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CHAPTER28
Ghost and his team of Deltas had split up when they’d landed at the compound, housing an indeterminate amount of trafficked women and children, and seventeen known bad guys.
Speaking into his mic, Ghost reminded everyone, “We’ve got at least two guys on the inside. STK everyone else. Make sure they’re not a friendly first.”
Fletch grunted from behind him. They were on point, hitting a building at the top of the compound that FLIR, the thermal imaging cameras, had determined had seven people inside. The others were spread out, clearing other buildings. The big one with the most people was being saved for last, presumably the hostages or trafficking victims.
Theirs was a house, a mansion by Honduras standards. Rifles at the ready, they went through a courtyard to a kitchen, where two women were standing at a large wooden workspace, making bread.
“Oh, thank God,” the older woman spoke in a hushed whisper.
“Lo siento?” Ghost asked, looking for clarification.
“Lobo Gris and the woman are in the hospital.” Her mouth twisted at the word, and Ghost didn’t have a clue what that meant. She seemed to know exactly who they were and had been expecting them. She certainly knew who they were looking for.
“Who are you?”
“Consuela Lopez, but they call me Abuela. I’ve been working with CIA since these mongrels took my granddaughter.”
That shocked him.
Understandably. This woman, code named grandmother in Spanish, looked exactly like that. Short, plump, gray-haired, she exuded the exact manner of servitude that would have her easily ignored as she gathered intel. But not exactly what he’d been expecting.
“Friendly in the main house, name’s Lopez, Consuela,” Ghost muttered into his mic over the open channel. “Stay alert.” To the woman, he said, “Okay. To not blow your cover, I’m restraining you. You’ll be let loose after this is over.” If she was who she said she was. He didn’t trust much right now, not after this clusterfuck of an operation.
After seeing Lobo Gris in the bar as he met with the other man, Ghost had done some digging after Lobo’s parting words.
He was, in fact, working under cover for the United Nation’s Human Trafficking Task Force, through the US Department of State. But the man in charge of the operation, the only man who knew of Lobo, his real identity and his purpose here, had died of a heart attack less than a year after Lobo’s installation. It had taken a lot of cajoling for Ghost to get his replacement to dig deep enough to find him.
Ghost had been pissed.
Lobo was right. He’d been stuck deep undercover and left hanging, like a shit-stained pair of underpants in the wind.
The only people in the main house were servants and the lady of the house who said she knew nothing. Ghost didn’t believe her and tied her restraints extra tight.
Then he and Fletch went to the “hospital.”
“What do you think we’ll find?” Fletch’s voice came through his mic, even though he was behind him.
“No idea. Didn’t know Abuela was a part of this, so I have to go with expect the unexpected.”
And Ghost hated the unexpected.
Stalking silently to the building with the filthy red cross on a dingy white background on the door, they peeked into the windows.
“Two bad guys. I see the girl and our boy. It’s not pretty.” Fletch’s voice made it sound pretty bad, so Ghost prepared himself for the worst.
He held up three fingers and lowered them, one by one. Fletch tossed a flash bang smoke bomb into the window and Ghost kicked in the door.
Katherine was sitting at a small wooden table, her hands awkwardly placed on top of it. It took a split second for him to realize they were nailed to the table.
Lobo was chained to the wall, unconscious, covered in blood.
There was a small Hispanic man with a hammer in his hand at the table, and Ghost had zero reservations about putting a bullet through his brain.
A larger Hispanic man stood behind Katherine, overseeing. Ghost trained his gun on him as Fletch came in behind him, sweeping his gun around the room before aiming it at the man as well.
“El Cuchillo?” Ghost asked as the man grinned at him slowly, raising his hands in the air.
“Guilty as charged,” he answered in Spanish.
“Good,” Ghost replied before pulling the trigger.
He heard Fletch speak into his mic. “We have Lobo and Katherine. Two packages.”
Back at them, Beatle responded, “We have a fuck ton of women in cages.” His voice was low and dripping with barely suppressed anger. “Killed six men playing cards.”
“Beatle, find the rest.” His unspoken command of eliminate the scum was read loud and clear. The team knew each other well, and shit like this didn’t go unpunished. “Truck, get these women out; we’ll meet back at the bird. These two are coming with us.”
