Friendly Fire (The Echo Platoon Series, Book 3) (32 page)

The
capo
's harsh voice wrested her attention to where he stood behind a pillar barking into his cellphone to someone on the outside.

"
Apúrate
," she heard him say before he put his phone away.

Hurry
,
she interpreted. Hurry? And suddenly, she knew—the bastard had help coming.

Defeat crushed her with a weight that spelled finality. She looked over at him, stupefied by the extent of his malevolence. His attention had fallen upon the man on whose toe Jeremiah had operated, César's brother.

As she watched, he withdrew the pistol he'd just fired at Noah. Advancing a round, he pointed it at the invalid, and shot him at point-blank range without any provocation whatsoever. The body gave a jerk within the hammock's folds and then went limp.

Sammy flinched at the sudden discharge, and Emma blocked her view while averting her horrified gaze from the violent vignette—proof of the
capo
's absolute depravity. A high-pitched ringing filled her ears. Spots rose and burst before her eyes.

Doom descended on her in a dark cloud. No way in hell could this situation end well. Despite Jeremiah's counsel to think positively, all she could foresee from her present vantage was more death. The power of a positive mindset couldn't begin to scratch the surface of evil this complete.

Truth was, life was a game of absolute chance, and the human heart had no control over how the dice fell. From her parents' death to Eddie's desertion, she had learned that lesson the hard way. Jeremiah had tried convincing her otherwise, but from what she could tell, positivity didn't stand a chance—especially not in this place and not tonight. One or all of them was going to end up dead.

But not Sammy—please, God!

* * *

"Master Chief!"

Hack's urgent voice cut through the discussion taking place about viable ways to subdue the tangos without imperiling the hostages. Jeremiah straightened off the wall he'd been leaning against.

"Go ahead, Hack," Kuzinsky said.

"OGA reports two armored police trucks just smashed through their checkpoint, and they're headed in this direction!"

Ominous silence filled Jeremiah's earpiece. His heart began to double-time.

"Could be the law responding to reports of gunfire," Kuzinsky proposed. "We could use their help."

"Not a good idea," Tristan interjected. "The detective in Playa del Carmen said the police chief here is dirty."

"That's affirmative," Jeremiah piped in. "I overheard a
narco
say pretty much the same thing. Local law enforcement's been helping these SOBs."

Sirens, wailing loudly and getting closer, became audible.

"Sonofabitch," Kuzinksy swore on a note of incredulity. "Fuck! I think
El Cuchillo
's about to get sprung by the local police. Hack, tell the OGA to move in closer. Don't they have eyes in the sky that can stop those trucks? Second squad, retreat to the rear. Tristan, cover me."

Jeremiah started to back toward the rear of the building. But then, curious to see what Master Chief was doing that required being covered, he doubled back and saw Kuzinsky rolling from one vehicle to the next, slashing tires. The tangos wouldn't get far in any of their own cars.

With every passing second, the sirens grew louder.

"They're almost here, Master Chief," he warned over his headset.

The sirens went suddenly quiet. In their stead came the roar of powerful engines.

* * *

Oh, shit
. The realization that two emergency vehicles were barreling up the road in her direction turned Juliet's mouth dry. If she stayed put much longer, she'd be caught in the glare of their headlights. If she darted into the yard, she'd probably be spotted by the SEALs. Maybe if they recognized her, they'd withhold their fire?

Whipping the hat off her head, she sprinted into the open gate, breaking right toward the first object to offer cover. No one shot at her. No one even shouted for her to halt. She slipped into a crevice between the object and the wall, identifying it as an old, steel sign, propped on one end, just large enough for a child—or woman—to hide behind.

In the next instant, headlights brightened the street outside, then strafed the inner wall of the factory complex as first one armored vehicle and then another swerved through the open gate and slid to a stop. The SEAL she'd glimpsed earlier rolled out from under the van where he was hiding and darted out of sight on the far side of the building.

Juliet studied the newcomers. Had the CIA arrived to lend a hand?

With a loud clang, a pair of searchlights popped on, adding to the brilliance of the headlights as they panned the yard, pausing over the dead bodies while searching for the shooters.

"
Policía
!" barked a voice over a loudspeaker, providing Juliet an answer.
Not CIA.
Detective Canché had warned them that the police chief in Mérida had been bought off by the outlaws. Perhaps this was he, commanding the shooters to lay down their weapons and surrender. They would be shot on sight, he promised, if they did not submit.

She grimaced and made herself even smaller. No doubt they would be shot if they
did
submit. Gulping down her heart, which seemed to have taken up residence in her throat, she shrank into her hiding place, praying for protection.

* * *

Jeremiah heard the doors of the armored trucks clang open. Booted feet hit the ground. The police had arrived in force to help
El Cuchillo
make his getaway. They would eventually make their way around the building, where second squad had two options for escape—either go up and over the formidable wall, or climb the lines used by first squad and escape to the rooftop.

"First squad," Master Chief spoke in his quietest voice to the men inside. "I need a man on the roof to drop us a couple of lines."

Yes, the second option made more sense.

"I'm on it," Bronco replied.

A second later, the end of a black nylon rope slapped the ground next to Jeremiah's feet. He could sense the police making their way cautiously around the building. He would have to climb the rope quickly, taking it with him, to avoid being spotted.

The sudden explosion of a grenade detonating in the yard spiked his adrenaline.

Now what?
Jeremiah wondered. But then he realized that the CIA had arrived per the SEALs' request—just in time to hamper the corrupt police chief's rescue efforts. His thoughts went to Emma and Sammy as a woman's cry penetrated the windows of the building. Not Emma, he decided with only the smallest bit of relief.

Haiku startled him as he crept up from behind.

"You go first," Jeremiah said, offering him the rope.

With spider-like speed, the Japanese-American SEAL ascended the line, hand over hand. Jeremiah watched him hook a leg over the ledge and disappear. It was his turn, only he couldn't bring himself to retreat—not when
El Cuchillo
was poised to leave the building taking Emma and Sammy with him.

"Bullfrog, let's go." It was Bronco, watching from up on the roof.

"I can't. Sorry, Master Chief but if Emma's downstairs I need to stay here. Cover me, brother," he requested of Bronco, abandoning the rope and putting his back to the wall instead. He started inching his way toward the yard again.

"You stay the
hell
out of sight, Bullfrog," Master Chief bit out, clearly angry that his orders were being ignored.

Thoop. Thoop
. Bronco took out two policemen creeping toward him.

Jeremiah flattened himself against the shadows, his heart pounding. "Sure thing, Master Chief," he replied, pushing forward.

Arriving at the corner of the building, he was heartened to see the police chief's forces sandwiched between the CIA, who lobbed grenades at them from out on the street, and the SEALs, who rained gunfire down from the roof. Bodies of uniformed policemen hit the ground next to those of the dead
narcos
. The explosions kept the policemen from advancing any farther. One of the armored trucks caught on fire before Jeremiah's satisfied eyes.

Just then, the loudspeaker, though barely audible over the noise of the battle, crackled and a voice instructed the police to cover the
capo
's exit. Jeremiah halted at the corner of the building, risking the bullets that peppered the cinderblock and kicked up dirt at his feet to peer around the corner. This was it.

Sure enough, two of
El Cuchillo'
s goons emerged from the front of the building, one firing out at the CIA, the other up at the roof. Suddenly, the
capo
himself appeared, though he wasn't alone.

Jeremiah's heart stopped beating at the sight of Sammy Albright squirming in the
capo
's grasp while he struggled to carry her high in his arms, shielding the front of his body with hers, while also holding the knife that had given him his fearful reputation against her throat. Emma, whose hands were bound by a short length of rope to his left elbow, shuffled next to him, protecting his left flank while Katherine, similarly bound, protected his right.

Jeremiah shouldered his rifle, preparing to shoot if at all possible. "Filthy coward," he muttered, unfazed by the bullets whizzing past his ears and embedding themselves everywhere but in him.

"OGA, hold your fire," Kuzinsky said to the allies outside the wall. He, like Jeremiah, knew that
El Cuchillo
was the CIA's primary target. They had no compunction about killing the women if that's what it took to stop the drug lord.

Jeremiah's finger flexed over his trigger. "Bronco!" he raged, praying his best friend had a bead on the top of
El Cuchillo's
head.

"Can't take the shot, brother," Bronco apologized. "It'll go right through him to the kid."

"Shoot the tires on the truck, at least."

"Won't make any difference," he replied tautly. "Master Chief, the CIA's got a sniper with an RPG. I can see him from here. If that truck drives away, they're going to blow it up."

Jeremiah felt all the blood drain from his head. In three steps, the
capo
would be inside the armored truck. And as soon as it reached the clear street, the CIA would fire a rocket propelled grenade right into the gas tank. No way in hell would they let this drug lord get away a second time. Sammy and Emma would be killed instantly, collateral damage in this filthy war—and his promise to them shattered.

A bead of sweat rolled down his temple. He would rather risk them getting shot. If they went with
El Cuchillo
, they were dead anyway.

"Take your aim, then," Kuzinsky replied. "Just be careful."

Jeremiah put his crosshairs on the back of a man standing in his way. Before he could even squeeze the trigger, a shot rang out from within the yard and the man in front of
El Cuchillo
toppled. The rest of his men, as jumpy as cats around snakes, swiveled and fired back.

A head of blond hair disappeared beneath the Fanta sign. Astonishment rooted Jeremiah briefly. Was that Juliet?

Ping, ping, ping, pyong!
Bullets ricocheted off the sign she hid behind, as
El Cuchillo
's men retaliated. In their distraction, they shifted and turned sideways, providing Jeremiah the window he'd been waiting for. He pulled the trigger, sending two bullets streaking through the ranks of the
capo'
s bodyguards and slamming into the drug lord's kidneys.

El Cuchillo
pitched forward, spilling Sammy onto the backs of the men in front of him and dragging Emma and Katherine to the ground.

With the hostages out of the line of fire, the CIA and then the SEALs rained bullets fore and aft on anyone still standing. The armored truck took off without warning, backing up with its rear doors still swinging, through the open gate. Once on the street, it reversed direction and took off. The CIA sniper launched his RPG. With a high-speed hiss, it pursued the truck. Somewhere down the street, the vehicle detonated in a ball of fire tall enough to be seen within the yard.

A cheer went up amidst the CIA contingent, but the SEALs kept quiet.

Bolting from the side of the building, Jeremiah raced through the yard of dead men to collide with Juliet as they both skidded next to their loved ones in the soft dirt.

"Emma! Sammy! Are you okay?" she cried, helping both of them to sit up.

A glance at
El Cuchillo
confirmed that he was already dead, or nearly so. Katherine, caught beneath his body, was sobbing hysterically. Jeremiah rolled the
capo
off her.

Cautious of the bodies strewn around them, he kept a sharp eye out for survivors capable of firing another round until Tristan jogged up to them breathing heavily. With him keeping sharp watch, Jeremiah withdrew the knife from his boot and sliced through the rope that still bound Emma and Katherine to the
capo
.

"Back into the building," he ordered when they were free. "Helo's on the way."

Helping a wobbly Emma to her feet, Jeremiah searched her profile while Tristan aided Katherine and Juliet gathered Sammy close.

"I got you, English. Can you walk?" he asked, though he was itching to sweep her up into his arms and carry her.

Her only answer was a faint nod.