 minutes tops,” Zach said while climbing into the cab.

“We’ll be ready,” BB responded, an almost evil gleam of anticipation in the older ranger’s eyes.

They drove a few hundred yards further along the riverbank, coming to rest next to an empty lot of waist-high weeds and trash.

The lot had been selected for three reasons, all of which were critical. First of all, it was a mere 600 yards from the now-disabled
La Rosa
.

Secondly, the overgrowth provided excellent cover.

Finally, it was less than two blocks from a major roadway.

The duo rushed to pull their weapons and magazines from the pickup’s locked toolbox, each ranger checking the actions of his respective firearms. Then without a word, both moved into the overgrowth and headed for the river’s bank.

Zach had been wrong about how long it would take Vincent to activate plan B. It was closer to 40 minutes before the steady thump-thump-thump of an approaching helicopter reached the duo’s ears.

“I knew he’d have a copter waiting close by,” Zach bragged. “No way a guy like that buys a boat with a helipad without having all the accessories. I bet the paint job even matches.”

“We’re about to find out,” BB replied, finding a tree trunk size of driftwood to brace his weapon.

The helicopter came in low from the west, following the river less than 500 feet off the ground. As the two rangers shouldered their weapons, the pilot made a slow, looping turn for his approach.

Zach’s rifle was a bit more accurate than BB’s AK, but the older lawman’s bullets carried more punch. “Steady,” BB said, keeping the bubbled glass in his sights. “Nail that bastard when he’s about 10 feet off the deck.”

The ambushers waited, watching as the bird’s nose flared upwards to check its approach. The pilot then started bringing her down slowly, hovering directly above
La Rosa’s
flat landing area.

Flicking off his safety, Zach fired.

Striking a man at 600 yards with an AR15 was doable, but very difficult. Hitting a target the size of a helicopter wasn’t all that hard.

Both of the rangers starting firing as fast as they could reset the trigger and pull again, arching round after round at the descending aircraft.

The bird’s smooth, steady descent suddenly changed – the airframe tilting, jerking, and then holding steady as each ranger kept up a steady stream of anti-aircraft fire.

Zach wanted to knock the bird down and watch a fiery ball of flame envelope
La Rosa
after the crash, but that wasn’t in the cards. Instead, the pilot attempted to increase his altitude just as smoke started pouring from the aircraft’s turbine engine.

“He’s trying to get away,” BB shouted over the constant roar of their weapons.

Both rangers locked back empty at almost the same moment. Slamming home a couple of fresh magazines, the two lawmen returned to their assault within seconds.

The pilot was fighting for control now, the copter spinning and wobbling directly above
La Rosa
. Out of the corner of his eye, Zach noticed tiny figures running across the deck.

Flames, adding their sense of doom to the thicker column of black smoke, appeared as the two Texans continued throwing a relentless maelstrom of lead at the stricken bird.

The aircraft tilted sharply and banked hard toward the center of the river.

The helicopter struck the surface on its right side, the still-spinning rotors throwing up a curtain of water and mist as they slammed into the river.

Zach watched as the fuselage did a cartwheel across the surface, and then a red and white fireball erupted as burning gasoline was thrown 50 feet into the air.

“We gotta get the fuck out of here,” BB snapped. “They’ll be coming … and coming hard.”

While he would have loved to stay and watch the death throes of Vincent’s flying limo, Zach knew his partner was right.

The two bushwhackers hustled for the pickup, scrambling into the cab with their weapons – just in case Vincent’s bloodhounds responded a little faster than anticipated.

BB threw the transmission into gear and they were off, throwing up a cloud of dust, speeding toward the main road as fast as the aged V8 would take them. Less than two minutes later, they were merging into traffic and slowing down. There wasn’t any sign of pursuit.

Once the two lawmen were comfortable that El General’s boys weren’t on their tails, BB turned back toward the river. “If your read on Vincent is accurate, he’ll be going loco about now. He’ll want to get as far away from here as he can get.”

Zach nodded, keeping his eye on their surroundings. “He’s down to one option – evading by car. Let’s get to work on our funnel.”

During the rooftop scouting and tours of the area, Zach had noted a significant tactical oversight by the man everyone claimed to be a “General.”

While the river provided a means of escape and limited 180 degrees of access to his position, it also had the reverse effect of limiting the number of routes available for sneaking away. Without a boat, the water suddenly was like a prison’s wall, and thus El General’s enemy.  

Then there was the industrial area where Vincent had chosen to moor his yacht. It was an isolated part of town, designed for interior square footage, not motor-traffic. There were only two streets in and out, and Zach planned to reduce that number by half.

BB drove to the burned out hulk they’d passed on the way in. When they’d first noticed the lone, still-standing wall and labeled it a deathtrap, neither ranger had known how accurate their prophecy would be.

After backing the truck into position, BB hopped out and grabbed a lengthy section of cord from the pickup’s bed. “Been a while since I roped a steer this big,” he grinned at his partner. “Sure hope this little scheme works.”

Stepping toward the dilapidated structure, the old ranger began spinning the lasso with a broad, circular motion of his arm.

The noose shot through the air, arching high and falling perfectly over a piece of rebar 20 feet above. BB tightened the line and then made a quick knot on a second length of rope to make sure they had plenty of space.

While BB connected the “extension cord,” to the lassoed building, Zach was tying it off to the truck’s trailer hitch.

Back in the pickup, BB glanced at the younger man and said, “I always wanted to pull the bars off a jail cell and set my gang of outlaws free. I guess this will have to do.”

BB gently rolled the truck forward until the rope was tight and then gave the V8 a boot’s worth of gas. The back tires kicked up a plume of dirt and sand as they spun. For a moment, it looked like the old wall was far sturdier than either ranger had predicted.

Cutting the wheel right and left in short jabs, BB caused the back end of the pickup to swing back and forth. Rubber barked as the wall began to topple.

Zach watched in the side mirror as they began to roll forward, a child-like grin crossing the ranger’s face when the three-story monolith of brick and concrete came crashing down. A huge cloud of debris billowed into the air as a rumbling thunder rolled through the area.

Waving the dust from their faces, the two Texans exited the truck to inspect their handiwork.

They found the narrow street blocked by a four-foot high wall of crumbled block, jagged rebar, and piles upon mounds of brick and concrete.

“That was fun,” Zach coughed, the dust sticking in his throat.

“No shit. That was worth the trip just by itself,” BB grinned.

Now Vincent had only one way in or out, and the rangers were going to be waiting for him.

El General had been suspicious when the Tampico Chief of Police had called, claiming the Texas Rangers were in town. While he had his doubts about the cop and his information, there was no need to panic. After consulting with Ghost, it had been decided that moving their base of operations was sage.

Vincent had even been willing to accept the captain’s excuse that an old dock line had somehow managed to foul
La Rosa’s
propellers. While his famous temper had boiled over the incident, he was worldly enough to know that no amount of planning and preparation could overcome simple bad luck.

“Call in the helicopter,” he’d ordered. “We’ll go to the alternative plan.”

While the crew and security forces scrambled to pack and prepare to abandon ship, El General had remained calm – at least as compared to some of his more notable outbursts. The captain was still alive, preparing to send a diver over the side to check on the propellers.

The drug lord knew something was terribly wrong when bullets started striking his freedom bird. Perhaps the chief hadn’t been completely full of shit.

With his mind racing to figure out how the Texas Rangers had found his lair, Vincent still had alternatives –
La Rosa’s
22-foot speedboat being the next option.

While his men hustled to take up defensive positions and prepare to engage the Texas Special Forces that were surely on their way, El General went about packing an overnight bag and instructing Weekend to do the same. They would ride
La Rosa’s
launch to the open water of the Gulf and then motor south to safety.

As his most trusted bodyguard toted their bags, Vincent and Weekend navigated the passageways that led to the yacht’s water garage and the waiting powerboat.

One deck above the “toy shed,” El General could hear the powerful outboard motors rumbling through the bulkhead. Turning to Weekend, he said, “Someone is finally thinking ahead and warming the engines,” trying to steady his own nerves. “Given everything else that has gone wrong today, I should give them a raise.”

They came to the hatch leading to the garage just as the engine noise increased its pitch.

Opening the watertight door, Vincent was stunned to see the speedboat accelerating away from
La Rose
, Ghost at the helm, waving goodbye from behind the wheel.

“Shoot him!” El General screamed at the bodyguard. “Kill him!”

It was too late, the launch coming up on plane and blasting across the surface of the river, fading quickly into the distance.

Weekend and the protector braced for Vincent’s volcano of fury to erupt, but the explosion never came. Instead, the now frightened cartel boss said, “Get the cars packed and ready to go. Right now. We’ll drive out of here.”

Turning to give one last glance at the tiny white dot of Ghost’s stolen vessel, El General hissed, “When I find you, your death will be very slow and agonizing, my friend. You will regret this treachery with every fiber of your being, so help me God.”

For the first time since she’d met Vincent, Weekend detected fear in his voice. He’d always been so confident and self-assured.

She didn’t really understand the fast-moving events of the morning, nor did she grasp the political aspirations of the man who treated her like the world’s most pampered prisoner.

She could clearly see, however, the first flashes of insecurity and self-doubt, and that made her smile. Obviously, El General was in trouble, and she would welcome watching the mighty fall.

Zach touched the wires again and listened to the engine crank while his boot stomped on the gas. He’d never hotwired a vehicle before, but the old delivery van they’d spotted had been manufactured years before computer chips had made grand theft auto a high-tech crime.

Looking up at BB, he said, “I don’t think it’s going to start. What now?”

The old ranger knew their streak of good luck couldn’t last forever. “I suppose I could block the road with the pickup, but they’ll probably just ram right through. We need something heavy and wide to block their egress.”

Zach glanced around, looking for something, anything, he could use as a roadblock. The van had been the perfect solution, but now its ancient motor wasn’t going to cooperate. “Can we tow this beast?”

Glancing back and forth between his pickup and the heavy truck, BB tried to judge the distance. One of the front tires was flat on the bigger truck, but they only had to move it a few blocks. “Can’t hurt to try,” he finally shrugged. “I don’t see another building we can pull over.”

The two lawmen scrambled to connect the ropes, Zach taking the job of trying to steer the lifeless wreck. “Make sure you put it in neutral,” BB advised, climbing into his pickup’s cab.

Again, the back tires smoked as BB gave the Detroit V8 the gas.

Sitting in the cab of the delivery truck, Zach felt the frame move a little, then some more, and then the ancient workhorse was rolling. “Yeah! Go BB! Go!”

It took all of the Texan’s considerable strength to turn the unassisted wheel, the flat rubber and lack of power steering making the sweat pop on his brow. But they were rolling.

Once the heavy van was on pavement, the ranger’s task became a little easier. After a few minutes, and a couple of muscle straining corners, he was cutting the wheel hard to turn their mobile roadblock sideways across the pavement.

“We did it!” he yelled, climbing down from the cab. “Now we’ve got their sorry asses pinned. Let’s get ready for a little turkey shoot.”

BB pulled the truck into a back alley and out of sight – just in case things went wrong and they needed their own escape pod.

The two rangers then hustled to pocket the rest of their ammunition and weapons.

Zach took the north side of the road, BB the south with the van between them. The younger lawman chose what had once been the offices of a factory, the frame of a window providing an excellent field of fire while the heavy block wall would protect him from incoming lead.

BB’s ambush hide was a waist-high mound of dirt that somehow had been deposited in an empty lot. The more experienced ranger always liked being able to move during a gunfight, and the open spaces surrounding the dirt mound gave him a lot of options.

After 20 minutes, Zach began to worry that Vincent had found another way out of their trap. At 30 minutes, he fought a strong urge to leave his post and go check on the activity around the yacht.

“What the fuck are they doing?” he yelled across the street to his partner.

“It’s that little lady he’s got on his arm,” BB shouted back. “Don’t you know it always takes women forever to pack?”

Zach appreciated the older man’s use of humor to relieve stress. It was another 10 minutes before the two lawmen finally heard the sound of approaching engines.

Ducking low behind his cover, the ranger checked his spare mags for the Nth time and flicked the safety off of the carbine. His job was to take out the lead vehicle. BB would pepper the rear-most unit so they could pin anything between. It was to be the classic ambush.

Four SUVs came roaring up the street, their speed indicating that Zach wasn’t the only one who thought things were taking too long.

Just as the rangers expected, the convoy stopped well short of the blocking delivery van.

Zach and BB had anticipated such a move, selecting their positions perfectly. Centering the red dot on the point vehicle’s radiator, the ranger began firing as fast as he could pull the trigger.

Sparks and puffs of splintering metal announced he was on target, round after round tearing into the SUV’s engine compartment.

The driver did what he was trained to do, hitting the gas in an attempt to steer through the kill zone. Problem was, there wasn’t any place for him to go.

As the lead unit passed his position, Zach sent another series of lead pills into the doors and windows before turning his attention to the second target in line.

BB was pelting the rear guard of the cartel parade, slamming the heavier, Russian caliber bullets into the motor and front wheels. That driver decided to try and back out of the hailstorm of death, squealing the tires in reverse while attempting to execute some sort of fancy spinning turn.

The maneuver did nothing but expose the sides and rear to BB’s relentless barrage. Evidently, the old lawman had managed to kill the thug behind the wheel because the SUV kept moving in reverse, eventually going off the road and slamming into a utility pole with bumper-crushing force.

The cartel shooters weren’t amateurs. Within seconds, they realized the trap, many of the henchmen probably having pulled similar ambushes at some point in their criminal careers. Concluding they couldn’t drive out of the kill zone, they decided to attempt escape on foot.

Doors were flying open on three of the four SUVs, men appearing with guns drawn as they scrambled for some sort of cover. Zach began to hear, feel, and see incoming fire pointed in his direction.

The ranger ignored the shooters, his attention drawn to the third vehicle. It remained idling in the street, its occupants seemingly uneager to hop out and join the building firefight.

“That’s where Vincent and Ghost are riding,” the ranger whispered. “Gotcha.”

Zach centered on number three and began nailing the black Chevy as fast as his finger could work the trigger. After putting at least 10 rounds into the engine bay, he then moved his aim up to the windshield. That was his first indication that something was wrong.

The glass should have cracked, puffed, and splintered like the other escorts, but this one was different. Shot after shot impacted the glass in front of the driver, but no holes appeared. The ranger adjusted his aim and went for the passenger door window, and was shocked to see the same results.

“Bulletproof glass?” he hissed. “Bullshit. That crap is only in the movies.”

The ranger dropped his aim again, putting the door’s dark paint behind the red dot. While holes did appear, it was obvious that he was striking some sort of enhanced material.

Now Zach was beginning to worry. At least eight cartel enforcers had escaped their SUVs, the ranger assuming they would continue to run for their lives. But would they?

Deciding Vincent’s armored ride wasn’t going anywhere, Zach began sweeping for the bodyguards.

It saved his life.

Around the corner of a building the assassins came, spreading out in a skirmish line and firing on full automatic.

Zach ducked just as concrete and mortar shrapnel exploded all around his head, dozens of incoming rounds peppering his position. The goons hadn’t been running away; they’d been regrouping.

While he kept his head down, Zach could hear the heavy pop, pop, pop of BB’s Kalashnikov hammering away from across the street. To the ranger’s ear, it sounded like the old timer was having his own issues.

Zach chanced rising up and sending four quick shots at the approaching gunmen, sure he wasn’t going to hit anything, but hoping he’d at least slow them down. He was surprised at how close they had managed to advance already.

Evidently, his move pissed Vincent’s boys off, another avalanche of hot lead slamming into the spot where Zach had just been. Larger chunks of brick rained down on the ranger’s head, the block walls only able to absorb so much punishment.

“Time to retreat,” he announced, knowing that the white hats had probably just lost their best chance at catching Ghost and El General. Now, his thoughts turned to surviving the encounter.

Leaping to his feet, Zach snap-fired a few rounds and darted through the old factory. He’d scouted the place briefly and knew there was a loading dock at the far end.

He was halfway across the junk-strewn main space when the cartel gunmen announced they too had entered the premises, unleashing a thunderous, sweeping spray that chased the ranger’s retreat.

Zach dived behind a pile of old scrap iron, bullets pinging and popping all around the pile of debris. The volume of fire was so intense; he thought the walls might collapse from the vibrations and impact.

The men pursuing the ranger were pretty good. While their marksmanship left him uninspired, they were skilled enough to keep one of their four weapons firing at all times, never taking off the pressure while reloading.