A Vague Recollection of Something Blue

By K.G. Lawrence

Just as Nyla Rowe’s FBI task force is coming closer to identifying the elusive leaders of the Proteus Group, their luck changes. The Creators Almighty has been instrumental in tracking Dark Web activities that have helped capture a number of cells, but now they are under attack. Though determined to continue with her mission, Sage Lomax’s health is failing and her high-tech prescience is becoming dangerously unreliable. While Frank Gillett searches for Weinberg’s dispersed Isabellas, who are all suddenly becoming pregnant with only daughters, the Proteus Group prepares to counter the worldwide threats facing it by launching Operation Strikeback.

• Language: English
• Publisher: K.G. Lawrence
• Release date: May 31, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370830749

K.G. Lawrence

With degrees in biology and psychology, I have always enjoyed writing both fiction and non-fiction. I spent several years at a research lab at Agriculture and Agri-food Canada, this has provided me with a background on food and strengthened my skills as a researcher. I have put my background in biology and my research experiences to good use in writing the Introduction to Ethnobotany, as well as my novels.

Book preview

From his vantage point one hundred feet higher up to the north and hidden by Mexican nut pines, Frank Gillett could clearly see through his Vortex Kaibab binoculars the confirmation that the tip Ferris had received three days ago was correct.

Hector Garcia Ortiz is sitting out on the patio by the pool. I see two Chinese men, both in their sixties, standing closest to him. Two Europeans, also in expensive suits, are standing in the shade under a trellis a few feet away.

Thomas Ferris’s voice crackled in Frank’s earpiece when he asked, Is the general with them?

He spotted the man wearing lots of braid. He is talking to Hector. He has two aides with him. One is a colonel, the other is a captain.

What about getting in?

Give me a minute. He rubbed away the itchiness in his eyes before looking through the binoculars again.

A travel brochure might describe this compound as a hacienda-style resort nestled in the rugged Sierra Madre Occidental Mountains northeast of Quizuani in the state of Sonora. A quick flyover might convince tourists such a description was accurate except for the wall. The compound had been cut out of the forest decades ago. It would be presented as offering an exclusive, tranquil and serene get away from it all.

Not from where he sat crouched amid the forest understory.

Sitting at an elevation of 2987 feet at approximately 29°03'56.04N by 110°11'30.72W, the compound was enclosed by a sloping wall ten feet tall. The base was twelve feet thick, the top four feet. Wrought iron railings had been placed along the outside and inside edges at the top. They had been webbed with razor wire, and possibly electrified. It formed a hexagonal barrier to the world, Garcia Ortiz’s base for his incomplete pyramid. There was no gate to drive vehicles through or any other obvious entrance into the compound through the wall.

A pool sat in the middle of a patio formed by the U-shaped, two-storey house. A man-made lake gouged out of the mountain and stocked with fish lay four hundred yards to the east of the compound just before the slope he was perched on began its steep rise to a peak elevation of 3309 feet.

Two M2 .50 caliber machine guns atop the wall were positioned at two of the wall’s corners and directed toward the only approach road, ploughed out of the mountain by slave labor shortly after the end of the Mexican Revolution. Two men were stationed at each gun.

Ferris asked, What do you see?

Dangerous shit everywhere, that’s what.

Do you see any of them, by the pool maybe?

Not a one. There are no women in the pool or sunbathing beside it. The pool doesn’t have any water in it.

They wouldn’t be sunbathing.

I know that. I was just commenting that there are no women to be seen anywhere. That has to be a first for him.

What he did see was men patrolling along the top of the wall. Four of them carried Mendoza HM-3 submachine guns. Eight other men on top of the wall carried either AK-47s or Fusil FX-05s Xiuhchoatl (firesnake) assault rifles. They were Mexican army brought by the general, though they wore mufti here. Six more men also armed with HM-3s were scattered around the pool and patio. They would be Hector’s men.

Three armored Mercedes-Benz S55 all-wheel drive sedans that had brought the Chinese and European visitors were parked in the gravel parking lot along the west wall. Four Mercedes-Benz G-Class SUVs had brought Alonzo Polida and his men. All those vehicles were likely armored at least to the BR6 level. He hadn’t brought anything with him that would penetrate them.

The two Streit Group Puma-APCs belonged to the owner of this spa resort, which catered to the criminal elite of Mexico. At one time or another every leader of every major gang in Mexico had come here, though none of them at the same time. This was the only diplomatic nexus in Mexico for negotiations between gangs. It was neutral territory, had been so for the past twenty years. No two gangs would come at the same time to prevent already hot blood from boiling over. It offered the opportunity to open by proxy negotiations between rivals to prevent or end escalating violence. It had accomplished some major decreases in bloodshed over the years and a few mergers that let most of the participants live. All the gangs respected its role.

Garcia Ortiz’s gang, no longer called Los Tres Carniceros, had lost most of its power thirty years ago. This refuge from the intensely violent Mexican criminal underworld was the only real power it still had aside from dabbling in some minor international drug trade and sex trafficking. None of the gang’s history, however, had anything to do with why he was perched on the side of a mountain trying to find a way in.

Shit.

The top of the wall also contained three SAM missile launchers, two anti-aircraft guns and, like the machine guns, two men were assigned to each. Hector Garcia Ortiz had also put crates of ammunition within quick and easy reach of any man on top of the wall. Whatever was taking place inside the compound this time, Garcia Ortiz was determined to keep it between only himself and his guests.

Thomas Ferris’s voice came in clearer than it had since Frank had left him behind to take up his position. Is it a go? Can you get in?

A helicopter equipped with a GM 134 minigun on its nose and another sticking out its right opening rested on a pad inside the compound near the south-pointing corner of the wall.

Frank, do we go?

Dammit. He put the binoculars back into their case and returned the case to his pack. He then rechecked what he had brought with him.

Two Uzis, eight grenades, three incendiary bombs and a Glock hardly compared to artillery, armor-piercing ordnance, ten more men than expected and about ten thousand rounds of ammunition.

Give me thirty minutes. I see something I can use as a distraction. He secured the pack and started down the slope.

Descending presented no risk of exposure because of dense understory. As long as he stayed in the forest at the edge of the compound, he could keep out of sight of the guards. The moment of high risk would come as soon as he reached the road leading to the gravel lot. Sixty yards of bright, open space stood between him and what he needed.

Human behavior was on his side. None of the men on the top of the wall wanted to be on guard duty. They were macho warriors. Being on guard duty was an insult to their masculinity. Their leaders and their comrades down on the patio were on the side of the wall where all the action was taking place. They were stuck keeping watch for a surprise attack even though this rump of a gang had no enemies concerned enough about it to ever launch one.

Hector might have eschewed having women to make it clear to all concerned that this was a business meeting. The men on guard weren’t missing any of the usual fun.

The two men at the machine gun placement overlooking the road, the ones who would have the clearest view of him crossing the clearing, were playing some game. Two of the general’s men were watching the game. None of the other men on guard were in position to spot him.

Frank took off across the uneven ground. He was faster than any Olympic sprinter, but he wasn’t faster than a speeding bullet, and he was only impervious to the small caliber ones if they weren’t fired at close range.

Keeping his gaze focused on the wall, he used the APCs for cover to make his way back into the forest on the southwest perimeter of the compound. The cool breeze at this altitude had provided some relief, but the sprint, about eighty yards in total, had left him drenched in sweat.

A glance back at the APCs revealed one to also have a .50 caliber machine gun on its roof, but it was unmanned. A guard stationed at the Mercedes sedans was even more bored than his compatriots above him. Unable to see what was happening on the other side of the wall he could only smoke and watch four heads looking down at something else he couldn’t see.

The barrels of fuel were clustered against the wall fifty feet away from the sedans, but the guard presented another option to the one he had originally considered.

Change of plans, he said. I’m turning off. Give me about an hour.

And if I don’t hear from you by then?

Go home.

Frank withdrew his earpiece and put it in his pack. He left the pack concealed in the woods and brought only the Glock. Holding his hands up with the barrel of the Glock in his left, he emerged from the forest and walked straight to the smoker guarding the cars.

The man cocked and aimed his HM-3 as he spit out his cigarette. He took a moment to glance up at the top of the wall and tried to get someone’s attention.

Frank said, Necesito hablar con el Señor Héctor García Ortiz.

The guard raised the gun. ¿Estas loco? Tira el arma antes de que suene la maldita cabeza. Are you crazy? Drop the gun before I blow your fucking head off.

Frank dropped the Glock and kicked it away.

¿Qué quieres con el jefe? What do you want with the boss? The guard walked to the Glock, picked it up and stuck it into the waist of his pants. He glanced up at the men on the top of the wall and muttered a number of curses before spitting at Frank. ¿De que se trata? What’s it about?

Alquien me contrató para matarlo y creo que están ahí con él ahora. Los dos hemos sido traicionado. Someone hired me to kill him and I think they are in there with him. We’ve both been double-crossed.

The man spit again before looking down at the smoldering cigarette he had jettisoned. Fuck. Don’t move, gringo.

Frank chuckled and nodded. Not a muscle.

The man produced a walkie-talkie and began chattering rapidly and angrily into it. He wasn’t talking to Garcia Ortiz. He was cursing whoever was on the other end for not doing their job and threatening them with a possible report to the general. After a few seconds of silence, the man’s cell phone range. He stood at attention and answered it. Slower this time, he repeated to the boss what Frank had told him.

Si Señor. He hung up the phone, pulled out a keypad remote control and adeptly pressed three numbered buttons on it with his thumb. Video games and texting were making everyone digit-dextrous.

A section of the wall began smoothly sliding backward. It stopped after backing up four feet.

The guard stepped behind Frank, poked him with the HM-3 and took out the Glock.

Two steps into the breach, to his right, a passageway barely wide enough to proceed along single file wended its way through the wall. The base of the wall was wider to allow this passage full of sharp turns to be framed inside it. The passage likely circled the whole perimeter.

The guard prodded him to enter the tunnel. Only six feet into the dimly lit entrance section, they had to take a ninety-degree right turn. Six steps later they had to turn ninety-degrees to the left to enter the longest straight section of tunnel, about eighteen feet.

Sigue moviendote. Keep moving. The guard pushed at him with his hand this time.

Frank grabbed the hand, pulled the arm over his shoulder and yanked down, snapping the man’s elbow.

The man cried out, but Frank turned around and smashed his palm into his face. The Glock dropped to the ground as the man fell backward into the concrete wall and slid down beside it.

After retrieving his Glock, Frank nudged the man with his foot. When the guard didn’t move, Frank took possession of the HM-3, stepped over the man because he wouldn’t be able to turn around with the body over his shoulder, and picked him up.

A sharp turn to the left at the end of the straight section brought him to a short corridor that opened onto the patio. Garcia Ortiz, the general, his aides and the guests were all there waiting for him. Frank walked slowly out into the bright sunshine. The inside of the compound was shielded from the mountain breeze. It was at least five degrees hotter than outside the wall. He dropped the man at his feet then dropped both guns and held up his hands.

Señor Garcia Ortiz, ambos tenemos la misma . . . Mister Garcia Ortiz, we both have the same . . .

The blow to the back of his head came from his right.

Chapter 2

The last of the renovation work was completed by 10:00 am. Ralph Price, 47, the owner of Price Renovations and Repairs, and his two employees, Isidora Ramos Olivarez, 24, the carpenter, and Menno Alfieri, 30, at 5’11" and 228 pounds the self-proclaimed heavy lifter of the team, packed up their tools and returned to the two vehicles on the driveway.

The owner of the house, Abraham (Abe) Leavitt, was at work at White Sands.

Ralph made sure all doors to the house were locked. Isidora and Menno were waiting at the back of his van when he was done.

Well, Menno said, that’s it then.

Don’t get discouraged, he said. Something will come along.

Isidora lowered her sunglasses. We’ve been on this job for four months. In all that time no other calls for work have come in.

They will. I’ve been through slow periods like this before. It will pick up. Trust me.

Isidora put a hand on his chest and kissed his cheek. We do trust you, Ralph, but you can’t perform miracles. If there’s no work, there’s no—

He stepped back and checked over the tools in the van.

Isidora pushed her sunglasses back. Do you need any help at the office?

I’ll take care of it.

Menno asked, Are we still on for tonight?

The Double Eagle at six. My treat and I don’t want any arguments.

See ya later.

Menno and Isidora got into Menno’s truck and drove away.

Because he couldn’t stop himself anymore than he could stop the sun from rising every morning, Ralph Price climbed into the van and went through it to make sure everything that was supposed to be there was there and nothing that wasn’t supposed to be there wasn’t. Everything was in its place. Nothing was missing and nothing had been added.

He then drove out onto West University Avenue. At Avenida de Mesilla he turned right to get to Calle De Meadanos. A left there and two blocks later he took his van along the lane to the back of his office, which was sandwiched between the Flores de Primavera flower shop and Julio Rosa’s Butcher Shop.

After another check through the van, he entered through the back of his office, the workshop—what Isidora sarcastically called their fabrication center—and made his way to the reception desk at the front. The message indicator light was blinking.

He took the time to remove his overalls before pushing the button on the phone.

The man spoke with a Spanish accent, not at all surprising in Mesilla.

I am Beltran Nunez Gutierrez. I live on the other side of the Rio Grande. I have a possible renovation job for you, Mr. Price, but I am not sure your company can handle it. We can discuss that when you get here. Take the Calles del Norte past the Rio Grande to South Fairacers Road, then north to Mesilla Hill Drive and turn left. Stay on Mesilla Hill Drive until Raasaf Circle. Turn right there and keep going past Raasaf Drive along South Nizhani Trail. My home is at the end of the road. I expect you here at eleven o’clock precisely. Until then, Mr. Price, tienes mi res petomas profundo. You have my deepest regards. He left his phone number.

The answering machine, which Isidora had set up for him and usually took charge of, asked him to push button one if he wished to hear the message again, two if he wished to listen to his other messages—the machine had a vicious sense of humor—or three if he wished to delete all messages.

Price was familiar with the area where Nunez lived, but he replayed the message again to verify exactly where the house was. The second playback revealed more of Nunez’s authoritative tone. Beltran Nunez Gutierrez was accustomed to being in charge and giving orders with every expectation of complete obedience.

After writing down Nunez’s phone number, he took out his cell phone and called Menno first. We’ve just had a providential call.

Isidora would love it that he was using bigger words.

He recited all the details to Menno and then said, We’ll discuss it at dinner tonight. I have to call Isidora.

Shouldn’t you wait until you know for sure? She’s pretty antsy right now about whether or not—

She just needs something to focus on again, keep her busy. He called Isidora. We may have work. It could be big.

How big?

He repeated the details of the message to her.

How long is it for?

I haven’t talked to him yet, have I?

Who is he?

Never heard of him.

How did he get your name?

I’m in the book. I have a webpage as well as a Facebook and Twitter account.

You don’t, your business does, and all of those are useless if I’m not there. I’ll give you the telephone book, it’s anciently appropriate for you.

No big word that he could use against her would come to mind. I told you something would come up.

Ralph, I love you and Menno, you know that. I’ve been with you for six years now and it’s been wonderful. But I want to start at New Mexico State next spring. I don’t want to get bogged down with another job.

Let’s see what he has for us first.

Ralph, it’s time for me to move on. I’ve been accepted. Right now I have the money.

Just let me see what he has. We’ll talk more about it at dinner. I promise—

Do not start making promises. They just get you into trouble. And don’t make decisions thinking I’m going to be here forever. And don’t get me into anything I can’t get out of. She hung up.

Obstinate . . . dammit. He called the Mesilla Police Department next. Hello, Maria, is Mike available?

Sure thing. She put him through.

Michael Plett, Mesilla’s Police Chief, and also its biggest gossip, answered on the third ring. Hey, Ralph, what’s up? His voice dropped. It’s not Menno again, is it?

He’s behaving himself. Do you know Beltran Nunez?

We’ve crossed paths a few times, ceremonially speaking. Until recently, he was, unlike you, very involved in the social activities of our wonderful city. He used to take a lead role in organizing the Day of the Dead festival every year.

Use to?

He still comes to it, and I think he’s doing something with it this year, but he keeps mostly to himself now. He keeps his private live private. In that regard, you two could be identical twins. The only difference is Nunez is completely able to remain private. Menno every now and then makes it difficult for you to do the same. There has been some talk of his health being in decline, but no one really knows why he suddenly shut himself up in el Hacienda de Nunez.

What else do you know?

Why are you asking?

I have an offer of work from him. He said it might be too big for my company.

He can certainly afford a big job. He’s semi-retired now. He did that about the same time he stepped out of the public spotlight. He has a tenant managing his pecan farm. It’s the biggest one in these parts. He used to have a complete staff of servants, but got rid of all but one of them a few years ago.

How long has he lived here?

I don’t know, maybe twenty years or more. He was here when I started as a patrolman. Plett coughed for close to a minute before he could speak again. It could be a big job, Ralph. From what I heard, his house is huge but in quite a state of disrepair. Just another thing he’s being neglecting, I suppose.

I thought you gave up smoking.

Don’t you start on me; I get enough of that from Maria. Why are you checking up on Nunez?

I didn’t want you to feel left out.

Stupid bugger. Have a good one. He started laughing as he hung up, which led to another bout of coughing.

Ralph called Nunez.

A woman answered, Señor Nunez Gutierrez residence.

This is Ralph Price calling from Price Renovations and Repairs. I received a message from Mr. Nunez and I am returning his call.

One moment, por favor. The phone clicked.

A few seconds later, it clicked again.

Hello, Mr. Price. That confident, dominating tone in his voice was clearer than it was on the message. His voice also sounded a bit breathless. I did not expect this call.

I will be there at eleven, Mr. Nunez, but I was hoping I could get some idea of the nature and scope of the job so I could pass it along to my employees.

You are speaking of Isidora Ramos Olivarez and Menno Alfieri.

You know about them?

I have investigated your company, Mr. Price. That breathlessness was gone. Tell me about your two employees. Start with Isidora, if you would, please.

She’s my carpenter. She’s been with me since graduating high school. Isy can frame anything; build anything, including custom cabinets. Mr. Nunez, she could build or rebuild your house from scratch if that’s what you wanted.

That is encouraging, Mr. Price, but it would be best if you did not exaggerate.

I am not exaggerating. Isidora is brilliant. She wants to be a lawyer or a judge one day.

I thought she wanted to be a criminologist or FBI agent. Had Nunez talked to Plett about him? Tell me about Menno Alfieri. He concerns me.

Was Nunez trying to catch him in a lie? And if so, why? They were only entering into a renovation contract. If he knew something of Menno’s past, though, it would not be unreasonable to have concerns.

Perhaps we could discuss my employees further while we go over what work you want done.

That will be satisfactory, Mr. Price. Be advised, however, that I will not be put off vetting all three of you. I will see you at eleven.

Chapter 3

The blow to the back of his head hadn’t hurt him, but Garcia Ortiz and his guests, particularly General Alonzo Palido and his men, needed to believe it had.

Frank grunted and dropped to his left side. He lay on the blue and white tiles of the patio listening to Garcia Ortiz bark out orders in Spanish too quickly for him to process.

Someone came up from behind and kicked him in the back.

Alonzo Palido said, Usted debe darle de comer sus propias bolas antes de matar a est hijo. You should feed him his own balls before killing this fucker.

Frank rocked forward, grunted again and took a quick glance at the pool. There were still no women, either in bikinis or completely naked, anywhere to be seen. The serious business these men were conducting hadn’t been concluded yet.

Garcia Ortiz growled a few more unintelligible orders before two of his bigger men picked Frank up by his arms. Rather than drag him away, they held him up and frisked him. One of the men grabbed his head and pulled it up as the other one handed the three magazines for his Glock to Garcia Ortiz.

He groaned and opened his eyes.

Garcia Ortiz, Alonzo Palido and his two aides, the only ones in uniform, stood in front of him.

The two Chinese men, the two Europeans and two Mexicans that he hadn’t seen from his perch, stood back in the shadows under a trellis festooned with vines. A third Chinese man, much younger, taller and thinner than the other two, stood further back from that group under a palm tree.

Garcia aimed the Glock at his chest. Thank you for killing my guard. He was stupid and lazy.

It’s what I do.

One of the men holding him up pressed the end of his HM-3 under Frank’s chin.

You say you’ve been hired to assassinate me and that whoever hired you is in here with me now. If that is true, we have, as you were about to tell me, both been betrayed.

Frank nodded toward the six men standing in the shadows. I can’t make any of them out.

General Alonzo Palido and his two men already had their guns out. They spread out to surround the six guests. Three of Garcia Ortiz’s men reinforced them.

Garcia said to his guests, Please, gentlemen, a moment in this sunshine is all that is required. Then we can dispose of this puto bastardo de nigger.

At least one of the Chinese men spoke English. He is your problem Señor Garcia. We are not involved with this lie in any way. We will remain where we are.

Garcia Ortiz started to aim the gun at the man who had just spoken, but quickly lowered it. He held out his hands palms up in a placating gesture. Whatever these men were here for, it was a situation too delicate to answer such a challenge with the usual Mexican macho intolerance. Garcia Ortiz didn’t seem concerned about reprisals, which would be consistent for him. He just didn’t want whatever deal they were negotiating to fail.

Please, gentlemen, this puts me in a very awkward position. What we all hope to achieved here has to come from mutual trust. I am asking little, I assure you. It is my belief that this man is lying. His lie will be revealed the moment he cannot identify any of you.

Frank said, You know how this works. He’s the type who keeps more than just an arm’s length distance between himself and the required wet work. He is one of those backroom warriors. He doesn’t get his hands bloody. Anonymity is the key to people like him. The question for you, Hector, is which one of your guests is that kind of man?

Garcia Ortiz spun around and struck him on the cheek with the barrel of the Glock. You will not insult my guests again. He smoothed his shirt. You see, gentlemen, he is bluffing. He raised the Glock and cocked the hammer. I need to kill this man, but I need all I can get from him first. Any danger to me could be a danger to all of us.

The other Chinese man said, It is too hot out here. We are going inside to cool off.

That’s him, Frank said. He made one mistake while negotiating. He called on the last communication to personally confirm the job. I recognize his voice because he didn’t think to conceal it. He’s from Hong Kong. His English is too good to be from anywhere else in China.

The man cursed in Cantonese a series of words that had likely targeted the assassin, Garcia Ortiz and probably Alonzo Palido and his aides as well.

Furious, Garcia Ortiz aimed the gun at Frank’s face and stepped close enough to bring it within a few inches of his eyes.

Just shoot him and be done with this, the first Chinese man said.

Incensed as he was that no one was cooperating with him—showing him the respect he deserved—he was still able to talk like the gracious host he was trying to be. It will only take a few seconds then we can conclude our negotiations and get on with the fun.

The Chinese man under the palm tree, as gracious and calm in return said, Señor Garcia Ortiz, we did not come here to participate in a bloody police line-up. Do what you must with that man and let us indeed get back to business.

Frank recognized that voice. It came from Oxford. I could have been mistaken. It might be that one.

Garcia Ortiz squeezed back on the trigger as the man holding him jammed his gun harder under his chin, pushing his head farther back.

Puto bastardo de nigger. He growled, spit, stepped back and set the safety. You are fortunate that we know who you are, Frank, or you would already be dead. Take him downstairs and show him what he came here for. Then lock him in the one beside them. He handed the Glock to the other guard holding Frank.

Alonzo Palido said, He is too dangerous to keep alive.

In a few hours, he will be the doctor’s problem. They all will.

Frank could hear Garcia Ortiz’s gracious, apologetic attempts to restart negotiations with his Chinese guests as the two men holding him took him down a set of concrete steps leading from the patio. Two other men came down behind them.

At the bottom of the stairs, one of the men unlocked a metal door with a swipe of his card. He opened it and pushed Frank through onto another set of stairs, these ones made out of wrought-iron. Lights came on automatically as they neared the bottom of this much longer set.

They stood in a chamber carved out of the stone facing three tunnels. One went straight ahead. The two on either side of it headed off at thirty degree angles from it.

One of the other pair of men closed and secured the door they had come through before trotting down the twenty-eight steps to catch up to them.

The instant he stepped off the bottom stair, Frank twisted to his left and head-butted the man who had his Glock as he brought his right hand up to deflect the gun away from under his chin. Holding firm to the man’s wrist, he kicked out into his left hip, grabbed the man he had just head-butted and swung him into the two men trailing them.

Those three men tumbled into a pile on the stone floor.

Frank twisted the man he was holding to put him face to face and punched him in the chest, shattering his breast bone, before tossing him on top of the three men trying to untangle themselves. He picked up the dropped Glock and shot each man in the head.

Shooting started up on the patio. It had taken about as long as expected for the distrust to escalate to gunplay. The only question was who would be the last man standing?

The door at the top of the stairs opened. One man slammed it shut, locked it and came down the staircase hard enough to make the wrought iron creak and rattle.

Frank backed into the shadows and away from the pile of dead men.

Garcia Ortiz, a gun in each hand, leapt down the last three stairs and sprinted into the tunnel running straight ahead. He hadn’t noticed the bodies.

Frank went after him, matching footfall with footfall.

The tunnel proceeded for close to sixty yards before ending at another chamber carved out of the mountain. Garcia stood before three secured iron doors—solid prison cell doors with barred windows—for only a second or two before going to the one to his right and looking inside it. He didn’t find what he expected to find.

He called out to his men, but quickly realized they weren’t going to respond.

Drop the gun, Hector. Frank came out of the end of the tunnel. Where are they?

Garcia Ortiz’s eyes shifted to his right before he started to raise both guns.

It was all the delay Frank needed. He shot him with the last three rounds in the Glock. Every shot hit Garcia Ortiz in the chest. Frank ejected the empty magazine, recovered the other three from Garcia Ortiz and reloaded as he walked to the iron door to his left. He withdrew a small LED flashlight from his lower right pants pocket and shone it through the barred opening.

They were all there. One of the women was holding her hand over the mouth of one of the other ones. None of the six women moved.

¿Alguno de vosotros habla a Inglés?

The woman keeping the other one quite said, I speak English.

I’m here to get you out, but first I must find out what happened up there. He pointed. Do you understand?

The woman, probably in her late teens, her dark hair matted with filth, her dark cheeks stained with dirty tear tracks, her dark eyes fierce, nodded. She let go of the other woman, who gasped and started crying, and came to the door. Two of the other women reached for her and implored her to stay where she was but none of them tried to stop her.

What’s your name?

Evelyn. She was one of the ones still pregnant.

Three of the women held newborn infants to their breasts.

Evelyn, my name is Frank Gillett. I’m going to go back up to make sure the way is clear. Then I will return and take you all out. Can any of you handle a gun?

I can.

I will be right back. He retrieved two HM-3’s from the dead men. There was no more shooting at the patio level when he paused at the bottom of the stairs to listen.

Evelyn took both submachine guns without hesitation and felt their weight. Still fully loaded. She came to the bars and looked out at as much of the chamber as she could. Hector?

He’s over there with three bullets in his heart.

She spit through the opening. Puto monstruo. Pueden perros se alimentan de él en el infierno para siempre. Fucking monster. May dogs feed on him in hell forever. She reached out through the bars. Frank, we can trust you, yes? Tears ran down her cheeks but her voice remained firm.

He took hold of her hand. I am here with friends. You can trust all of us. I promise. Is everyone with you able to walk?

We can fly if we have to, and I will kill any bastard who gets in our way.

Just be patient a little while longer and then you will all be free.

She gave his hand a hard squeeze before letting go, returning to the other women and telling them what was going to happen.

Ragged sighs, gasps and weeping followed him into the tunnel. He could still hear harsh sobbing when he exited at the other end. At the top of the stairs, the iron door had been secured on his side by a simple set of levered bars that Garcia Ortiz had slid into slots chiselled into the walls.

He unlocked and opened the door, slipped forward and listened at the bottom of the concrete steps. He heard nothing. He could see the haze and smell the gunpowder aftermath of an intense gunfight.

Frank, Li Chu Yan called down, is that you?

Garcia Ortiz and his men are all dead.

Same up here, Frank. You’re not going to shoot me, are you?

Not if I don’t have to.

Li appeared at the top of the stairs and held up his left hand with his gun in it. That’s good, because I’m out of fucking bullets.

Frank didn’t believe that for a second.

Come on up so you can explain to me why you tried to get me killed. I thought we were on the same bloody side this time.

Two steps up the stairs gunfire started, Li vanished. Bullets struck the wrought-iron railing at the top of the stairs.

Frank ducked back and aimed the Glock.

Li fired a number of rounds from an HM-3 then called down, Sorry, Frank, there are a couple of assholes on the wall who still think they have something to fight for. I could use your help.

What have you got?

I snagged a couple of bloody half-empty subs.

More bullets hit at the top of the stairs. Li fired back with a couple of short bursts and cursed in Cantonese.

Frank called up, I’ll be right back. He ran down the long staircase and recovered the two remaining HM-3’s from the guards. At the bottom of the patio stairs, he called to Li, Still with me?

I need a fucking bazooka!

Give me a spot.

Forty-five degrees to your left when your head pops up and just under thirty degrees from there to the top of the wall; the idiots are about six feet apart. One is kneeling. He’ll be to your right. The other shithead, true to his Mexican macho heritage, is standing straight up, but he has the assault rifle.

Can you see the stairs?

The top three, yeah, I can.

Another round of fire peppered the top of the stairs. Li returned fire.

Give me some cover fire as soon as you see me.

Shit, Frank, let’s do this. I’m getting hungry. Garcia was a bloody awful host.

Frank charged up the stairs. Li opened fire with both submachine guns. The guards on the wall fired back; so much for cover fire. The instant he cleared the stairs, he cut to his left and opened fire as he sprinted for the wall.

The man standing shifted his aim, but Frank just pointed both HM-3’s at him. None of the shots hit him because they were aimed at the concrete at his feet. The chips flying up from the wall forced him to take a step back.

Frank aimed a few shots at the kneeling man before tossing the guns away. Six steps from the wall, he jumped up as hard as he could.

Li was yelling and cheering him on.

The standing shooter had just returned to the edge of the wall when Frank reached the top of it. With an extended hand, Frank took hold of the assault rifle as he landed, swung a backhand into the man’s face and tossed him over the railing.

The kneeling man hesitated after what he had just seen. Frank aimed and fired the Glock. Once he had confirmed that man was dead, he looked down at the man on the patio.

Li walked over from his cover under the trellis and fired two bullets into the man’s forehead. He then looked up and smiled with a row of exceptionally white teeth.

Frank dropped back to the patio.

Bloody hell, you really can do all that shit. I thought our reports on you were just secret service bureaucratic fear mongering. It’s had our scientists working under the whip for the last six years.

Any luck?

Li laughed as he looked around at the bodies. I’ve heard we just ended up with one anorexic panda addicted to video games and a bunch of angry pot bellied pigs. He looked Frank over. So, you’re the golem. That’s funny, Frank. Is it true you can shoot laser beams out your eyes? He burst into another loud moment of laughter and flashing teeth and waved Frank off when he stepped closer. Okay, okay, I’m just kidding. But it was in the report. He took a deep breath and stifled any further laughter. I’m afraid I’ve been corrupted by too much exposure to all your Western decadence. Can I at least see the scales? They’re real, right?

No one can shoot laser beams out of their eyes. Weinberg doesn’t work like that, or else he can’t yet.

You’re bloody shitting me. There are more like you?

Frank took a look at the bodies strewn about the patio.

Come on, Frank, give me something. My boss is going to chew my ass off after I got my guys killed . . . after you got my guys killed, not to mention almost getting yours truly shot full of bloody holes, too.

Who were your guys?

Li pointed with his empty handgun toward the trellis. That fat asshole was Zhang Jian Chao, a businessman from Hong Kong with links to Shanghai, Bangkok, Agra and them. That huge blob lying next to him is his younger brother, Jiao-Long Hong. I was assigned to find out who their contacts over here were. This was my first trip to Mexico with them, but they’d been dealing with Garcia and his people for over a year.

What were they here for?

My take is they were still in the early stages of negotiations. Those Euro-dudes and the two Mexicans are new. The offer and acceptance hadn’t been established yet. Now it never will. Why are you here?

I came for the women.

Li looked around the patio again. Yeah, so did I. Where the bloody hell are they?

He pointed to the stairs. Two flights down. They are the other ones.

I heard something about similar stuff in India or Pakistan or Cambodia or North Korea, but I just thought all of that was bullshit, too. How many are there?

Six. Three have just given birth. The other three are close.

And those kids, they can . . . you know, do that stuff? Li pointed to the wall he’d jumped up on.

That’s what those women will either confirm or dismiss. If you want something for your ass-cannibal boss, tell him to start looking for the six that are supposed to be somewhere in China or Tibet or Nepal or Mongolia.

My boss isn’t a man, Frank. It is Yao Ng Qiao.

Madam Ng?

We call her Ng xiāojiĕ.

Little older sister Ng.

Older sister isn’t exactly what we mean when we say it.

You have my sympathy.

How much do you know about her?

She’s in her late-thirties, is married to Ng Zhong, a high-ranking member of your External Security out of Hong Kong. But most think she is the real power of the two.

Ng disappeared about six months ago, Frank. A week later, xiāojiĕ has his immediate superior over for this special dinner. The rumor is they ate Ng together. Then, after an evening of intense negotiations involving perverted sex, threats and coercion on her part—turns out she really was the one in charge and knows everything—they pick her to replace her missing husband. It’s all about appearance and stability.

When isn’t it? Frank started for the stairs.

How do you know about all this when we only have rumors?

We don’t know where they are. We don’t know if they’ve been impregnated yet. It wasn’t an accurate term, but it was good enough for what he was selling Li. Start with missing person reports.

In China? You have to be kidding me. If I did that, I’d end up missing.

Tell Ng xiāojiĕ to focus on young women in their late teens. They would most likely come from small, isolated villages that do not have easy access to communications infrastructure.

Look for missing girls in the most populace nation in the world. You aren’t giving me much, Frank.

That’s all I have.

You must get a deal on broomsticks, Frank; otherwise you wouldn’t shove so many of them up your bloody arse at one time.

Our investigation indicates caches of six women each have been stashed in those nations you already mentioned plus China, Russia, here, and some in South American and African nations that we haven’t identified yet. We hope to get more information soon.

Li ran his fingers through his stubbly hair. All this Hollywood blockbuster movie stuff would be laughable if it weren’t true.

You’re right, you have been corrupted. What did you major in at Oxford?

What do you think?

Li walked over to the stairs and looked down. He then shook his head. Sorry, man, I’d love to help, but I need to get as far away as possible and report in. I just hope I can go back after this fiasco. He shook his head again. He really is a slimy bloody fucker, isn’t he?

The slimiest.

And speaking of being corrupted, do you mind if I take one of the Mercedes? They have navigation systems so I can find my way out of this shithole.

Be my guest.

You will take care of everything else, right?

I will.

You’re soaking wet, Frank. Li proffered a handkerchief. Did you catch something?

He didn’t take it. Just a fever.

I don’t get sick days either. Later, Frank, and don’t forget, you bloody well owe me.

I owe you.

Li waved and disappeared into the passage that would take him out of the compound. He revved the sedan’s engine a few times before racing away.

Frank returned to the women. The lock on the cell door was electronically controlled. It had illuminated buttons on the keypad, but each button displayed an ancient Aztec symbol on it rather than a number.

Evelyn came to the door and held up the HM-3. Is it clear, Frank?

I just need to get the door open. Do any of you know . . . ?

Evelyn smiled, which made Frank’s heart flutter. That this young woman, given what she’d been through, could still smile just hadn’t fit into his expectations for this mission. Sullen, defeated surrender and maybe catatonia had been his assumption of the day for what he would find.

Evelyn reached her hand out through the bars. Come closer.

He stepped up to the door.

She stroked his cheek where Garcia Ortiz had struck it with the Glock. It didn’t hurt. Tears flowed down her dirty cheeks again. It’s an old door, Frank, and we all know who you are. She touched the tips of her fingers to his lips