He worried for a second that maybe they had missed the other hostage in the house, and he didn’t want that on his conscience. If Ritchie had been there, he would have told Crocker not to torture himself with what-ifs. Something like: Do what you can, boss, and move on.
The horse reared as the roof and second floor of the house collapsed, releasing a tremendous cloud of embers. Crocker ran his hand along its neck and tried to calm it down.
Sensitive creatures. There was nothing he could think of to do now but try to get out alive. Remounting, he considered the ride back to the Tapachula airstrip, where Jenson waited. As far as he knew, there was only one road back, and that would be teeming with Federales.
With no appetite for a stint in a Mexican prison or worse, he considered alternatives. The idea struck him that it might be better to have Jenson and his men fly the Gulfstream and pick them up here. That way they could get the hell out of Mexico and find medical attention for the Clark woman in another country.
He’d been so focused on keeping her alive and getting her out of the house, he didn’t even ask her about her daughter. He steered the galloping horse wide of the burning house and out the gate. It was breathing hard, and its back and sides were covered with a foamy sweat, so he stopped.
Without a headset or cell phone, he had no way to communicate with anyone.
A pair of headlights flickered twice from behind some thick foliage to his right. Crocker slid off, patted the horse, and tied it to a tree. Frogs and cicadas croaked loudly around him. He made out Mancini sitting in the passenger seat of the pickup, adjusting the sight on his MP7. Akil stood beside the Explorer, parked behind the pickup.
“Where’s Suárez?” Crocker asked.
“He’s in the back of the pickup with Mrs. Clark,” Mancini answered.
“She okay?”
“Breathing and alert.”
Crocker found Gomez behind the wheel of the Explorer, looking like he was about to jump out of his skin.
“I want you to call Jenson and tell him to meet us here,” Crocker said, leaning in the window.
“How’s he going to do that?”
“He’s gonna get in the goddamn plane and have the pilot land it on the landing strip behind that wall.”
“That’s a crazy idea.”
“Maybe. But it’s the only way this is gonna work.” He pointed past the fence behind him. “Give him the approximate location. Tell him we’ll light the runway up if he needs us to.”
“Bad idea.”
“Why?”
“The Mexicans are gonna get here first.”
“Call him.”
“I don’t think-”
“Give me the fucking cell phone and I’ll do it myself.”
Gomez acquiesced and dialed. Crocker meantime instructed Akil to see if there was another gate to the property closer to the landing strip. Then he went to check on the woman sitting up in the back of the pickup still wrapped in the bedcover.
Suárez knelt beside her, relating a story about his grandfather’s involvement in the Bay of Pigs invasion in Cuba.
“You okay?” Crocker asked, leaning over the side of the truck and feeling along her neck for her pulse, which was strong but quite a bit faster than normal.
“My throat and chest hurt, but I’m better,” the woman answered. “Did you find my daughter?”
“We’re still looking, ma’am.” Crocker used the back of his hand to wipe sweat and blood from his forehead. “When’s the last time you saw her?”
“Yesterday, or the day before. I lost track of time.”
“Here at this house?”
“I’m not sure. I was drugged.”
Her pupils were dilated and her skin felt hot.
“You warm enough, ma’am? You need water?”
“Suárez’s been taking good care of me.”
“Any difficulty breathing?”
“Not really.”
“If Suárez’s boring you, tell him to shut up. We’ll have you out of here soon.”
Akil clipped the lock on the rusted gate at the other end of the property, then waved them in. They entered, the pickup first, then the Explorer. Crocker instructed Gomez and Mancini to park the vehicles inside the hangar; then he returned the horse to the stables. From outside the little terminal building they watched the first of two fire trucks enter through the main gate.
“Lousy-as-shit response time,” Mancini announced.
The house was now a pile of smoldering embers.
Following the firefighters came the Federales in two pickups, an armored personnel carrier, and a jeep.
Crocker said, “Everybody stand on the other side of the building so we can’t be seen.”
They were approximately two hundred yards from the main gate, but he didn’t want to take any chances. “No lights, no loud noises or sudden movements. Akil and Manny, you keep an eye on the Federales and form a perimeter.”
“Sure, boss.”
Gomez’s cell phone lit up. It was Jenson. Gomez said, “Yes, sir. Tell us what you want us to do. We’re ready.”
Crocker grabbed him by the elbow. “What’d he say?”
In the distance, the Mexicans were inspecting the bodies on the driveway. Red-and-blue lights flashed across the trees and sky.
“They’re following the Coatan River, direction east-northeast, and are approximately five minutes away,” Gomez reported.
“Tell him to stay on the line. They might not be able to see the airstrip through the smoke. Tell the pilot to keep an eye out for the fire trucks and flashing lights.”
“I’ll tell him.”
“Where’s Suárez?” Crocker asked.
Mancini nodded toward the hangar. “He’s inside with Mrs. Clark, keeping her company.”
“Good.”
He borrowed Akil’s NVGs and watched from the corner of the hangar as two more truckloads of Federales arrived. They stood in a clump inside the front gate near a firefighter in yellow who was pointing out positions throughout the property.
Then a group of black-uniformed Federales hopped into one of the black pickups and drove past the far side of the house. Crocker watched headlights wash the back fence, then inch along the back of the estate and turn left. It would be only a matter of minutes before the Federales reached them. He didn’t want to risk another gun battle, or the possibility of Mrs. Clark’s being seized again.
Still, he did a quick inventory and found that all that remained were three partially filled mags for the MP7s, four handguns with one mag each, one M870 shotgun with four buckshot shells, and three percussion grenades.
Hearing footsteps, he turned and saw Gomez hurrying toward him and pointing at the sky.
“Here they come!”
“Tell Suárez and Mrs. Clark. Get everyone ready and meet in front of the shack.”
Seconds later, he heard a roar. Then the wing lights of the Gulfstream IV came on, illuminating the haze over the runway.
Crocker was sure that the Federales had spotted the plane already, and he saw the concerned expression on Mancini’s face. To his left, Mrs. Clark slowly walked out of the hangar, wearing a pair of men’s overalls and leaning on Suárez’s shoulder.
“Where’s the pickup?” he whispered to Mancini.
Mancini pointed over his right shoulder at headlights near the pool cabanas, approximately seventy-five yards away.
“This is gonna be close.”
“Real tight.”
They watched the Gulfstream land, race toward the end of the runway, brake, turn, and taxi toward them. Fortunately, the Mexicans were passing behind the cabanas and not in a position to fire at it yet. Since the plane had landed north to south and turned around, when it taxied to take off, it would be traveling north and away from the truckload of Federales.
Crocker calculated they would never be able to board everyone in time.
Turning to Gomez, he said, “Tell the pilot to keep the engines running. Tell him the enemy is on our tail, so we have to make this super-quick.”