Chapter 15
Santiago’s threat hit home,and the color drained from Mari’s face, her whole body paralyzed by shock as her stomach dropped away with a sickening rush.
Santiago stood there, blocking the door, watching her, his gun still pointed at them, his expression smug.
Mari stared back at him, stunned and wide-eyed, the safe, ordered world she knew slipping away.
He continued to watch her, the muscles in his jaw taut, his expression compressed into hard lines. He gave her a tight smile. “Do we have an agreement?”
“Agreement,” she scoffed, looking at the gun.
Suddenly the door opened, and two men came through. Big thuggish men, part of the Sombre Sindicato gang, and reality swept in when she recognized them as Tierra employees. One had a spider tattoo on his neck, and the other a long scar on his arm. She dubbed the one with the spider tattoo Tweedledee, and the other one Tweedledum. She didn’t like the way they ogled her and her sister, raising her hackles and her protective instincts. She closed her eyes, a chilling comprehension washing through her. They had been there the whole time. They had been the ones who had ratted out the SEALs once they had made it to their property. Her whole body trembled, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. She closed her eyes again, setting her shaking, bound hands into her lap.
They had been working in plain sight as hired employees.
“How long have you all been working for us?” she asked, her voice hoarse.
They all smiled. “A year, and if it wasn’t for your cooperation with the DEA and American military, we would still be in business. But we have one more big shipment to get out, so you’ll have to bear with us,” Santiago casually said like it was business as usual.
She couldn’t stop herself, outraged that they had infiltrated her legitimate business with their illegal smuggling. “And Mr. Barrantes?”
“He was a good guy right up until I put a bullet in the back of his head.” Santiago shrugged. “He was reluctant to cooperate, but he finally taught me everything he knew.”
Now she understood. That’s why they kept him prisoner for a month and tortured him. Poor, dedicated Juan.
Santiago moved closer, folding his arms across his chest after he tucked the pistol into the waistband of his pants. His gaze never left her face, his voice clipped when he finally said, “You’re our leverage to make sure our shipment gets through to the ports.”
Mari had a rudimentary knowledge of all the departments that made up her family business. La Buena Tierra used both the Pacific coast’s Port of Caldera that shipped primarily to the western half of the United States, African, and Asian markets, and the Atlantic coast’s Port of Limón, which shipped primarily to the eastern half of the United States and Europe. It made her angry to know that their coffee product had been used to conceal drugs.
“He wants to see you,” one of the thugs said.
Santiago nodded.“Just to be clear so there’s no misunderstanding. You’re coming with us, and we expect you to be cooperative. Your lives depend on it.” He paused, waiting for her to make a comment, but when she said nothing, he went on, his voice almost impassive. “Good. We’re all on the same page.” He came to them, pulled a silver metal item from his pocket, flipped his wrist, and it turned into a wicked-looking switchblade. He cut the bonds at their ankles and gestured toward the door. “Let’s go, ladies.”
She lifted her chin, her voice as clipped as his had been. “You’re not going to get away with this,” she said, certain that the DEA, the CIA, and Buck’s team were going to put a stop to them. There wasn’t an ounce of doubt in her mind. Gone was the uncertainty about Buck, realizing that everything with Diego had overwhelmed her, and she’d made emotional and irrational assumptions about Buck she deeply regretted.
When she didn’t move, he inclined his head to his two thugs. They plodded across the room, one grabbing Carmen’s arm, and one grabbing hers. They dragged them off the couch, across the room, and out the door.
When they reached the shiny new black Humvee parked near her car, one of the men got a little handsy with Carmen. Seeing red, Mari slugged him hard in his chest, grabbing her sister and pulling her away.
Her eyes dominating her ashen face, Carmen pleaded, her tone beseeching, “Mari, please don’t.” The tremor in Carmen’s voice was the only thing that kept her from refusing to get into the vehicle. Once they were taken from this area, away from her car, they would be prisoners in the truest sense of the word. Kidnapped, leverage until they served no purpose.
Santiago grabbed Mari by her hair and nodded to his guy as he opened the door. She struggled, and he slapped her hard, throwing her into the back seat. Carmen, crying softly, and moving quickly, settled in beside her. Tweedledum pushed in behind Carmen.
“Give me your cell phones.” Mari reluctantly released hers, her only lifeline to Buck, and she regretted her choice to keep him out of the decision to come here. But Carmen cried when she handed hers over. She had to be thinking about all her research on her shoes, and how she wasn’t going to be attending not only her dance but her graduation. He threw the phones out the window.
He laughed at their expressions and draped his arm casually along the open window.
After about fifteen minutes, they pulled up to what looked like one of those helicopter charters for tourists. People milled around waiting for their flights. She’d heard that the gangs and cartels had legitimate businesses. Obviously, they used the helicopters for illegal purposes.
Tweedledum cut their bonds, and Santiago looked at them in the rearview mirror. “Don’t think about running or trying to call for help. If you do, everyone here dies.”
It took all her willpower not to bolt. She wanted to get Carmen out of harm’s way, but there was nothing she could do as they were ushered toward a helicopter. As they buckled in, Tweedledee and Dum bracketed them on either side, sandwiching them between the two gang members. The blades started to rotate, the engine whirring and whining. They lifted off.
Fear, longing, and panic solidified in Mari’s throat as hard as stone. The landscape below them blurred as tears glazed across her eyes. Their situation looked dire, and sorrow filled her at the thought of never seeing her family again, of their pain and grief at the loss of two daughters, sisters. But what hurt like hell was that she wouldn’t ever see Buck again, never get the chance to apologize for her stupid, doubting behavior in a moment of weakness, for trying to run from her own revelations, instead of facing the truth. She didn’t want to be the face of the company anymore. She wanted to be free to do what she absolutely loved, roasting beans and making delicious, unending cups of coffee for the sheer enjoyment of it.
She wanted to be free to explore herself, find out who she really was, free to love Buck and be with him as much as his job would allow.
Regret deeply embedded in her, she looked out the window below to the lush, wild jungle, the canopy entangling into a dense ribbon of green, leaving the land below them veiled in darkness. They were heading toward the ocean in the distance, toward what looked like the Puntarenas province. They flew for about twenty minutes, then swung around toward a large white stucco mansion below them. When they touched down on the helipad, Mari noticed all the armed guards. They were everywhere, all over the grounds. This had to be one of their stash houses when the cocaine was smuggled by sea from Colombia.
They moved out of the seats to the helipad as Tweedledee and Dum ushered them toward the huge house, an ocean castle that looked like a fairytale home complete with beautiful flower boxes with a riot of color. They entered a side door and walked down a hall until they passed through an opulent kitchen with a coffered old-world stone floor crisscrossed with warm brown wood. The backsplash was in a white-and-blue flowered motif with a peacock framed over the sink, the light wood cabinets done in a herringbone design with a bluish tint. Hooked to the edge of the hood over the stove was a myriad of copper pots that matched two light fixtures over the main island.
They emerged into the main part of the house, down a long wood-floored hall to a large library, where they were pushed down onto one of the sofas in the room. Everything in this place was pristine and expensive, from the floor-to-ceiling bookcases and richly colored carpets over another coffered floor combined with taupe-colored slabs of large tile with a blue diamond in the middle, to the huge mahogany desk commanding attention to the far side of the room.
There were several men working at computers, and Mari could make out some kind of a schedule on one of the screens. This must be the hub of their operation. The intel in those computers would be enough to take this whole operation down, dismantle it for good. That gave her great satisfaction for a fleeting moment.
While they waited, she could hear the sound of more helicopters before they buzzed across the open French doors made of the same wood on the floor. A man arrived, dressed impeccably in an Armani suit, his salt and pepper hair sporting an expensive cut. Santiago greeted him in Spanish, naming him as Mr. Delgado. He asked him about the weather in Barcelona, and they chatted for a few minutes, their conversation interrupted by another well-dressed man. This time he spoke in Italian, and the same kind of conversation ensued, only this guy was named Mr. Amato from Venice. Then a third man with an Irish accent, his name Mr. Walsh, and finally, an American, a Mr. Moore, who was dressed in pastels, making her think he was from Miami. They each eyed the women, but Santiago dismissed them every time.
Mari gasped as a man entered the room through the French doors, dressed in a coverup as if he’d been sunning himself by the pool like he was on vacation. He had an iguana on his shoulder, a young one, not very big with a jeweled collar and a linked-chain leash—an odd sight for a middle-aged man. His hair was black and swept off his forehead, some silver threaded through the thickness. His features were rugged and handsome, but not as good-looking as Santiago, and he sported a bushy black mustache.
Carmen slipped her hand into Mari’s, looking at her sister with such sheer terror, Mari squeezed to try to soothe her.
But there was no denying that the man was Ignacio Siachoque, Colombian drug lord, and founder and leader of the Siachoque Cartel, currently on the run from the Costa Rican and American authorities. The notorious Nacho.
The drug lord inclined his head at Santiago and then looked at them. Mari’s blood went cold. Santiago walked over and said nothing as he signaled to the Tweedles. Dee and Dum grabbed each of their arms and marched them out of the library to a door near the kitchen. Santiago opened it, and Mari balked for a moment; the smell was dank with a terrible metallic stench.
Dee forced her through and down a set of wooden steps into what she could only think of as a dungeon. He shoved her forward, and she careened into a wall, flinching as wet stone scraped her skin. There were three cells down here with rusted bars, looking medieval with nothing inside, not even a bucket. The third cell had a bloodstain on the floor, telling her the last occupant probably hadn’t survived.
She wished with all her heart that she had confided in Buck, wished she was with him now. Sweat pooled at the base of her spine, at her temples. Her sister was shivering, but she hadn’t gone into any hysterics.
Placed in the center of the three cells was a rain barrel.
It didn’t matter that she didn’t want to tell them anything. She slipped her arm around Carmen. She feared they weren’t going to get out of this alive.
* * *
Buck entered the briefing room,still worried about Mari and how upset she’d been last night. The backlash from him being undercover on this mission and working her for information. She doubted him. Doubted their relationship, and part of him was sick at heart, but the other part of him understood how she felt. None of it was good.
They settled into their chairs, and Kat walked into the room with a tablet in her hand. She was looking at it as she walked. When she reached the front of the room, she faced them. “We have gotten the results of the FBI’s investigation into the production and shipping records for La Buena Tierra and the news is not good.”
Curses and groans from the guys, and Buck’s hopes sank, making him want to smash something. The implications, and the bleak look in Kat’s eyes, told him that Mari’s family business was in jeopardy.
“The coffee beans produced do not match what was shipped out. Although we see no indication of the plantation receiving any kind of payoff. Their financial records are impeccable and appear to result from their legitimate coffee and hotel proceeds.”
That information opened up a small window of hope.
“There are two ports where they are shipping out their coffee.” She put up a slide of a curved slice of land where the port sat. “Port of Caldera is situated in the Gulf of Nicoya on the Pacific coast in the Puntarenas province, handling more than half of its international maritime commerce with trade links with the United States, African and Asian countries.” She clicked and a new slide went up, this time showing docks, cranes, and structures surrounded by ocean. “The other is the Port of Limón, the largest port in the country and strategically positioned near the Panama Canal, the Gulf of Mexico, and the southern coast of the United States, making the port an important departure point for cocaine heading to international markets.”
“Could it be that they know nothing about what’s going on?” Blitz asked, his expression grim, but hopeful.
Kat shrugged. “It could be, but we won’t know until we raid the shipping warehouse. We need to have another conversation with Diego. The PCD is working on a warrant to search the premises and detain all employees. It will be a joint operation by the PCD, the DEA, and us. The PCD will be supplying police, and the DEA, agents and drug-sniffing dogs.”
“Do we have any idea who is behind this shipping irregularity? None of us believe Diego is responsible,” D-Day asked.
“Until we talk to him, we won’t know, but we have some intel that it’s the Sombre Sindicato Gang who has affiliations with none other than our nemesis—Nacho.”
“That fucker is part of this,” Zorro said, his jaw taut, his eyes glacial.
“That makes sense. His guys attacked us after the crash. Maybe they were herding us toward the plantation,” Gator said.
“Nacho uses everything to his advantage to get his cocaine in the country—go-fast boats, semi-submersibles and the stripped-out and covered-up low-profile vessels dispatched from Colombia,” Kat said.
Russ spoke up. “Including hidden in loads or packed into structures of containers departing from the Colombian port of Turbo. So, a lot of methods by sea. They are also crossing the Panama border in modified vehicles with secret compartments.”
“We all know how ruthless he is. In fact, I’m sure he was behind the death of Juan Barrantes. They wanted the manager dead so they would have free rein of the department,” Kat said. “Gear up. We’ll be hitting the shipping warehouse in two hours.”
Buck had to wonder if Mari was back from her errands. He looked across the compound from their warehouse headquarters in full battle kit, wishing he could speak to her for a few moments. Reassure her, knowing in his gut that Diego wasn’t involved. The man wasn’t that good of a liar.
When it was time to move out, Buck walked with his teammates and Russ toward the warehouse. In the quiet afternoon, the sounds of vehicles, helicopters, and personnel broke the stillness as they all converged on their target. Workers looked around confusingly as PCD moved in to contain them.
Buck went inside and straight to the glassed-in, raised office accessed by a set of stairs where Diego was standing inside motionless in a way that spiked Buck’s threat meter. When they got inside, Buck noticed the devastated look on his face, his eyes glazing with moisture, his phone held loosely in his hand.
“Buck,” he pleaded, ignoring the activity in the warehouse. “You’ve got to help them.”
Buck frowned. “What’s going on, Diego?”
He held Buck’s gaze for a moment, the disquiet in his eyes deepening, then he looked away, his expression taut. “The Sombres. They have Mari and Carmen and are threatening them if you don’t allow the cocaine shipments to proceed to their destinations.”
Everything went dead still for Buck, the sounds, his hands, his heart, and it felt as if every drop of blood had drained from his head. “What? How the fuck?—”
“It’s my fault.” He winced, as if his words had touched something raw inside him. “I should have told you right from the beginning, but I was scared of my dad. He pushed me into this?—”
“Diego! Get to the point,” Buck prompted gruffly, working at pushing his fear to the back of his mind. It wouldn’t serve any of them, including Mari and Carmen. He couldn’t stem the surge of anger that gripped him after the shock of Diego’s words, completely directed at the men who had the woman he loved—yeah, he fucking loved her. But some of that anger was directed at himself for allowing something so horrendous to happen when he’d sworn to keep her and her family safe and protected.
Their kidnapping should have never happened on his watch, and knowing from experience how dire their situation was, he nearly choked on a fresh wave of anguish and remorse. His beautiful Mari and her innocent seventeen-year-old sister were in the hands of ruthless, conscienceless murderers.
When Diego stood there, Buck grabbed his shirt and shook him, his rage flowing hot and fast through his veins overcoming his reason.
“Easy, Buck,” D-Day said, laying his hand on his arm.
He released Diego forcefully, the vision of Mari and Carmen brutalized, mutilated, and dead running through his mind and making him almost lose his temper again. “Answer me, Diego,” he growled, the threat in every vibration of his voice.
He blinked several times, tears running down his face. “I haven’t been paying attention to the shipping. Juan’s second in command took over for me, and I let him do it all. I was more interested in my prototype and my plants. I was so busy. I just didn’t have the time, and he knew what to do.”
“What does this have to do with Mari and Carmen?” he rasped, his voice sounding like rough sandpaper.
His eyes were bleak. “I told Mari, and she was worried this was going to reflect back on us.” He swallowed hard, his devastated eyes staring at nothing, his voice hoarse. “She went to his place to talk to him, to get him to take the manager job officially. I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know. Oh, God. What have I done? My fear of my father has ruined us all.”
His mouth compressed in disgust. “Goddammit,” Buck shouted as automatic gunfire cracked through the warehouse and men scattered for cover. The bullets shattered the glass, and as Buck lunged at Diego and took him down to the floor, D-Day and Blitz followed. D-Day was already up, crouching and moving to the door as two men approached with semiautomatic rifles. D-Day took them both out before they had gotten halfway up the stairs.
Buck keyed his mic, muttering another oath, and relayed all the information to Kat, including what had happened to Mari and Carmen.
“I’m sending some people to evacuate the family and any remaining employees. Get the situation under control.”
“We’re working on it,” Buck said. He turned to Diego. “You’re with us. Stay behind us and move when we move.”
He, D-Day, and Blitz exited, Diego going with them. At the bottom of the stairs several men fired at them from behind machinery. “D, go around and flank them,” Buck said between gritted teeth.
In seconds, Buck heard D-Day’s rifle crack and the sound of bullets hitting bone and flesh. “Move,” he said as they raced toward the other side of the warehouse where PCD, DEA and his buddies were pinned down. There was someone up in the rafters firing down at them. “Blitz, kill that fucker.”
Blitz set up his sniper rifle and took a moment to aim. He slowly squeezed the trigger, and the shot hit the guy square in the forehead. He tumbled from his perch and landed heavily on the concrete floor, blood pooling. Quickly, the warehouse became a buzz of activity. The DEA agents and their dogs were spread out around the building. From what Buck could see, several of the dogs had found traces of drugs.
“Let’s hit the trucks, check out the cargo,” D-Day yelled to the team. Buck hopped up into the back of one of the vehicles and pulled out a bag.
He noticed that the logo was the same, but some of the stitching at the top of the bag used to close it was a different color. He pulled out his combat knife and sliced through the bag. Coffee beans spilled out, along with small packets of white powder.
Kat had been watching the scene from the warehouse floor. “Until we have Mari and Carmen secured, we have to leave these trucks just as they are. Make sure we can find them later.”
Buck gritted his teeth. This whole operation was fucked up. Knowing there was nothing else they could do here, he set trackers on both trucks and jumped down. Buck made his way to where Kat and Joker were talking. He wanted to know if they had found Mari and her sister. Before he could interrupt their conversation, Joker handed him a slip of paper with GPS coordinates and said, “Let’s go. The FBI has tracked the sister’s phones. We have a location.”
It didn’t take long for the team to reach the location, a deserted strip of roadway with no structures of any kind on either side. They found the phones tossed by the side of the road with no idea what direction they went in, and there were no witnesses.
Weary and scared out of his mind, Buck and his team returned to the warehouse they were using as a command center.