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Decker didn’t need to be fluent in Spanish to understand that order either. The dos part was all he required. He was the spare and they were going to bury him along with the other guy.
He had something going for him, however long the odds would still be against him. They hadn’t searched him for a weapon. That was a mistake.
Yet there was a guy behind him with a gun. And the guy holding the light had a gun in his other hand. Both were pointed right at Decker.
And there were three others there, all with weapons. He could maybe take out one or two, but after that one of the others would be able to kill him. It was simple math, and he came up short in every scenario that flashed through his mind.
“Él es un federale,” said Amaya suddenly, pointing at Decker.
The men turned to stare at him.
“Es un federale,” Amaya said again. “FBI!” He pointed feverishly at Decker.
The man holding the flashlight took a step tow
ard Decker. “Federale?”
Decker nodded.
The man smiled. “I don’t give a shit. You’re dead.”
Decker had no choice now. He didn’t care if the odds were not in his favor. If he was going to die, he was going to take at least one of the pricks with him.
He lowered his shoulder, dropped into a squat, and exploded out of it. He drilled the guy right in the sternum, maxing out the thrust from his legs. He hit the man so hard he was lifted off his feet, flew backward, and with a scream fell into the hole.
Now Decker’s problem was obvious: There were four other guys to deal with.
The good thing was the only light had just disappeared into the hole.
Darkness was his best friend right now.
Gunfire erupted all around. Fortunately, Decker had dropped to the floor an instant before, pulled his gun, and was about to fire when he saw something flash past him so fast, he couldn’t even tell what it was.
But he did hear the impact as body met body and one of them gave. He next heard the clunk of something hitting the brick floor hard.
He rolled to his right, aimed his gun, and fired.
The man who had jammed his gun into Decker’s back caught the round in his belly. He doubled over screaming, and a few moments later, blood came out of his mouth. He dropped to the floor and out of the fight. Belly wounds were a bitch, Decker knew. The guy would probably bleed out right there, and he could not have cared less.
Shots hit the floor near him. He could sense chips of concrete and brick whizzing through the air. And then he felt something cut into his arm. Either a slug or a chip. Either way it hurt like hell.
He kept rolling along the floor as more shots were fired. He ran into something, realized it was a wall, rose, pivoted, and went into a crouch. He focused on the situation.
By his count three down, two to go.
As he spun around trying to gauge where the remaining two were, he sensed another flash of something, resulting in another collision. He heard a muffled scream and a gun hit the brick, followed by a body doing the same thing.
Okay, there was only one man left.
He liked these odds a lot better.
He crept forward, his gun ready, when he saw Tomas Amaya struggling with the last man. The guy had a gun. He was bigger and stronger than Amaya. He threw the smaller man off, took aim, and started to squeeze the trigger.
Decker was about to fire when the other man was hit so hard he was lifted off his feet. Whoever hit him was holding on, and when the guy slammed into the brick, the gun fell from his hand.
Okay, fifth and final man down for the count.
It was pretty much unbelievable.
Decker moved forward, panting slightly, his pistol held out in front of him. He swung it around, looking for movement, looking for additional threats. Someone was still out there. And though he had attacked the other guys, he hadn’t done anything to identify himself to Decker either.
So he could still be a problem.
The next moment, Decker saw a pop of light. Then he saw a hand grip the side of the hole and looked over as a head emerged.
It was the guy he had knocked into the hole.
He had the flashlight clamped in his mouth.
His other hand came up and it held a gun pointed right at Decker.
There was no way Decker could react in time. He started to bring his gun around, but he instinctively braced for the impact of the shot.
Then a work boot came down hard on the man’s free hand. He screamed. Then the same boot kicked the gun out of his hand. The man let go and fell back into the hole, while the gun dropped harmlessly to the floor.
Decker eyed Amaya, who stood next to the hole, breathing hard.
“Thanks,” said Decker.
A pale Amaya nodded, obviously too shaken to even attempt a response. He staggered away from the hole and sat down on the floor.
“Damn, man. Can you never stay out of trouble?”
Decker whirled around and stared over at the source of the query.
A light came on. It was pointed away from Decker and toward the person holding it.
Melvin Mars, bent over and breathing hard, smiled and said, “See, Decker, sometimes Hail Marys do work!”
CHAPTER
29
“NICE PLACE.”
Melvin Mars, nearly six foot three and two hundred and thirty muscled pounds, stood in the middle of Jamison’s and Decker’s kitchen looking around. He was a former All-American running back from Texas, a sure lock for the NFL, who had been falsely imprisoned for murdering his parents and sentenced to death. After twenty years in jail and on the eve of his execution date, someone else had confessed to the crime. That had led to Decker and his FBI team’s involvement and the truth eventually coming out. The state of Texas and the federal government had chipped in on an enormous payday for Mars, allowing him financial independence for the rest of his life.
Jamison smiled up at Mars. “Hey, it was your wallet that provided it.”
The local police had been called to the construction site and taken over the investigation. Or mess, rather.
The guy Decker had shot was dead, and the other three, handled by Mars, were still unconscious but alive. The fifth man, the one in the hole, was identified as Roger Baker, a low-level enforcer for a local gang. The other men there were part of his crew.
The body in the hole was identified as Mateo Rodriguez, an accountant who, they had been told, was working with law enforcement to bring down the local roots of a Central American cartel that had muscled its way into the D.C. area.
They were still looking for Luis Alvarez, the man in the suit and hard hat. He had been one of the construction supervisors, but allegedly had criminal ties. He had disappeared, but the police were hopeful they could track him down.
Danny and his father had been reunited and taken to live somewhere else. Tomas Amaya would need to testify at the trial of Roger Baker. They were hoping that Baker, in turn, would rat on others farther up the line. Jamison and Decker had told the Amayas that they would help them every step of the way.
“I’ll be by to check on you both,” Jamison had told Danny before they were taken away by the police. “And don’t worry, everything is going to be okay now.”
