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The men opened fire, cutting down anyone in the room. Glass shattered and the roar of semi-automatics was deafening. Several bullets struck her, and she was thrown from her chair to the floor. She lay on her back as panic, terror, and disbelief warred in her. She turned her head to find her son beside her, his eyes open and blank. A sob welled as she felt her life slipping away.
Everything they worked for…
She heard footsteps as tears blurred her eyes, and she shifted her head to look up at the masked man who stood over her. Something gauzy floated from his hands.
Her vision turned red, white, and blue as she looked up through the stars and stripes, with a big X across the American symbol for freedom, until there was nothing but black.
* * *
The Basilica of Candelaria,Copacabana, Bolivia
Deacon Jason Bailey and his parishioners had spent the morning enjoying a bit of shopping in the city. The church grounds were spectacular, the weather warm, and the people friendly. So far, touring the Basilica of Candelaria, short for the Basilica of the Royal Marian Shrine of Our Lady of Candelaria, had been the highlight of the trip.
Mass was almost over, and Jason couldn’t have enjoyed it more. He almost wanted to pinch himself. He couldn’t believe he was sitting in a pew next to Bishop Jordan and Father Charles in a place with so much historical significance.
He knew he had a few minutes before they filed out of the cathedral. A carved wooden statue of the Lady was located in an alcove just behind the altar and presided over the masses and the basilica. Many of the worshipers would take the time to kiss her cape after the mass.
Jason leaned over and whispered to Father Charles that he would check on the boat for the next part of their journey. Father Charles nodded, and Jason stood and left the pew. He headed for the door and noticed several men kneeling at theSala de las Velas, where the faithful left candles as an expression of their devotion or to make a specific request.
As he got to the middle of the basilica, one of the men crossed himself and rose. He then started for the aisle Jason was walking down. The other two, dressed similarly, headed down the main aisle and the far-left aisle. When he passed the man in Jason’s aisle, who was sweating profusely and bundled up in a coat, his eyes were fearfully resigned.
Frowning, Jason thought it was odd three worshipers would have missed the bulk of the mass and said a silent prayer for the men’s obvious anguish. He glanced back at the man who stopped at the second pew from the front where Jason’s congregation was seated and forced himself into the pew until he reached the center of the wooden bench, directly behind the bishop and father. Then he sat down. The other two late-commers did the same, but the middle-aisle guy seated himself in the center and the left-aisle guy to the back.
Jason shrugged, dismissing the men. When he reached the entrance, he turned to face the altar, genuflected, and took one more moment to take in the beautiful stained-glass windows, portraying various religious events, representing angels and archangels. Along with the dozens of mural paintings, the work of Canarian artist, José Agular Garcia, was rich in history and Christianity, all of it breathtaking. He was blessed to have had the chance to visit here.
He exited the church and made his way to the jetty to finalize plans for the whole congregation to take a two-hour hydrofoil trip toIsle de la Luna. Tomorrow, they would then visitIsla del Sol, then the group was free to explore Copacabana, the quaint Spanish town behind the shrine the next day. They would leave Bolivia the day after that. All in all, it was a joyous and harmonious trip. The country was beautiful, the Basilica of Candelaria gorgeous, and the opportunity for reverence divine.
He crossed onto the jetty but turned for one more look at the basilica. The Spanish colonial architecture was evident with the terra-cotta clay tile roof, white stucco walls, soft arches and the big, carved wooden doors. The main structure sat at a bottom of a steep hill with a large, stone plaza where the festivals took place. The basilica comprised the church, a bell tower and the Augustinian convent to the left. With a sigh, he started for a man who was standing next to the boat. But something in the water made him stop and stare. He walked to the edge of the dock and peered into the lake. Floating on the surface was an enormous American flag made out of hundreds of flowers.
He frowned. A tribute to them? He hadn’t been aware that the officials here had commissioned such a lovely honor. Then he froze, the back of his neck prickling when he saw the black X across the flag. There had been something in the news about such a symbol.
This flag, the strange men in the church. Could it be—
Suddenly explosions rent the air and Jason only had a moment to turn and stare at the fireballs erupting from the basilica. With his horror rising, the heat and concussion of the blast engulfed him and knocked him flat onto the dock.
His vision dimmed to gray as he stared up at the heartbreaking blue sky, his sorrow and dread cut off as he slipped into the approaching dark.
* * *
Warehouseson the outskirts of La Paz, Bolivia
DEA Special Agent Nancy Chambers moved along with her team and the Bolivian militia and local authorities who were providing mission support toward the camp where intel told them the Cortez Cartel produced the majority of their cocaine. It was a tobacco plant on the outskirts of La Paz and far enough from the city to stay under the radar. The land surrounding the structure was mostly green and shadowed.
As they approached the compound, the group stopped to check their weapons. Nancy took a couple of deep breaths. A vision of her husband and daughter at the airport seeing her off flashed through her mind. In one hand her precious little girl clutched a stuffed llama Nancy had bought her to reduce the sting of her mother going on another mission while she waved. Nancy smiled. Here she was in Bolivia the land of llamas and she hadn’t seen one yet.
They surrounded the structure, and she said into the radio, “We will breach on my order.” Two helicopters stood by. “Move in.”
Her team started for the building where there were several jeeps parked. She suspected there were not only cartel muscle in there for security, but most likely civilian workers who processed the coca leaves into cocaine.
She led the men and women around her to the front door. But before she could give the order for her team to move in, the sound of a helicopter buzzed into the compound. She swore softly. They were early and they were going to alert the people inside. Dammit.
Before she could ask what the hell was going on, the machine gun mounted to the door of the chopper opened fire…on them!
Team members fell all around her, bullets cutting into the metal of the warehouse, pinging and puncturing, opening holes, and streaming sunlight inside as she dove for cover. She keyed her mic and shouted, “What are you doing?!”
There was nothing but static. Suddenly, the wide doors of the plant opened with a metallic clang and black-masked men stood there, bristling with automatic weapons. They advanced, shooting anything that moved, including her wounded people.
“It’s an ambush! Retreat! Run!” she shouted into the mic.
