Accidental SEAL (SEAL Brotherhood #1) (34 page)

The driver harrumphed and put the cab in park, shaking his head. As Kyle started to get out, the driver called to him through the opened driver’s side window. “Hey, dude. How about I get paid for the two fares NOW.” His palm was outstretched.

Kyle scanned the empty storage yard, pulled out his wallet, and handed the driver a couple of twenties. “Wait. If I don’t come out in five minutes, you can take off,” Kyle said.

As soon as he was paid, the cabbie revved the engine, his tires spinning loose gravel all over Kyle. The cabbie took off like his life depended on it.

“Fuck. Hope you guys are nearby. My driver just baled on me. I’m behind the building.” He inhaled, not getting a response in his ear. “I’m going in.”

Still nothing. As he touched the silver knob of the door, he heard the crackle in his ear. “We’re here.”

The door was unlocked. Kyle stepped into a darkened expanse. Pigeons fluttered in the filtered light between a couple of dangling fluorescent fixtures. He heard water dripping somewhere, then the sound of a chair sliding on concrete. He heard footsteps as he unclipped his side arm, but didn’t unholster it.

“Well, well, well. We meet at last.” The figure of a man appeared from the dark shadows in front of him, and said, “If you value your life, you’ll give me that weapon.”

Chapter 35

Kyle waited until the man stepped into the light created by a four-bulb fluorescent fixture that fluttered on one bulb. He was shorter than Kyle by several inches, with a buzz cut and a deep scar over his left eye that extended into a lopsided cavern in his cheek, as if a bullet had been dug out with a spoon. It was a prison wound. His neck and exposed forearms were covered in ink. Blurry and milky tattoos. Not many of them professional.

Junkyard dog.

The man’s upper torso was as hard as any of Kyle’s SEAL team members, but the leatherly skin was scared and pockmarked. His arms were longer than the rest of him proportionally. Well developed guns, connected to gnarly fingers. He held a semiautomatic that Kyle recognized as an FN 5.7, which could hold 20 armor-piercing rounds. Across his chest was an AK-47 strap.

The guy was connected. And armed for bloody battle.

“Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Caesar Rodriguez.” A muscled forearm covered with tats of naked women extended, palm up. He wiggled his fingers, indicating he wanted Kyle’s gun.

Kyle gave it to him. Caesar looked to his left and a young boy popped out of the shadows, grabbed the gun, and ran into the safety of darkness.

“Now I will shake your hand,” Caesar said, “for saving my brother’s life.”

Brother?

“Excuse me?” Kyle asked. He stepped back and heard the sounds of safeties being released.

“Stop right there, amigo.”

Kyle did as he was told and froze in place. He was listening, searching for any small movement. He counted three, maybe four other breathing patterns.

“Any friend to my brother is friend to me.” Caesar extended his hand again, palm up. “We will finish the formalities, like two soldiers on the battlefield, then we will talk and determine if we are enemies.”

Kyle shook his hand, which was as hard as a piece of wood, callused and scratchy. This was a man who was used to fighting barehanded, without the use of the military-issue gloves.

Big box taught.

“And here I thought you cared for the girl.” Kyle could see a flicker of panic in Caesar’s eyes. “We got her some place safe. Not sure about the baby, though.”

Caesar withdrew his hand and grimmaced in spite of himself. He was missing several upper teeth. The gaping smile chilled Kyle. The man had no soul. That meant he had no limits.

“So who is your brother?” Kyle asked as he dropped his arm down by his side, resisting the temptation to wipe his hand on his pants.

“Blood brother, really. Armando Guzman. I believe you know him, yes?”

The creature was enjoying this too much, Kyle thought. His time would come. It dawned on him that’s why Armando was probably still alive. And why they’d killed the guy who’d overdosed Armando on heroine. This thug and Armando were childhood friends. Kyle had been told about them, how Armando had fought his way out of the street and eventually joined the Navy after he relocated his mom and sister. Pieces were clicking into place as a familiar face walked around Caesar, holding two white zip ties in his right hand.

“We use these too, asshole,” Deputy Hilber whispered to the side of Kyle’s face. Before he could secure Kyle’s wrists, Caesar bid him to stop. Hilber definitely looked disappointed, but obeyed.

“When you say
we,
you mean the San Diego Sheriff’s office, or your vast criminal enterprise here in San Francisco,” Kyle said with mock respect.

“You’ll see,” Hilber said, pulling Kyle by the shirt.

“No need for that,” Caesar interjected. “Get your filthy hands off my guest.”

“Well, he’s not
my
guest. I’d just as soon see these guys disappear.” Hilber sneered at his ally, who spat on his shoes and got a face full of hatred for his efforts.

An unholy alliance. Divide and conquer.
Kyle saw the power struggle already, and wondered who the warriors in the background were loyal to.

His eyes were getting used to the dark now. He glanced around and found a couple of dirty mattresses on the floor, some blankets drying on a clothesline, an ice chest, and a hospital gurney with the unmistakable body of Armando strapped to it, an IV injected into his arm. Armando’s eyes were closed.

“That Armando over there?” he asked his captors.

Caesar nodded, studying him. “Your brother, too. More recent war. Now I hope we can all be friends.”

Hilber swore.

“You proud of the fact that you kidnapped your own best friend?”

The man didn’t move a muscle, but his mouth turned down in a sneer. He stared into Kyle’s eyes without moving back and forth. Thinking. “Thank you, amigo, for understanding our connection. But no, I’m not proud of it.”

Caesar motioned to have Kyle walk over. “I do what I must do to be valuable to the organization.” He placed his palm against his chest and bowed. “Please. You will confirm now that he is still alive. Everything you do next will ensure he stays that way.”

Kyle looked at his team buddy, sleeping soundly. But he noticed the left side of Armando’s mouth twitching, which was the sign he was looking for. That meant he was fully awake, listening, and uninjured enough to fight. Armando’s wrists were bound with zip ties, but Kyle saw Armando had already moved the flaps back and forth to break them with a sudden jerk.

“Has he suffered injuries? How’d you get him to sleep?”

“You saw it, Mr. SEAL man. We give him heroine.” Caesar glanced over Armando’s body. “He likes it now, man. Don’t you, little Paco?” Caesar jammed his fist into Armando’s thigh but the SEAL didn’t move. Kyle saw Armando’s jaw tense, sending a flash to his temple, but the movement was so slight, he doubted anyone else saw it. But he sure as hell knew that grimace. He’d seen it before when Armando had caught a bullet in his back while he was bending over to pick Kyle up when Kyle had been wounded. Armando had got the wound looked at only after Kyle was safely in the arms of the medic.

“And what makes you think I would help you with all this, whatever it is?” Kyle spoke quickly to hopefully keep from earning Armando another blow.

“Come, my friend of my friend. We will talk like two generals.” Caesar motioned to two dirty leather recliners, one losing its stuffing on the cold oily warehouse floor.

Kyle complied. He chose the chair facing Armando and noticed his buddy rolled his head slightly in his direction and smiled.

“We want to procure some equipment. Guns and shit like that. Armor. All the crazy shit you guys get to use every day.”

“So you can use them against innocents?” Kyle asked, meeting Caesar’s gaze head-on.

“Nah, mostly against people who have made promises they haven’t kept. Officials that don’t play nice. Other organizations who want a piece of our action. Sticking their noses where they don’t fucking belong. We run a very efficient and profitable business here. It feeds people. Women and children, too. It’s
our
Stimulus Package. We require your services.”

“You’ve got my gun. I presume you unloaded something from Armando, too. You don’t want a fight with our kind.”

“On the contrary. I
like
your kind. I
respect
your kind.” Caesar gave a quick look to Hilber, who squinted in reply. Kyle could tell the men hated each other. And the only reason Hilber was behaving himself was because they were on Caesar’s turf. Not the other way around.

Caesar leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“You see, I have two things you want. One perhaps more than the other. I’m not interested in just a couple of things here and there—I want to establish an enterprise that will make you and your friend, if he cooperates, very rich men. I want enough so that I feel protected. So my friends can do business in the manner to which they are accustomed.”

“Selling drugs.”

“I give my customers what they want.”

“You steal their futures, their youth.”

“They’re bored. They willingly give it up. Lotta sick people around these days, you know? We don’t bother anyone else unless they interfere, my friend. It reduces our overhead when we don’t have to pay so much for protection.” He nodded to Hilber, who crossed his chest with his folded arms.

“And you think I will do this because you have Armando here.”

Caesar stood up and motioned for Kyle to follow him.

“I am going to ask much of you, I agree. This is a serious commitment you are going to have to make. But then, there is much at stake.” He walked over to the rose-colored blanket draped over a white nylon cord and pulled it back with his heavily inked fingers.

Christy was tied to a chair. Her hair was tussled, eye makeup running down her cheeks, but other than that, she looked unharmed. She actually looked wonderful. Kyle couldn’t believe how good it felt to see her. Alive and breathing.

Her eyes looked big and scared above the red bandana tied across her mouth a little too tight. Her eyes got even bigger when she saw Kyle.

Caesar walked over to her. “I believe you know this woman in, shall we say, the carnal way?” He smiled and slipped his hand under the hem of her red top and fondled her left breast. Christy closed her eyes and suffered in silence. She didn’t flinch. Kyle knew she wouldn’t show her fear or her humiliation.

“May I speak with her?”

“Sure, sure.” Caesar continued to fondle her, but motioned for Kyle to step closer.

Kyle could have killed him right then and there. The foul-breathed cretin leaned in and whispered in his ear, “Are her thighs as creamy? She has the smoothest skin.” He brushed the fingers of his hand against her cheek, wiping the tears that had spilled down in rivulets, had dripped off her chin. Caesar touched the shiny droplets like they were diamonds. “Too perfect. Maybe I should take a bite, so you can remember me later when I let you fuck her and I get to watch.”

Kyle’s hands made fists.

“Watch it there, cowboy.” Hilber reminded him he was still at his back. And a gun was trained at his head.

Kyle extended his hands to the side, watched Caesar nod at him, giving him the green light to speak to Christy. He knelt in front of her. He would do anything to protect her. When he put his hand on her knee, she jumped and opened her eyes. He gave her warm flesh a little squeeze, hoping it reassured her. She couldn’t hide the terror trembling inside her.

“I’m sorry for this, Christy. I’m going to do everything I can to keep you safe. Whatever they ask, I will do it. Please don’t worry. Just stay the course.”

He thought about Mayfield’s suggestion: “Become the bait.” Yeah, he could do that.

Christy’s face was still beautiful, despite the panic he read in her eyes and the dried tears that ran black down her cheeks. She needed him, clung to him, and, yes, wanted him. She’d been strong, holding out so as not to show emotion, but this touch on her knee opened the floodgates. Her lower lip quivered beneath the dirty bandana, but there was no sobbing.

“May I?” Kyle asked his captor, holding up the palm with teeth marks, now healing, as if to touch her face in a tender caress.

Caesar shrugged.

Kyle quickly lunged, grabbed Caesar’s forearm, and from kneeling position, twisted it, and heard a loud crack as the two bones shattered. He jammed the broken bones up through the man’s elbow joint and heard the scream. It echoed for several seconds throughout the warehouse.

Kyle felt the gun butt to his head the instant he saw Christy’s horrified expression, and then blackness.

Fredo sat up. “Holy shit. He just brought hell down on all of them.”

He explained what he’d heard to Cooper and Gunny. They had positioned themselves up the block so they could watch the back door with night-vision binoculars. The large warehouse/store complex was in a swale between two residential streets.

“I’m calling Timmons,” Cooper said as he got out his cell. Gunny was on his phone as well.

Fredo tried to make out muffled talking, but Kyle had apparently landed face-down and the flag microphone was buried beneath his body, the Invisio slammed against the floor. One thing was for sure, whoever Caesar was, Fredo doubted the man would ever be the same. He could hear him screaming even without the microphone. It spooked several of the homeless guys leaning up against the wall and sleeping on the ground outside the compound.

Fredo hoped Kyle had broken some body part that would permanently cripple the dude. From the screams, whatever Kyle had done didn’t sound like this type of injury could go untreated for long. Caesar would have to go to a hospital, and soon. And that would mean one less bad guy. For now.

A dark van with blackened windows pulled up and five heavy-set ex-military types got out and entered the warehouse door.

“Coop, Gunny. Get your asses over here,” Fredo said.

He directed them to leave immediately. Neither wanted to. “Look, when they find the mike, they’re going to be all over here.”