On the surface, that lack of guards would seem to be a good thing. But it was unexpected. And he hated unexpected.
Coming up with a coherent strategy to handle this situation had turned out to be harder than he’d anticipated. His first plan had been to get to Rossi’s phone, but it was an idea that didn’t hold up under examination. Assuming he could get into Rossi’s room undetected and assuming Rossi had a phone capable of connecting internationally without Esparza’s authority, what then? Call Kennedy for the cavalry? Based on his last conversation with Esparza, she was fighting for her political life. And he wasn’t in Iraq or Afghanistan. This was Mexico, a country that wouldn’t take kindly to a bunch of U.S. troops rolling in unannounced.
Further, the threat he faced wasn’t just a shed full of bioweapons; it was a shed full of bioweapons that could think and move on their own. If they made it out of here, the shit was going to hit the fan in a way that no one had seen for more than a century.
In light of all that, there was no point in trying to get fancy. Better to just shoot them all, close their bodies up in the shed, and set it on fire. Nice and neat on the bioweapon front but it did leave one small loose end.
Him.
He didn’t need Gary Statham to tell him that if he went into that building and started splattering blood around, he had a high probability of being infected. So when this was over, he couldn’t risk any human contact at all. No going back to the house. No fighting with guards. No getting to a phone. At best, his next two weeks would be spent living barricaded in a muddy cave in the mountains. At worst, his next two weeks would be spent dying barricaded in a muddy cave in the mountains.
Another careful scan of the compound didn’t turn up any sign of the missing guards, so he started forward again. Staying silent in the dense foliage forced him to move at a crawl but he finally came alongside the shed housing the Arabs.
All the equipment and supplies the clapboard building had once contained were now piled haphazardly around it. Rapp dropped to his stomach and slithered across the damp earth, aiming for what appeared to be a small tractor stacked with rakes and shovels.
The tractor likely contained the gasoline he needed, but accessing it would be more than he wanted to deal with. Fortunately, just past a pile of rotting pallets, he found a much more convenient five-gallon gas can. A gentle nudge confirmed that it was almost full, prompting him to start screwing the suppressor to his Glock. Once secured, he weaved back through the equipment toward the front of the building.
The plan had been simple. Kick in the door. Shoot everyone inside using muzzle flashes for illumination. A little gasoline. A match. And then run for the hills.
Unfortunately, that plan broke down before he even made it to step one. When he arrived at the door, it was wide-open.
Rapp pulled his T-shirt over his nose and mouth before edging toward the threshold. He flicked a lighter, letting the brief spark illuminate the interior.
Empty.
The shooting started a moment later. He spun instinctively but then realized it wasn’t coming from anywhere near him. Through the trees, he could see that the side of Esparza’s home was lit up with the wavering light of automatic fire. And while it was impossible to determine how many guns, their location was easy to pinpoint. His bedroom.
Rapp retrieved the gas can, emptying its contents on the shed’s exterior walls. When he reached the door again, he tossed the empty container inside and then circled again, this time with his lighter. By the time he was finished, the flames on the far side were already ten feet high.
The sound of gunfire at the house had stopped and the shouting had begun. He couldn’t understand any of it, but the tone suggested that they’d finally realized they were shooting at an empty bed.
CHAPTER 43
“BACK up, idiots!”
As the tight group of guards lurched back into the hallway, Esparza made sure to stay slightly lower than the men surrounding him. The one exception was Vicente Rossi, who looked like he wanted to drop to his knees and crawl.
The morons he was currently using for cover had fired on an empty bed, most completely emptying their clips in one terrified burst.