Dead Heat (39 page)

Michael shrugged. “Just another place for the guards. There’s a bathroom in there. A kitchen. They don’t stay there. Jaime stays there when he comes, but he doesn’t come much. Other men I don’t know.”

“Communications?” Kane asked his team.

“There’s a generator,” Blitz said. “We take that out, we take out their communications. Radios work, no cell coverage out here. Don’t know what else they might have, we couldn’t get that close.”

“Blitz, you take the generator. Skipper, you take out the drunk guards. Sean, you stay with Michael here”—he pointed to a far-south structure—“until Lucy and I disable the patrol. On my signal, you and Michael breach the prison while Lucy and I secure the unknown subject in this small shack. If I were holding a fed, that’s where I’d keep him.” He pointed to what Sean thought of as Jaime’s house. “Once we’re clear, we’ll back you up with the boys.”

“If he’s there,” Sean said, “there’d be more guards.”

Kane caught his eye, but Sean couldn’t tell whether he agreed or not. Then Kane turned to Michael.

“You need to tell your brothers to be quiet and we’ll get them out. Tell them whatever you need to—they have to be completely silent.”

Michael nodded.

Blitz said, “The patrol has stopped outside the western barracks.”

“What’s there?” Kane asked.

“Best we could tell it was empty. Had some beds, chains, a kitchen. An office, which is locked. New lock. Could be where they’re holding the fed.”

That meant there were two potential places for them to hold Donnelly.

“But no additional security,” Kane said.

“I can get in,” Sean said.

“Negative,” Kane said. “First, get to the boys. Lucy and I will cover the shack and the empty barracks. Understood?”

“You’re the boss,” Sean said.

“Glad we’re clear on that,” Kane said, catching Sean’s eye. “Let’s do it.”

They used the cover of night to come down from the hill, all six of them in black. Sean kept his senses focused on Michael, even though he could barely see the boy running low next to him.

Sean held Michael back at the southern structure while Lucy and Kane moved ahead. There were dim lights coming from makeshift light posts, bare bulbs hung on wires. The low grumble of an old generator to the west was the only sound. No television, no music, no traffic. The patrol weren’t even talking to each other, just smoking their cigarettes, the tobacco mixed with sweat filling his nose.

He put his hand on Michael’s shoulder to make him stop moving. The kid looked at Sean. Sean put his finger to his lips and Michael nodded.

They stayed against the wall of the decrepit building. Sean feared leaning on it would cause it to fall down, though the winds and storms that came through the desert told him the buildings would stand up. Appearances were deceiving, and not just in people.

And he waited, watching Kane and Lucy from his peripheral vision.

Kane and Lucy approached the guards from behind. Kane hit the larger guard between the shoulder blades and he went down to his knees. Immediately, Kane kicked his feet out from under him, grabbed the rifle, and hit the guard on the head.

Simultaneously Lucy did the same on the smaller guard. He dropped his weapon and Lucy kicked it away, then kicked him in the ass to keep him down. He wasn’t unconscious, and cried out once in pain. Kane hit him with the butt of the other guard’s gun and he went silent.

Sean listened for movement of other guards, an alarm of any kind, but heard nothing. They were on the far end of the complex and the one pained shout may not have been noticed, even in the still night. Or Skipper had already taken out both sleeping guards.

Lucy and Kane went directly to Jaime’s shack, while Sean took Michael to the main two-story building, the prison. He picked the lock without trouble and they slipped inside.

The overwhelming scent of feces, urine, and blood hit Sean like a hammer. A lone, bare bulb in the small entry illuminated the packed-dirt floor and crumbling walls. The ceiling was low—Sean was only an inch over six feet but he had to duck his head to get through the archway that led to a narrow hall.

There were no sounds inside at first, nothing that told Sean that there was anyone in the building. He stopped, listened … heard breathing. A quiet murmuring, as if someone was trying not to cry.

Sean turned on his small flashlight and kept it dim in one hand, his gun in the other. If there were more than four guards, he didn’t want to alert them, but he needed to see. Michael pointed to the right and Sean followed the boy’s direction.

Then he smelled death.

He turned his light to the left and quickly turned it away. Little bodies, laid out on the filthy floor, flies buzzing. He’d seen the reflection of the dead eyes in the brief flash of light.

So had Michael.

“No,” Michael said.

“Shh. Some are alive. We’ll help them.”

Michael groaned, a wholly unnatural sound, and pushed past Sean toward a rickety flight of stairs. Sean followed, the wood steps creaking under his weight.

“Kevin,” Michael said in a loud whisper. “Paolo.”

“Michael?” a small voice said.

“Yes, it’s me. Shh.”

“He said you were dead. It’s been so long.”

“Kevin, I brought help.”

The cage Michael stood in front of was locked. Seven boys huddled in the corner with dirty blankets in a prison that reeked with more than the dead and dying. He held his flashlight between his teeth and picked this lock, though it took longer than it should. Rage filled him, so primal and violent that Sean’s hands shook.

The boy called Kevin walked over and took Michael’s hand through the bars. “You said you would come back and you did. They made us—they made us—” He started to cry, soundlessly.

“Don’t,” Michael said. “Don’t think about it. We have a safe place.” Michael looked at Sean. “A way out.”

Sean told the boys, “You must be completely quiet.”

They stared at him, all seven of the boys. Michael didn’t. Michael was looking at the boys. “Where’s Tommy?”

Kevin blinked back tears and shook his head.

A cry vibrated deep in Michael’s throat.

“Michael,” Sean said sternly. “I need your help.”

The boy’s fists clenched and unclenched. Sean popped the lock. “Kevin, get everyone in a line. Follow me out. Michael, take the rear, okay?”

Michael didn’t move.

Sean grabbed his arm, hard enough to cause pain. “Michael. Focus.”

Rage filled Michael’s eyes as he glared at Sean. Sean felt the same way, but he controlled it because he had to, for all of them. But this boy wanted to hurt someone, and Sean was there. Michael punched him in the stomach, but Sean tightened his abs in time to take the impact. It still smarted.

“Save the living,” Sean said. “If you don’t do this, they will all die.”

He grunted, in pain and anger and deep despair. Tears dampened his eyes, then were gone.

Michael motioned for the seven boys to exit. One was seriously limping, dragging his foot. Sean took a quick look: There was dried blood that had virtually glued his old jeans to his leg. The boy winced when Sean touched his ankle, but didn’t cry out. A bandanna was tied around the injury.

A boy whispered, “They shot Tito last week.”

Last week? And left him in here bleeding? The boy was hot to the touch: The wound was infected. He’d been shot and left without medical attention.

Sean felt the same rage he’d seen in Michael. And pride. The boy was brave beyond anyone Sean had met. Fourteen months he’d lived in hell and he hadn’t broken. He’d been free, but had come back. For these kids. His brothers. Knowing he would most likely die, he came back anyway.

Sean picked up Tito; he weighed no more than sixty pounds and felt like bones and skin and not much else. They went down the stairs, slowly.

Gunfire erupted outside and the boys stopped, some crying out, some crouching. Sean stopped at the door but didn’t dare go out. He said into the radio. “Status?”

More gunfire was the response.

CHAPTER 33

Lucy shot the guard three times center mass and he went down, but not before he got off a shot. It grazed her arm, burning her flesh. She grimaced and swallowed a cry of pain.

She and Kane took refuge in the small shack west of where Sean and Michael were with an unknown number of boys.

“How many?” Kane asked.

“I saw three. They came from the village.”

He nodded at her arm. “How serious?”

“Not bad. Cover me.” She put her gun down, pulled out her knife and sliced a strip off the hem of her shirt. She tied it around her upper arm, as a tourniquet, using her free hand and her teeth. “Flesh wound.”

She picked her gun back up and slung the rifle she’d taken from the guard over her shoulder. Kane had watched her dress her wound without expression.

“What?” she asked.

“Competent first aid.” That was the extent of his compliment. “There’s going to be more. The village is seven minutes by car. We need to go.”

They hadn’t found Brad. There was no evidence that he’d been here, but there was evidence that someone had been in the shack recently. A small ice chest still had melting ice. It couldn’t have been there all day. A well-dressed man? Jaime Sanchez? Doubtful. Trejo himself? Would he come here? Michael said it was rare.

Kane was eyeing the status in the courtyard. “I see two. They have a radio. We need to take them simultaneously.”

“Understood.”

“Thirty yards. Can you do that?”

She took the gun off her back. “Yes.

They positioned themselves. Kane said, “They’re at two o’clock. You take the one on the left, I’ll take the one on the right. On three.”

One. Two.

Three.

Kane opened the door and Lucy immediately took the shot. The gun jerked to the left, and she only winged the subject, but compensated for the recoil and fired two more rounds, both hitting the man’s chest. Kane took out his target with a single shot to the head.

Her adrenaline was pumping, but she felt nothing. Maybe fear, but no remorse. And even the fear was buried. She was cold. How could she kill without feeling anything?

Kill or be killed.

They’d been confronted with a threat. They reacted. It was as simple as that.

Why did she think her life could be simple again?

Who are you fooling, Lucia? Your life hasn’t been simple since the day your nephew was murdered when you were seven. And it got even more complicated after being raped and your vengeance against that bastard.

Kane was talking into his radio. She couldn’t hear whoever responded, but Kane told her, “All buildings are empty. We need to go.”

They ran out of the shack and toward the prison. Sean wasn’t standing outside. Kane said into his radio, “Sean, status?”

A moment later he said to Lucy, “He’s just inside the door. One boy isn’t mobile.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Lucy saw a figure run along the perimeter. She raised her rifle, and Kane batted the barrel down. “That’s Blitz. I’ll cover. Get the boys.”

Lucy hesitated only a second. Would she have shot him without knowing if he was a threat or a friend? She hoped not, but she didn’t know. She was operating on instincts, and she wasn’t certain hers were as finely tuned as they needed to be.

She knocked on the door. “It’s me.”

Sean opened it. The foul smells rolled out with the boys. He was carrying a child who couldn’t have been more than ten.

“Move,” Kane said.

Six boys, all barefoot, followed Sean out. Lucy looked. “Where’s Michael?” she asked.

“Rear,” Sean said.

He wasn’t. The last boy exited and it wasn’t Michael.

Lucy ran into the building.

“Get back here!” Kane ordered.

Lucy ignored him. She called out as loud as she dared, “Michael!”

No answer.

The smell hit her again. This time it wasn’t just urine and feces; it was decomp. There was a dead body in here, and had been for days.

She rounded the corner and saw Michael standing in the middle of not one dead body, but many. She shined her flashlight over the carnage. Five bodies, all boys, all young and malnourished. From the stains in the dirt, and the wounds on their small bodies, they’d been shot multiple times, right here. Right where they fell.

“Michael, we have to go,” Lucy said. “Now.”

He didn’t budge. He stared at them, frozen. Shock or fear, she didn’t know. She squatted next to him and spun him around. He was so cold.

“Listen to me, Michael! We must leave or those seven boys you rescued will all die. Do you understand me?”

He stared at her, his eyes as cold as his skin. She shook him once, hard. “Michael!”

He nodded.

She still had to half drag him out of the building, as if his feet wouldn’t obey his will. Or maybe he really didn’t want to go. Survivor’s guilt was powerful.

I should have been here. I should have died with them.

He would feel that, the pain and the guilt that he’d survived. There was no unseeing what they’d seen.

She stepped out and someone grabbed her. But she immediately knew it was Kane by the way he smelled, even though she couldn’t see anything in the dark.

“I ordered everyone to leave. We can’t go the same way.”

“Why?”

“There’re two trucks coming our way. We’re going to create a distraction. I already set the charges; we need to run.”

He turned to Michael. “Stay with me or they will kill you.”

“Yes, sir,” Michael whispered.

Kane looked over his head at Lucy. “Follow my lead.”

*   *   *

Sean hadn’t wanted to leave. Kane ordered him to, and Sean opened his mouth to tell him to fuck off. But Kane was right—if he and the boys stayed while Lucy searched for Michael, they would all die.

Still, leaving Lucy behind was the hardest thing Sean ever had to do. If it was anyone but Kane, he wouldn’t have left.

He, Blitz, and Skipper took the seven boys back to the jeep. From their vantage point in the low hills where they’d hidden the vehicle, Sean saw a caravan of trucks moving in from the town to the prison. His stomach twisted in knots at the thought of Lucy being gunned down. Or captured. Tortured and raped and killed.