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The wall slides open. Hallelujah. Bright light erupts from the opening, and I have to blink at the blinding change. After a moment, I can see down the stairs. Stairs? Stairs leading down. Down to get up. Oh, shit.
I grab Dmitri and pull him back as I spot a camera bolted to the wall over the stairs. Did someone monitoring the camera, spot me? Helping Dmitri to slide down against the wall, I creep around the side, use the wall to support my gun hand, aim, and take out the camera.
I wait for an alarm or any kind of movement below.
Nothing.
My heart hammering in my chest, sweat slicking my body, I pick Dmitri back up—guy’s practically unconscious—and hoist him into a fireman’s carry. Leaving one hand free for my gun, I step down the first step.
Three things happen at once: an alarm sounds, Dmitri begins to convulse, and two armed guards appear at the bottom of the stairs.
52
JUSTICE
Ireposition myself at the top of the tree-lined hill overlooking the barbed-wired-topped electric fenced-in compound of Rancho de Grim y Grimy. Leather-covered forearms against rough ground, my finger on the trigger, I’m stretched out along a natural depression and half hidden behind a shrub, watching the gate through the night vision scope on my rifle. I zero in on the man in charge of the gate, Walid’s head of security
Of course, our recon had shown the compound’s newest head of security—a broad-chested white guy who looks like he stepped straight out of Blackwater and into a more lucrative profession, but I still find myself repressing a gut instinct that tells me something about this guy is off.
He wears a baseball cap withUSAlettering, dark sunglasses—at night—a .45 snugged in a chest holster over muscles so jacked they strain his T-shirt. He has that stay-ten-feet-from-my-person-at-all-times vibe.
Gotcha. I’ll shoot from here.
Ten more minutes pass before the lime-green Cadillac drives down the road toward the front gate. My headset clicks.
Gracie. Again. “How much longer, Justice? I’m roasting.”
“Please, you’ve been in there for two hours. People smuggled out of Mexico stay in that compartment for days.”
“That’s awful. You couldn’t pay me…” She breaks off, then adds, “If my cyber skills weren’t needed to rescue your boyfriend, nothing could get me into this Dante’s Inferno.Nothing.”
Yeah, it’s a shit place to be, but telling her that will only make it worse. Anger is probably her best bet to keep from panic. “Just because you’re as tall as a fifth grader doesn’t mean you should whine like one. Chill. You’re almost inside the compound.”
My earpiece clicks again. Even the click sounds angry. I keep focus on the gate, but listen to Gracie vent, responding here and there mostly to encourage her—better anger than the fear it covers up.
When the car pulls to a stop before the guards, I silence Gracie with a play-by-play. “There’re five men at the gate including the head of security, a big USAhat-wearing dude. He’s leaning down to the car to talk to Tony and Victor. He’s gesturing our boys out of the car.”
Tony and Victor get out. Victor exits like he’s at a show, doing a cute little pirouette that shows off his finely toned ass before throwing his head back with laughter.
USA shakes his head, motions them both to the side. They obviously have no weapons on them, and, at this point, are chilled to goose bumps—unlike Gracie, who must be holding her breath down there, sweating and miserable.
“They’re checking the car.”
With Tony and Victor away from the vehicle, huddled together like two men used to each other’s intimate company, USA motions a couple guards to check the car.
My heart rate, elevated already, launches into top speed. While the vehicle is searched, Tony and Victor are held under armed guard—a man who looks maybe twenty, with a scruffy mustache that doesn’t pass machismo. He’s jittery and I keep one eye on him and the other on the car.
I hold my breath. Let it out.Don’t find her. Don’t.As one guard checks the front of the vehicle, the other gets into the back, crawling over the back seat. Holy shit. He’s practically sitting on Gracie.
The guards inspecting the back of the car climbs out. I can’t take any more of this. Yes? No? What?
With a nod, the car is cleared. Thank God. I wait for the front seat guard to get out so our boys can climb back in and drive into the compound, Trojan horse-style.
He doesn’t. He backs the car up and drives it down the road a little way, parking it alongside the fence. Shit. They’re not going to let them take the car inside.
“Justice, did the car reverse?”
“Fuck. Parked it outside the compound. You’re like twenty feet from the front gate. You’re east of the guard tower.”
