Chapter Eighteen
MIGUEL
Leaving Raven behind in that cavernous warehouse made my heart hurt. It was as if all the breath had been sucked from my lungs, and I wondered how I could ever take another one, without half of it being a wish for him. I rode with Sorensen at my side, comforted by the big man’s presence. Like I’d told Raven, I’d worked with other men like him for years, confident in the fact that they’d be as focused on protecting their partner’s back as they were about accomplishing the mission.
The Humvees took us to a thick copse of trees and we piled out, checking our gear one last time, before starting the hike in. We wore night vision goggles, making it easy to see our way through the steamy heat of the jungle.
By 0200, it was deep night as we reached our destination. I knew it was the compound by the thick, cinderblock walls encircling it. We’d seen the walls on the SAT images we’d studied at length, but we’d had no way of knowing how tall they were. Up close, I guessed we were looking at walls that were eight feet tall. We spread out, half of us approaching from the east and the other half from the west.
The plan was for the snipers to scale the walls first, sitting atop them to provide cover for the DEA which was entering the compound to take out perimeter guards or provide silenced cover for the agents. Once the way had been cleared for the FBI, our tac teams would move on the house itself with the goal of undertaking the hostage rescue, taking out any sicarios standing in the way. Sorensen and I were to locate Tawny Flores, Brian Leopard, Greg Aston, and Special Agent Willis. We’d get them out while a team led by Lincoln and Mac McCallahan would take Oscar Castillo prisoner. Whether they brought the cartel boss out dead or alive remained to be seen, but none of us planned to fail.
I waited with Sorensen on one side of me and McCallahan on the other, watching as Jarrett Evans did a running launch at the wall, grabbed the top with his hands and hooked his leg over the top, flattening himself out immediately. He gave the “all clear” signal, and Sarah Connor threw climbing ropes over the east wall where we were, knowing that the Spec. Ops sniper, Reese Monroe, was doing the same thing on the west wall. As soon as they were lying flat on their bellies up on top, the DEA began scaling the walls. Once they were up and over, it was our turn to make a move.
Sorensen moved to a recently vacated rope and pulled it taut, beginning to climb. The sound of boots scaling the walls and the soft thuds as men hit the dirt beyond, were the only things I could hear in the warm and humid dark night. I heard a spit from one of the sniper rifles and I knew either Jarrett or Sarah had silently taken out a perimeter guard. As soon as Sorensen reached the top, I began to climb, grabbing his outstretched hand for the final foot. We both hopped over and dropped to the ground, as others did the same.
I should have been prepared for the first volley of gunshots as they split the night, but the scream of a man being hit by bullets brought back horrifying, if not familiar, memories of another war in a faraway place. The element of surprise was lost as the DEA’s tac team began taking out the Sanchez Cartels’ sicarios. In a matter of moments, the compound sounded like every firefight I’d ever been in.
“Let’s go!” Sorensen yelled. We began running in an all-out sprint toward the largest structure on the property…the large, white, Colonial-style house. Twenty feet from the house, the front door suddenly crashed open and the three gunmen who came running out, firing weapons, were cut down in a matter of seconds. We stepped over their corpses and Sorensen and I flattened ourselves against the wall on either side of the door. When two more gunmen came out, we took them down with KA-BARs to the throat, relieving their gurgling corpses of their weapons in seconds. McCallahan and Snow ran up behind the two of us, guns on the ready. I looked at Sorensen and with silent nods of understanding, the two of us entered the house.
Almost immediately, we were met with a volley of gunfire, and ducked back around the heavy, wood doorframe as it splintered beside us. Sorensen and I immediately rushed back inside, laying down fire as McCallahan and Snow came in right behind us. The foyer was clear for now, so we began our search. I visually mapped the interior of the dark house, noting the wide, curving staircase leading upstairs. I signaled to the others waiting for Sorensen, Mac, and Lincoln to acknowledge me. As one, they silently nodded.
The four of us advanced, climbing the stairs as more of the FBI’s Spec. Ops team members entered behind us. A sicario appeared from behind a closed door at the top of the stairs, swung his weapon in my direction, but Sorensen was faster. The man died in a hail of bullets, toppling down the stairs in front of me as I sidestepped, seconds later. In the earbuds we heard the rest of the team calling out, “Clear!” every time they cleared a room, sometimes preceded by the rat-a-tat-tat of gunfire. Outside, gunfire was ongoing as we began clearing the rooms behind closed doors one by one.
“Second floor clear,” Sorensen announced. “Proceeding up to the third.” We backtracked to the stairway, and started climbing, doing the same thing. As we approached the third door, a volley of shots punched through it, the bullets narrowly missing me as I dove out of the way. Running feet from behind the door and a second volley of shots rang out before Sorensen kicked the door open. It crashed against the wall and Sorensen went in shooting. A female screamed and my heart nearly burst out of my chest. Seconds later, the scantily clad woman came running toward me barefoot, wearing only a red, silk robe.
“Get down!” I yelled, spotting someone behind her. She dropped to the floor a split second before machine gunfire nearly took her down. She threw both hands over her head and screamed, shouting terrified curses in Spanish in a voice choked with tears. It took only moments to clear the bedroom of anyone else, and Sorensen led us out.
Several more of the team were in the hallway, checking doors, taking out whoever resisted. Judging from the volleys of automatic gunfire and the screams of dying men, it seemed like most all did. It took only a minute more to clear all the bedrooms. I turned to Sorensen.
“They’re not on this floor. Let’s backtrack.” His sharp nod had us all turning back around and running down the stairs.
“No one else on the main level, Captain,” one of the guys told Sorensen once we got to the bottom.
“There’s a wine cellar, Cap!” one of the guys said, rushing over.
“Let’s go.”
The four of us, along with two others headed through the massive, modern kitchen which housed two stainless steel refrigerators, two dishwashers, a large Viking stove, and gleaming white marble countertops. Another one of Sorensen’s team met us at the head of a set of stairs, leading down. He was holding a thermal imaging camera in his hands and held it out to us.
“There are six people down there, Captain,” the man said.
Sorensen nodded, eyebrows raised in question at Lincoln.
“It’s gotta be the hostages, Snow.”
“That means the others have to be guards,” Lincoln said, nodding in agreement. “I sure as hell hope one of them is Oscar Castillo.” He glanced at Mac, who nodded at him.
“Let’s go get them, Linc.”
“Hold up, Mac,” I said, grabbing his massive bicep. He stopped in his tracks. “You’ve got explosives training. Make sure you check the door for boobytraps.”
Mac flashed me a wicked grin. “I’m way ahead of you, Miguel. Thanks.”
I dropped my hand and let him take the lead, right behind Sorensen while I followed as Lincoln brought up the rear. “Someone told me you were cyber before becoming Mac’s partner, Lincoln.”
He laughed quietly. “Why on earth are you bringing that up now, Miguel?”
“I just thought about it.”
“Funny time, but okay, yeah, I used to be cyber. What’s your point?”
“Nothing.” I grinned. “Just wondered if shit like this is why you left desk work.”
“Of course, it is, Miguel, because it’s much more fun taking down the bad guys with a gun than a mouse.”
I chuckled to myself as we descended the stairs one at a time. At the bottom, the room opened to a wide landing made of inlaid bricks. In front of us was a brick archway with a fancy, carved door of sturdy oak and an iron latch. Behind it, I was certain we’d find the hostages. The tac team had been all through the rest of the property. We stood aside as the agent with the thermal imaging camera walked over. He held it up, scanning the door silently. We huddled around the small screen to get a peek at who was behind the door.
One person lay on the floor. The glow coming from the figure was dim, meaning the person was either very cold…or worse yet, dying as heat leached out of their body. Three others were seated beside the person on the floor, glowing slightly brighter. Two figures paced, one near what had to be the hostages, and another near the door, only a few feet from where we were standing. He was probably listening at the door because he knew we were coming. Unless he’d somehow been tipped off and gotten away, I could only assume Castillo was inside with the hostages. He no doubt had one of his men in there with them. Sorensen nodded at the agent and then motioned for us to walk several paces away, just around a bend in the wall, so we could have a conversation without being overheard.
“Castillo and one of his men have to be inside and it’s obvious to me that at least one of the hostages may already be dead,” Sorensen said, keeping his voice low.
I nodded, as did the others. “Chances are, Castillo is gonna kill the hostages if we breach,” I said.
“Do you see any other way of this playing out?” Lincoln remarked. “They’re going to die anyway. We don’t have a choice.”
Mac bent and pulled out a coil of det cord, handing it to Lincoln before extracting a tiny block of C-4 and a separate detonator. “I can use the det cord to blow the door, but it might not give us the surprise we want, as quick as we want. The C-4 would do the job, probably take out the sicario by the door, but with the blast, we stand the chance that it might kill or gravely wound the hostages.”
Surprisingly, Sorensen smiled. “I’ve got something better.” He bent down and pulled out two silver, cylindrical objects. They were about six by three inches and flat on one side. He handed them to Mac who was grinning as Sorensen reached into another pocket and pulled out a third.
“Mini breacher’s boots, nice,” the big man exclaimed. “I didn’t think to ask if you had access to them.”
Sorensen nodded. “Standard tactical issue. They’re packed with just enough explosive to get through a thick, wooden door and hopefully preserve life on the other side of it.”
“It’ll knock out the sicario by the door but then we’ll need to make rapid entry to take out Castillo, if he’s in there,” Lincoln added, “though, it’d be better if we can take him alive.”
“That’s what these are for,” I said, pulling out the flash bangs I had in my cargos.
“Good,” Lincoln said. “Mac, check the door for a boobytrap while Sorensen sets the breacher’s boots.”
Sorensen and Mac nodded, stepping around the wall to the door. We watched from our position with the other team members who’d come down behind us, while Mac checked for boobytraps. Sorensen peeled sticky tape off the back of the breacher’s boots, setting them on the doors. One nearest the latch and two others at the hinges, top and bottom. Once everything was in place and Mac had assured us that there’d be no secondary explosion triggered when they breached, Sorensen waved us all back into place behind the wall. Mac handed me a flash bang grenade, and I readied myself for something I hadn’t done in almost twelve years.
“You do the honors, Miguel,” he said.
I nodded, confident in my role. Sorensen held up a hand and counted down on five fingers before pressing the detonator. The door blew outward and we ducked back behind the wall only long enough to avoid being struck by the splintering wood before Mac and I rushed forward, throwing the flashbangs into the room. I held my rifle at the ready and followed Sorensen into the room with Mac and Lincoln at my side. The sicario nearest the door was down but still moving, covered in debris, face obscured by blood. Sorensen didn’t stop to ask questions before putting a bullet in the middle of the man’s forehead.
Three things struck me all at once. Special Agent Trevor Willis lay on the ground, his head cradled in Brian Leopard’s lap, Tawny Flores and her attorney, Gregory Aston were embracing, heads ducked over the other two, and Oscar Castillo was holding a handgun pointed directly at Sorensen’s head.
I fired, not caring about taking the cartel boss alive at that moment, somehow knowing that another snake would simply rise to take the boss’ place the moment he was killed. A hole opened up in the man’s forehead as he fell backward, hit right between the eyes before he even got off a shot.
“Where’s Alex Filmore?” I shouted.
Greg Aston pointed to the man Sorensen shot. “That’s Filmore.”
I walked over to the man I’d thought was a sicario, squatting to verify his identity. Pushing up my night vision goggles, I took out my flashlight to light up his face. Sure enough, it was Alex Filmore, and he had a brand-new bullet wound right between the eyes. I stood, turning to the others. “It’s him.”
“All clear,” Sorensen said into the coms. “All hostages safe, Castillo and Filmore are dead. We’re gonna need a medic. Willis is down.”
“Trevor,” DEA SAC Hope Bannister’s tortured voice came in our coms. “Is he alive?” Her voice trembled.
Sorensen moved forward, squatting in front of the hostages. He put two fingers on the side of agent Willis’ neck, checking for a pulse.
“Affirmative. Willis is alive but we need a medic, right now!”
Brian Leopard looked up. His face was horribly bruised, eyes almost glued shut from the swelling. Tears leaked from the sides, tracking down his face. “He’s been shot. Please help him,” he managed to say.
I squatted in front of Tawny and Greg Aston.
“Miguel? Miguel Huerta?” Tawny cried. Her white-blonde hair was a mess, tangled and matted with blood. One of her pretty eyes was swollen almost closed and her cheek was distended so badly, I knew she probably had a broken cheekbone. Someone had badly beaten her. She had lacerations on her chest, and I could make out a set of finger shaped bruises on her neck as though she’d been choked. Her silk blouse was torn and bloody, exposing one side of her tattered bra and I could see more bruises there. I had a sick feeling that underneath what was left of her meager clothing, the doctors would later find evidence of rape at the hands of animals. Her dream weekend getaway with a good friend had turned into a nightmare.
“It’s me. How badly are you hurt?”
“Please get us out of here,” she whimpered.
I nodded then looked at Aston who’d also been worked over. The front of his torn dress shirt was covered in blood but most of it looked like it had come from numerous cuts and bruises on his face. He looked like he’d been attacked by a pack of dogs. “You armed, Aston?” He stared at me with haunted eyes, simply shaking his head. His lips were cracked and swollen from the beating he’d taken. His cheeks were sunken as though he’d been starved.
“Stand up,” Lincoln said, pulling out handcuffs and fastening them around his wrists, hands behind his back as the man got shakily to his feet. “You’re in some trouble.” The lawyer simply nodded, letting out a pathetic sob.
I couldn’t bring myself to feel the least bit sorry for the man who would probably be going to prison for a very long time once the FBI got finished with him. I turned when feet pounded down the stairs behind me. One of the Spec. Ops team carried a backpack with a white cross on it, and he went immediately to his knees in front of Agent Willis to render aid, tearing open the remnants of a filthy, bloody shirt. His body was covered with wounds, the worst of them, a gunshot to the belly. It was still bleeding which meant it had been recent, but other injuries, numerous dime-sized wounds—probably from a lit cigar—peppered his skin. He was white as a sheet and breathing with a hideous wet sucking sound.
Sorensen tapped me on the shoulder. “We should get these hostages out and give Joy room to work.”
“Joy?”
Sorensen pointed to the medic. “Alain Joy, our medic, but he also answers to Almond.”
Joy turned and nodded in our direction. “Get the fuck out.”
Sorensen laughed, saluted, and then walked over to Brian. “Come on, Mr. Leopard. Let’s get you out of here.”
Poor Brian looked like he’d been run over by a tractor. His head was bleeding, his curls were matted with something awful, and his face was badly bruised, like he’d been used as a punching bag. He was still weeping. “I don’t want to leave Trevor.” He looked at Joy. “Please help him,” he said. “He took the brunt of it all to protect us.”
Another set of boots rang out behind us as Bannister came into the room. She rushed over and squatted. “Trevor,” she said, sounding like she wanted to cry. I watched her put a hand on his forehead as she bent over him, speaking softly into his ear as Joy worked on him. I turned to Tawny as Sorensen helped Brian to his feet, leading him out of the room on unsteady legs.
“Come on, Mrs. Flores, let me get you out of here.”
She reached for me with shaking hands, and I took both of them in mine, pulling her easily to her feet. As she straightened, my worst fears were confirmed. She’d been stripped from the waist down and wore only torn panties. Black and blue bruises covered her legs. I shrugged out of my FBI windbreaker and tied it around her waist as Mac did the same, reversing his jacket. Between the two, she was fully covered, and Mac and I helped her walk out of the room, bending to carry her over the splintered wood from the door which had been blown to smithereens.
She cried out as we set her down again. We walked up the stairs with her where more agents were waiting with jackets to cover the top of her torn dress, and escorted her out of the house, stepping around bodies. Sorensen lingered just outside with Brian clinging to his large arm. When Brian saw Tawny, he burst into tears but allowed himself to be pulled along after us, to a waiting Humvee.
Once she was safely inside, I turned to see Sorensen following with Brian. The man could barely stand and was sobbing as he was led out of what had to have been days of hell on earth. Sorensen helped him into the Humvee beside Tawny and then shut the door. I watched the pair gently embrace in the back seat. The vehicle drove off moments later.
Sorensen was holding out a hand. I shook it.
“That was great work, Huerta. I really hope you take me up on my offer.”
“What offer?” Mac asked.
I noticed Lincoln walking toward us from another vehicle which was driving away. I knew he had placed the handcuffed Gregory Aston into the vehicle, which was no doubt being driven to the same hospital the others were.
“Sorensen wants me to join the team in Houston,” I told Mac.
“That’s a big deal, Miguel,” Mac said. “I know the FBI would be lucky to have you.”
“I told him the same thing,” Sorensen said. “He fits into the team and after all, we are kind of awesome.”
“What’s a big deal?” Lincoln asked as he walked up, clearly having overheard the last part of our conversation.
“Sorensen wants me to join the FBI in Houston to be on his team,” I said, shaking my head. I turned to the man. “Sorry, Candy, I can’t do it. My life and my heart are in L.A.”
The sound of a vehicle driving into the compound made us all turn at once. It was speeding in our direction.
“Speaking of your heart, here he is,” Lincoln said.
I turned in time to catch the man’s wide, white grin before looking back at the Humvee which came to a screeching halt not twenty feet from us. The passenger door popped open, and Raven practically dived out of it. The second his feet hit asphalt; he was running. I left the others, charging for him, meeting him halfway. He was in my arms a moment later, right where I needed him to be.
I never wanted to let him go.