Chapter Fifteen
Bitterroot Falls
Having Christina back in his arms, no matter how briefly, was perfection.
They’d both grown and changed. Being with her still blew his mind, but in a different way.
Better. What they had to share was so much deeper.
He only hoped they’d have a chance to truly reconnect, to discover who they both were now and see if they might finally have a future together.
But there was so much that needed to be done before that was possible.
The last thing Jackson wanted to do was disentangle their limbs, pull away from her and get out of bed. But he did it. Had no choice.
At first light, they would raid the depots.
Waylon Wright and five others from another IPS office had just arrived, flying in on helicopters that had touched down on Chance’s property. Three helicopters since they had three objectives to accomplish in three separate locations simultaneously.
When Lockwood stated he was willing to put all his resources behind this, he’d meant it.
Just as they were about to get started with the briefing, a familiar face walked into the living room.
“Takoda.” Jackson went over to his buddy and gave him a hug. “How’s Aiden?”
“Angry. Bruised. He’s got a broken arm and several fractured ribs. But he’s going to make a full recovery. His wife flew in, too. She’s livid and ready to get the guy responsible.”
Charlie Killian-Yazzie was a force to be reckoned with.
“How about the rest of my team? Who else survived?”
“Lucky there were any survivors. Some of the rounds used by the assailant were armor-piercing. They’re estimating maybe every third or fourth bullet was an AP round. All the police officers were killed. Along with Flores and Walken.”
“The last time I saw Walken, he was on his feet and returning fire.”
“An AP round got him in the chest. But Tillman made it. Regular bullets put him down temporarily, knocking the wind out of him, and leaving his sternum bruised. Vazquez made it through without a scratch on her. Just a concussion and whiplash. The other two from your task force were at the hospital. Mirabal and Nichols.”
“Any idea who’s in charge of the task force?” Jackson wondered.
“Bigwigs from several agencies are in Missoula, duking it out for control.” Takoda handed him three business cards.
Oscar Baccarin—FBI. Dawn Quinones—DHS. Gabriel Garcia—DEA.
“I’ve met them all,” Jackson said. “But I can’t say I know any of them well enough to say who should win.”
“For now, the three of them are overseeing the manhunt for Ortiz and you, as well as the apprehension of the assailant. They don’t have a name or an image of the guy. All the CCTV cameras were down.”
“The guy responsible is Alvaro Aguilar. He’s a serious problem.” Jackson didn’t want to get into the nitty-gritty specifics at the moment. They needed to focus their attention on the raid. “I’m surprised you’re here and didn’t stay in Missoula until Aiden is released from the hospital.”
“My cousin insisted I get out of there and make myself useful. He’s been telling the head honchos that if you fled with Ortiz, it was only to save both your lives. They were willing to consider it for a while, but the longer you go without checking in, the worse it looks.”
Jackson nodded. “Yeah, I’m aware. But the situation is complicated. After the raids, I can check in. I can’t risk being located or anyone getting wind of the seizure of the cartel’s depots until it’s done.”
Takoda patted his shoulder. “Well, I’m here to help. Just let me know what you need me to do.”
They were moving out in a little less than thirty minutes from now. Sunrise was around seven and they needed to kick this off while it was still dark. If all went as planned, they would land a major blow to the cartel. One that would help justify his reason for being on the run with Christina.
“Eli.” Chance’s voice brought Jackson’s attention to the front of the living room. “Pull up the images and the blueprint.”
Jackson cut through the crowd, making his way closer to the front next to Christina.
Aerial images of the three sites they were about to hit came up on the screen. They were old farming properties. Alongside the photos, Eli brought up a digitized blueprint of one of the barns that Christina had downloaded from her secondary cloud storage.
“Christina,” Chance said, “you’re the only one who’s been to the sites. Do the honors, would you?”
She nodded stiffly and rose from the sofa where she was seated. Something seemed to shift in her. The moment she was standing at the screen, she looked comfortable, poised, filled with purpose. In control.
“The security teams at the sites rotate on shifts. They sleep on-site in the farmhouses. The goods that we’re looking for will be stored in the barns. They’re half the size of a football field. Fifty yards long, half as wide. Inside the barns, they’ve constructed another building.”
Winter passed her a laser pointer, and Christina used it to indicate the location of the building inside the barn.
“To keep it simple, I’ll refer to the interior buildings as the Vault. They are situated inside the west corner of the barns. The Vaults are designed as a stronghold in the event there was a security threat.”
“So,” Christina added, assessing the bleak faces around the room, “consider the Vaults to be safe rooms on steroids. If we don’t take advantage of the element of surprise, anyone inside could theoretically seal themselves up tight and hold off our raid until reinforcements arrive.”
Chance stepped forward. “Each helicopter will land less than half a mile from the sites, where we will be met by more backup, waiting to transport us the rest of the way in vehicles. Based on the information provided by our confidential informant,” he said, gesturing to Christina, “DCI was able to get us warrants. One of the grounds included in the basis for the warrant was the use of farming land and livestock trailers to smuggle drugs. This tidbit enabled me to reach out to friends I trust in the Montana Livestock Association. Their agents are sworn law enforcement officers. Several of them will meet us at each landing site and will assist with seizures and arrests. The Estrada cartel was not mentioned when I made these arrangements. That piece of information is on a need-to-know basis only. For now, they don’t need to know.
” Chance turned to the biggest guy in the room. “Waylon, anything to add?”
“The fellas I brought with me will divide up among the three groups,” Waylon said in a booming voice.
The former detective was built like an Abrams tank, standing at six-five, weighing a good 230 pounds.
“I go where Christina goes. Lockwood made it clear my number-one priority is her safety. Everything else is secondary for me. Got it?”
Heads nodded.
Sounded good to Jackson. With Aguilar out there on the prowl, it was going to take a team to keep her out of that man’s reach.
Jackson was determined to put an end to the Estrada cartel’s stateside unit, but he would sacrifice doing that and more—if it would keep Christina safe, he’d walk through fire.
Somewhere in Glacier County, Montana
Saturday, April 14, 6:26 a.m.
EACH HELICOPTER TRANSPORTED a five-member team. Christina sat in the chopper, scanning the faces of the rest of her team as they headed to their designated site—the one that held millions in cash.
They were as ready as they could be with such a short lead time.
Nonetheless, her thoughts were scattered and her heart was in turmoil.
So many people were risking their lives for the sake of this mission, to help her clear her name and keep her alive.
Alvaro already had Jackson in his sights, but soon La Parca would learn the names of the others who’d dared rescue her: Chance, Winter, Eli, Autumn and Bo.
A single question played on repeat in her head: Is one person worth jeopardizing six others? And now, there were even more here to protect her.
Jackson reached over, took her hand in his and squeezed as though he could read her mind. She glanced at him. He sat next to her. Silent. Tense. Steadfast.
The entire team wore tactical-level body armor and gear that Waylon had brought with him.
Though Christina would’ve preferred one of her personal handguns, Waylon had given her a sound-suppressed Smith & Wesson M&P like the rest of the team.
She wore the pistol in a drop holster on her right hip.
The sling of an M4 hung over her shoulder.
She gathered that the forensic psychologist hadn’t seen much action in the field.
One of Winter’s conditions for Autumn going along on the raids was that she was not to be involved in direct combat.
When Autumn had tried to shut Winter down, Declan stepped in, agreeing that the psychologist shouldn’t be subjected to line-of-fire casualties since they had a robust team for the raids.
Christina was curious how it would work out, since Autumn was on the team with Chance and Winter, while Declan was in the helicopter with Christina, sandwiched between Waylon and one of the Iron Warriors who had survived.
He was a new member, only having joined in the last three years, and she didn’t know him, but she appreciated the fact that he had volunteered for this messy situation after the club had been hit.
Before they had loaded up in the helicopters, Chance’s final words to everyone had been straight and to the point: “Each team is to breach the farmhouse and the barn at the same time. MLA agents will hit the farmhouse while IPS and DCI will take the Vaults. Disable alarms. Immobilize hostiles. Hit the Vault fast and hard, taking out the guards inside. Secure the cash, weapons and drugs. Radio in. Mission accomplished.”
Sounded solid in theory. Now they were going to test it.
“ETA sixty seconds,” Waylon said. “Final comms check commencing now.”
They all wore Bluetooth communication earpieces under their sound-deadening hearing protection and voice-activated throat mikes pressed against their necks.
Waylon called out everyone’s name one at a time and waited for a return check, indicating they were good.
As the helicopter set down at the landing site, they spotted their MLA backup waiting in two black SUVs.
The five of them hopped out of the chopper.
Waylon and Declan made quick introductions, explained the plan and gave them several stun grenades to immobilize the guards at the farmhouse.
IPS took one vehicle while the MLA agents were loaded in the other.
They waited until the others touched down at their respective sites and then rolled out.
It took them a few short minutes to arrive at the location. The two vehicles peeled away, each headed toward their target.
A calm came over Christina as she closed her eyes and touched her gear, making sure she could locate any part of it without looking. She made sure her helmet was securely fastened.
They stopped short of the barn and left their doors open as they got out, not wanting to give away their position.
Waylon grabbed breaching charges they might need to blow the Vault doors.
Her big brother knew how to prepare for a battle and had ensured they’d have everything for a worst-case scenario.
Declan wanted to be the first one through the door. Everyone followed him and stacked up along the barn wall. Christina hung tight between Waylon and Jackson.
They were all aware that once Declan opened that barn door, there was no turning back. They had to run almost forty yards to reach the Vault, take out the two guards—provided the intel she had was still good—and then set and blow the breaching charges to get inside.
At the same time, the livestock agents would cut the electricity to the farmhouse and storm inside and use the stun grenades on the foot soldiers, who were hopefully sleeping.
About a hundred things could go wrong, including finding the Vault empty, and there was only one way that this would go right.
This rushed operation had been thrown together in bad conditions and without proper recon and surveillance.
Still, they needed everything to go exactly according to plan at all three sites.
Jackson grabbed her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. The gesture eased her nerves.
“If things go sideways, don’t be a hero,” he said, using the words she’d spoken to him on her.
All she could do was smile. Things could go to hell in a handbasket and heroics wouldn’t be a factor. It would simply come down to having each other’s backs, and this time, they completely trusted one another.
This was it.
Declan pulled the pins on the stun grenades and tossed them inside the barn. A couple of thunderous bangs echoed along with bright flashes of light.
“Go,” Declan said, sweeping into the barn in time with the livestock agents breaching the house.
She followed the team in, with Jackson bringing up the rear.
Two guards were still on their feet, but the flashes of light had temporarily blinded them and the concussive bangs had left them disorientated. It didn’t stop them from shooting, aiming wildly.
They dived behind an old tractor that was inside the barn, taking cover.
But the two guards were exposed. Easy targets.
“On one, two, three,” Declan said in their comms, and the five of them laid down fire in the direction of the enemy, putting down the guards without taking any casualties.
An alarm went off at the farmhouse, the screeching sound grating on her already-raw nerves like sandpaper. The house must’ve had a backup generator.
Not wasting time, they hurried down to the other end of the barn. The Vault was locked.
The former detective, Waylon, set the charges, and they all ducked behind the rear of the vault. “Breaching in three, two, one,” Waylon said, giving the countdown, followed by the huge roar of an explosion.
The Vault door blew down with a bone-rattling boom and fell in a cloud of smoke.
They were in.
The team moved to the entrance of the Vault. Once the smoke cleared, they stared at high stacks of bundled cash neatly laid out on a metal table. She’d never seen so much money.
There had to be at least twenty million here. Possibly more.
Score one for the good guys.