“Ah, yes,” he says, “underneath the palm fronds and branches. Wanting to cover yourself from any snipers, eh?”
“Where are Tom and Denise?”
He points to the Yukon. “Right in here, of course.”
“Show them to me. Now.”
He shrugs. “As you wish.”
He steps back and the near rear passenger window slides down, and I see my Tom and the top of my little girl’s head, and the tears just burst out and I desperately try to keep my cool.
“All right, let’s get this over with,” I say. “I brought you this old man. Give me my family.”
Pelayo is back in front of the Yukon. “But a few words to the old man, if I may.”
Pelayo starts speaking in Spanish to his father, but the old bastard, demanding as always, yells back, “English! Speak to me in English. At least this poor woman should know why I am here, and why you have done so much harm to her and her poor family.”
Seeing the arrogant old man standing in front of him stirs up lots of memories that Pelayo thought had been buried deep and long ago, and he recalls the lecturing, the beatings, and most of all, the disappointing looks on his father’s face as Pelayo grew older and learned it wasn’t love or family that meant anything in this world, only money and power.
He yells, “You’re here because of what you’ve done to me, how you’ve belittled me, and because you were about to betray me.”
The old man shoots back, “Then I’m proud to be here, to face a creature that pretends to be my son. Betray you? I was merely going to tell the world of how you were always a twisted, evil child, and that your despised life has caused death and misery to thousands.”
“You have no right!”
The Army captain, looking ridiculous in a skimpy suit perfect for a woman half her age and weight, is standing close to his father, as if she is trying to reassure him as he yells back at Pelayo.
“A father always has the right to tell the truth about his son, especially when he has a heart and soul as dark as a rotten gourd, forgotten in the field at harvesttime.”
“It is because of you, old man, that I am like this!”
He grins back. “You have been an adult for many, many years, my son. Are you so weak that you continue to blame me, your mother, and the Church for how you turned out? Like your despised cousin, you have the face and body of a human, but the soul of a monster.”
Enough is enough, Pelayo thinks, and he yells out, “It is finished!”
There.
He reaches under his coat to grab his Glock .40-caliber pistol, and then like a jack-in-the-box, Paco leaps up next to him, submachine gun in hand, and as Pelayo brings the pistol up to shoot the old bastard, there’s movement and—
The Army woman is pointing at pistol at him!
How is this possible?
Where did she get it?
Where was it hidden?
He warns Paco, “Faster, faster, she’s armed!”
And then the bitch shoots first!
CHAPTER 84
AS PELAYO and my friend Archie yell at each other, I’m ignoring the words and instead looking for the threat. I’m looking at the Yukon, knowing there has to be at least a second or third gunman back there. There’s no way this cartel leader has come to this supposed swap by himself without extra firepower right next to him.
Movement.
I’m looking for movement.
And here it comes.
Now it’s my time.
A wind comes up, and I don’t care anymore if the breeze reveals the slit I earlier made in the rear of Archie’s suitcoat, which gives me easy access to my SIG Sauer pistol concealed in his rear waistband.
I grab it and it’s in my hands as Pelayo whirls out with a pistol, and a beefy-looking guy pops up with a cut-down H&K MP5—Nice intelligence work there, Amy, says a voice inside me—and I’m presented with two threats: I go to the deadlier one, the man with the submachine gun, and open fire.
Inside the Yukon, Hamid jerks at hearing the familiar sound of gunfire, and he turns in his seat, ready to slaughter the American behind him when the word comes, but the American is bent over, seemingly crying and sobbing, and Hamid shouts, “Shut up, you bawling woman!”
He has a pistol on him but is going to go with the folding knife that is now in his hand. A bullet to the American’s head would kill him and be merciful.
Hamid is not going to be merciful.
The little girl is also crying, and Hamid is ignoring her.
Tom Cornwall is bent at the waist, making noises to signal he’s crying and afraid of the gunfire, but he’s been in a number of tight places before, and the gunfire is now just part of the background noise, like the yells and the curses he also hears.
With his hands bound in tape, he is desperately working at his left pant leg, which he manages to drag up, revealing his sock and—
God, yes, the cutting tool.
He tries to work with the tool, cutting and slicing at the tight tape, and he winces as the blade twice cuts into his own skin, but he keeps on working.
The gunfire outside continues.
The bitch was using his father to get to him, Pelayo screams inside, and he opens fire, just as Paco aims at the woman, and there’s an ugly noise of metal being ripped apart, and then there’s a quick “oh” and the side of his face is suddenly soaked, and he spares just the quickest of glances, seeing the pockmarked metal on the Yukon’s hood where the woman opened fire in Paco’s direction.
It looks like four or five rounds worked their way up the metal, until the last bullet took off the top of Paco’s head.
Pelayo fires off two rounds, ducks, and picks up the MP5, rolls to the left, and the woman is advancing, shooting at him, and Pelayo yells out, “Hamid, Hamid, kill him, kill him!”
Hamid hears the blessed words, and he yells, “American, sit up, look at me in the eye!” and yes, the American comes up, but he has something in his hand which whirls toward Hamid, and then his throat is burning, and he tries to yell something again, but his mouth is full of blood and he falls back.
I have no cover so I’m doing what’s called advancing under fire, and I think I get the gunman with the submachine gun and then Pelayo is on the ground, firing back at me, but yeah, like most civilians, he’s not used to firing in a prone position, and there’s whistling noises as rounds roar by me, and I shoot and shoot and I’m aiming at the Yukon’s tire, and then at Pelayo, for my loved ones are in that vehicle and I’m not about to let it head out.
The rear passenger door suddenly pops open, and Tom and Denise tumble out in a confused pile, and I keep on advancing, and another Yukon roars by, front passenger door opening up, and Pelayo runs to it, and I don’t care, I let him go. Tom and Denise are right here, and Pelayo can go to the North Pole for all I care, and now I take cover behind the first Yukon and Tom rolls over, eyes wide, covered with blood, and he’s struggling to take a piece of tape off his mouth.
And the little girl next to him is in familiar black slacks and an Epcot sweatshirt, and as I reach for her, Tom screams, “That’s not Denise! That’s not Denise!”