Highway to Vengeance: A Thomas Highway Thriller (19 page)

My swim out to the boat was without
confrontation, as the reinforcements were busy trying to get a
handle on the situation. More likely than not, the idea that the
escape was already underway had not yet occurred to them. By the
time they did turn their flashlights to the ocean, I was well
beyond the reach of their meager illumination.

I ditched all my weapons and the goggles
shortly after hitting the water. They had been exposed when I
jumped off the pier, and would no longer be operable after being
submerged in the salt water. I had also slipped out of the combat
vest to make the swim back to the boat easier, leaving me with only
the Glock and the two extra clips in the waterproof backpack to
defend myself if things got rough.

I didn’t foresee that happening though. So
far, the activity on the shore appeared to be confined to the
immediate vicinity of Montoya’s property, and by the time it
ventured beyond that, I would hopefully be long gone.

I reached the end of the jetty where the
lighthouse sat, swam around it, and climbed into the boat. I took
one last look around but didn’t see any activity on the shore this
side of the jetty, nor any boats on the open water, nor helicopters
overhead.

Leaving my backpack still on in case I
needed to abandon ship quickly, I started the motor, released the
anchor, and headed north.

I was about halfway back to the building
that had served as the launching point for the operation when I saw
a gaggle of four-wheel-drive vehicles speeding down a road that ran
parallel to the shore a couple hundred yards inland. I prepared to
take the boat further out to sea if they turned towards the shore,
but their destination appeared to be Montoya’s ranch, and they
passed my position without so much as a pause.

A short time later I heard a helicopter
somewhere behind me. Looking back, I saw it in the sky near
Montoya’s ranch, which was now nearly five miles away. By the time
the chopper made its way this far north—if it did at all—I would be
out of the water.

I returned my gaze forward and saw the
outline of my destination about five hundred yards away. A sense of
relief surged through me but I pushed it away. This was no time to
relax. An operation wasn’t over until you were safe at home in your
own bed—and in this case, it wasn’t even truly over then. I needed
to be on high-alert not only until I got back to the states, but
for the rest of my life. I figured I might as well start now.

With this in mind, I kept my eyes locked on
the dilapidated building as I approached. Everything appeared to be
just as I’d left it, but I decided not to take any chances. I
killed the engine about one hundred yards away from the shore to
take a closer look, more to start practicing good habits than
anything else.

With the boat riding the swell of the
ever-growing waves, I concentrated on individual sections of the
building, studying each corner, the roof, the door, the entire
perimeter, and finally the immediate area. I then de-focused my
gaze, taking in the area as a whole, searching for anything out of
the ordinary.

Nothing was out of place.

Satisfied that everything was kosher, I
leaned back and reached for the button that would re-start the
engine.

Luckily my eyes were still on the shack when
the spurt of flame appeared in the window.

The loud crack came a moment later as the
sound of the rifle shot reached me.

I fell back into the water as though I’d
been hit.

I paused for a moment in the water to gather
myself, then took a deep breath, ducked under the surface and
started swimming furiously towards open water. Approximately 30
seconds later, I came up for a breath of air, then dropped beneath
the water and again swam away from the shore. Two more times I did
this, putting as much distance between myself and the land as
possible.

I gave myself a few seconds to recover after
coming up for air the fourth time. Careful to keep only my head
above the water, I took a series of deep breaths and tried to
convince myself that I could make it to the shore without being
spotted.

I knew my odds weren’t great, but I simply
didn’t have any other options at this point. In order to have any
chance of getting over the border, I needed a car. And the only one
I knew of in the area was parked behind the shack. And as much as
I’d like to try and wait out my attackers, the longer I took
getting out of the area, the better chance there was of them—and
the car—being gone by the time I got to the shack. Or of having
some of Montoya’s men making their way this far north. Or a million
others things, none of which were good. Time was definitely not on
my side.

So I had to hurry to the shore but not move
so quickly that I made myself visible, then sneak up on the
building without being seen, and finally get the drop on whomever
was inside the building before they lit out for the
territories.

“Piece of cake,” I said aloud, but this time
I wasn’t able to fool myself. To get out of this alive, I would
need more than a bit of luck.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE

I accomplished my first goal simply by
making it to the shore without getting shot at again.

I had no idea if my attacker was still
watching the water for me, but I decided to take no chances and
assume that they were. With this in mind, I figured my best chance
of making it safely to land was to swim past the building before
turning towards the shore.

It took me a little more than three minutes
of hard swimming to pass the building, each minute made
exponentially longer by the expectation of receiving a bullet in
the brain every time I surfaced for air. But eventually I made it,
coming to ground about seventy-five yards north of the
building.

Moving as slowly as possible, I slithered up
the rocks, hoping beyond hope that the shooter was still fixated on
the ocean, or perhaps even considered me dead and was no longer
watching for me.

After clearing the water without any issues,
I pulled the Glock and the two remaining clips from the backpack. I
carefully slid one of the clips into the butt of the handgun,
flipped the safety off and quietly racked the slide. The other clip
I put in my free hand and made a fist; it wasn’t the ideal way to
carry the clip, but I had ditched all my accessories and had to
make do.

After starting the night with a backpack
full of weapons, I was down to one Glock and 32 rounds of .40
caliber ammunition. It would have to be enough.

This side of the shack had no windows, which
gave me a tiny measure of comfort. If they didn’t already have a
bead on me, they’d be unlikely to pick me up now. Of course, they
could be tracking me right now, waiting for me to get closer before
lighting me up, so as not to make the same mistake they made while
I was still on the boat. If this was the case, I was already dead,
I just didn’t know it yet.

But I shrugged off that scenario; it did no
good to dwell on the negative. If my attackers were onto me, there
was nothing I could do about it now. All I could do was finish out
my plan and hope for the best.

I started creeping along the sand towards
the abandoned building, moving slowly at first but picking up speed
as I went along; every uncontested step I took filled me with more
confidence.

And then I was alongside the building.

I took a few seconds to get my breathing
under control, then moved around until I was alongside the back
door.

From here, the wind blowing from offshore
was muted by the building. And with the walls being so thin, I
could hear muffled voices from inside.

Check that, one voice. A female voice.
Chris’s voice.

My stomach sank.

At this point I shouldn’t have been
surprised to find out she was involved. And I wasn’t, not really.
But I still felt betrayed. During our conversation on the ride
over, I’d felt like we had some kind of bond. Which was exactly the
point, now that I thought about it. Just another layer of intimacy
to keep me from seeing this coming.

Chris said a couple words I couldn’t quite
make out, then paused, then a couple more words. It sounded like
she was on a cell. Perhaps calling in the situation? Telling her
superiors that her job was done? That I was dead?

I could only hope.

And then the call was over. I heard the cell
phone snap shut and then she clearly said, “Let’s get out of
here.”

So there were two people inside.

That was all right; it didn’t change a
thing. Just one more problem to take care of. No big deal.

I positioned myself in front of the door,
took a deep breath, and kicked it in. I stepped forward. Chris was
on the left. An unfamiliar man was on her right. He was holding a
rifle. He was turning towards me. I shifted my aim and shot him
twice in the face.

I had my weapon trained on Chris before the
other person had even hit the ground. We were a little less than
fifteen feet from each other.

“Don’t fucking move,” I said.

Chris’s hands were empty, hanging down by
her side. No weapons were visible but I figured she had to be
armed. Perhaps a handgun in a holster against the small of her
back. Her mouth was teased up in a little smile but her eyes were
humorless. I knew exactly what she was thinking.

“Don’t do it,” I said.

“Do what?” Chris said.

“You know.”

Chris’s smile widened and she said, “You
mean this?” and thrust her right arm behind her back.

My instincts took over and I fired three
times, hitting her square in the chest.

Chris dropped the binoculars and took a
couple of shuffle steps backward. No longer smiling, she fell down
in a slumped position, her legs out in front of her upper body,
which was being supported by the flimsy wall of the building.

I walked over to her, knelt down, and
frisked her for weapons. She was unarmed.

“What were you reaching for?” I asked.

“Nothing,” she said. “I’m not packing.”

“Then why reach?”

“So you’d have to shoot me.”

I stood up and shook my head. She’d played
me good. So now there I was, a hundred questions on the tip of my
brain, and no time to ask them. She’d made sure of that.

Chris started to cough, a hollow, vacant
sound, punctuated with a small stream of blood leaking out of her
mouth. “Damn that hurts.”

I just stared at her.

“You look pissed,” she said.

“You’re damn right I am,” I said. “All that
shit you spewed out of your mouth on the drive over here, all that
talk about honor and courage, and the whole time you knew the
evening was supposed to end with you putting a bullet in my head.
That’s fucked up.”

“Hey, no offense, huh?” Chris said. “It was
nothing personal. You were a loose end. I was just—” she coughed
again, spitting up more blood this time. “I was just doing what I
was told.”

“By who? Pittman?”

“Who’s that?”

“You know who I’m talking about,” I
said.

“Can’t say that I do.”

“Come on, don’t give me that shit. Is
Pittman the one that gives the orders? Or is it someone else?
Someone above him?”

“You know I can’t tell you that.”

“You can do whatever you want,” I said. “You
don’t owe anyone anything.”

“Yeah, I suppose—” Chris’s chest bucked and
she coughed and more blood spewed from her mouth. “I suppose I
could tell you. But I won’t. I can’t. They’ve done too much for me
to rat them out now.”

“I could force you to talk,” I said.

“Nah . . . you don’t . . . have time,” Chris
said. Her eyes were starting to glaze over and her head lolled to
the side. Her voice had been reduced to barely above a whisper.
“I’ll be gone . . . in a couple minutes.”

She was right. I had no doubts she could
hold out until she was dead, no matter what I might do to her.
Besides, I wasn’t sure if I had the stomach to torture her. The
events of the evening had burned most of the rage from my system,
and without it, there just seemed no point.

“You’ll be gone sooner than that,” I said. I
raised the gun and pointed it at Chris’s forehead but lowered it
almost immediately.

“Just get it over with,” Chris said.

“One more question, then I will.”

“Fire away.” She barked out a soft laugh.
“No pun intended.”

“Your little story about losing a husband to
the cartels, was that real?”

“Nope. It was completely made up.”

“Why? What purpose did it serve?”

“Just another layer of incentive, in case
you lost your nerve.”

“Was that really necessary?”

“I let the others decide what’s necessary,”
she said. “I’m like you, Highway. A soldier. I just do what I’m
told.”

“I’m not a soldier. I’m a SEAL. And I don’t
do what I’m told. I do what’s right.”

“Then you’re better than me,” Chris said. By
now her voice was barely audible. “But for whatever it’s worth, I’m
sorry.”

The final, lingering vestiges of rage rushed
from my body, leaving nothing but disgust. This revenge shit was a
tired, nasty business. I just wanted to be done with it. I raised
the pistol and shot Chris in the forehead.

Once she had stopped breathing, I went over
to the table and turned on the lantern that was left over from
earlier in the evening.

I made my way back to Chris, grabbed her
flaccid body and rolled it over.

I proceeded to check her pockets, coming
away with a cell phone and a set of car keys. I took the battery
out of the phone so its location couldn’t be tracked by GPS and
stuck both it and the keys in my pocket. I then went over to the
other man.

Careful not to step in the ever-growing
puddle of blood, I went through his pockets also, just to be
thorough. He had nothing on him. No identification, no keys, no
wallet, nothing.