around here?”
Monday, March 10, 6 a.m.
Mexico
“What the fuck are we doing here?” Zy hissed at Trees as they trekked around a scrub-dotted desert hill in the chilly pre-dawn. “I know this is a rescue mission, but…”
“I’m in the dark, too. I don’t know much except this is part of an ongoing effort.”
“Rescuing someone related to the head of a drug cartel? Why?”
“Not sure. But if we’re here, I’m guessing someone close to our scumbag, Emilo Montilla, wants to talk, maybe turn evidence over to the feds…who probably don’t want to get their hands dirty by taking a foreign citizen out of their country of origin to further their case. Or maybe us busting in is all for optics, so Montilla doesn’t know one of his own stabbed him in the back.” He shrugged. “But I know that when the feds can’t or won’t green-light missions, we often get the call.”
That made sense, and Zy didn’t need to know why he was shivering in the middle of the damn desert before sunrise, trying to extract a woman he’d never heard of. He’d done clandestine before, and a paycheck was a paycheck. But it helped to understand the players, the lay of the land, and the reason for the mission objective, especially when things went south. “Roger that. How much farther?”
Trees stared at the sat-map device in his hands, then scanned the horizon with a scowl. “Almost there.”
“What’s wrong?”
His scowl deepened. “I don’t know, maybe nothing.”
Maybe, but if something had spooked Trees, that worried Zy. He plucked the radio from his belt and turned the volume up just enough to hear. “Almost in position. Copy?”
“Roger that,” Cutter murmured. “Same.”
The plan was simple…in theory. A few hours ago, Zy had planted explosives around the camp intel said Montilla was currently holed up in, along with their target. In a few minutes, as the sun edged above the horizon, they would launch the first part of their attack. Less than a mile to the east, Cutter was spotting One-Mile on a series of shots that should be a breeze for him, to take out the trio of heavily armed guards watching over the compound overnight. Then, while pandemonium ensued, Zy would detonate the preset explosives to draw out the rest. Trees had come along to scramble the cartel’s devices and make their communications next to impossible. Then Zy was supposed to rendezvous with Cutter just outside the compound, rush in to grab the woman with One-Mile providing cover fire, then get the fuck out and back to the extraction point before eight a.m.
It wasn’t terribly complicated, and the mission shouldn’t be hard, but he was nervous. Because it was his first assignment for the colonel? Because he wanted to prove himself to the guys he’d pledged to work with for the next three years?
“Holler when you’re ready,” he told Cutter. “We’ll initiate the sequence on your go.”
“Got it.”
Zy glanced up to see Trees peering through the charcoal morning with infrared binoculars. He was still scowling.
“What do you see?”
“Same three guards, still in the same basic place.”
“Makes Walker’s job easier.”
“I guess. It also makes me uneasy. Why aren’t they patrolling?”
“Laziness?”
Trees scoffed. “Show me a lazy member of a cartel, and I’ll show you a dead one.”
He had a point, but… “We have no indication they’re onto us.”
“We don’t.”
But Trees didn’t like it. Zy had known his buddy long enough to read the signs.
“Shit,” the big guy beside him hissed suddenly.
“What?”
“A fourth guard just emerged.”
Dread pinged Zy’s gut. That wasn’t normal. They’d been watching this compound for days. “Over an hour early?”
“Yeah, and he’s not empty-handed.”
“Abort!” Cutter screamed over the radio.
The warning had Zy on even higher alert. “Trees?”
He paused, peering through the binoculars before whipping them away and bending to scoop up his pack. “Abort. GTFO now!”
Zy didn’t stop to ask questions, just secured his gear and ran after Trees.
“Did you hear me? Abort!” Cutter’s voice urged over the radio.
“We’re out,” he shouted into the handheld unit, legs pumping across the desert sand.
“Run fast. They’re onto us and they’ve got an RPG.”
Oh, fuck! Somehow, the cartel had figured out they weren’t alone in the middle of nowhere, and they were coming for blood.
Behind him, Zy heard the hum of an engine. The growl told him their vehicles weren’t standard-issue. Unfortunately, he and the rest of the team were a good half mile away from their stashed vehicle—and even longer to reach the chopper.
A dozen questions sat on his tongue, along with at least that many