“Then let’s go.” She scooped it up.
“Let me hold it,” Tyler said.
“You’ve been next to it for ten minutes already.” She walked quickly toward the exit while Tyler followed carrying both lanterns. “That officer is going to be pretty surprised at what he missed.”
“We can’t tell him,” Tyler said. “If the Peruvian government finds out what we’ve done, they’ll lock us up and who knows what will happen to the xenobium.”
“What about Nana?”
“We’ll leave the pyramid open when we exit. Once Colchev finds out we have the xenobium, he’ll find us.”
They retraced their path out of the pyramid. When they reached the opening, Jess climbed out first. But before Tyler could do the same, she barreled back down the steps.
“What happened?”
“It’s them!”
“Colchev? Where?”
“At the parking area. I saw his gray hair. He’s got two men with him.”
“And Fay?”
Jess nodded. “They’ve got her, Tyler. And they’re coming this way.”
FORTY-SIX
Grant munched on a second breakfast burrito, the salsa running down his hand. From his position he had a good view of the house where they were expecting the Killswitch to arrive. The food vendor had been only too happy to rent out his truck for the day at a reasonable mark-up. Although the vehicle was closed for business, with the awning rolled up and side window closed, its familiar presence wouldn’t arouse suspicion to any occupants in the drug gang’s hideaway.
In the hour they’d been observing the home, no one had come or gone. Grant thought they might be in for a long wait, so he helped himself to the vendor’s supplies. He figured it should be included in the price.
“How can you eat that?” Morgan said with a measure of disgust on her face.
“Easy,” he said, and stuffed the rest of it in his mouth. “Best burrito I’ve had in months. Seattle isn’t known for its Tex-Mex.”
“I don’t want to think about what kind of meat that is.”
“Doesn’t matter. My stomach’s like an iron cauldron.” He wiped his hands on a paper towel. “This was a great idea, if I do say so myself.”
“I won’t be able to get the smell of taco sauce out of my hair for weeks.”
Grant rubbed his bald head. “You could always try my hairstyle.”
“It wouldn’t look as good on me.”
“Why, Agent Bell, is that a compliment?”
She snorted in feigned exasperation, but she also turned red. Grant smiled. It seemed like he was starting to make an impression.
A van approaching from the opposite direction slowed to turn onto the side street where the house sat.
Grant and Morgan donned their goggles. Bright red crosshairs bloomed on the back of the van.
“We have a winner,” Grant said.
The gate to the house slid aside, and the garage door opened. The van pulled inside, and the door closed behind it.
Morgan took off the goggles and radioed Benitez. “That’s our van. The explosives are in the house.”
“We’re ready to move in.”
“Remember, no one touches the explosives except us. When the house is secure, Westfield and I will take possession of the explosives and bring the couriers into custody.”
“Understood. We move in two minutes.”
“Copy that.”
They weren’t going for subtlety in this operation. Two tactical teams would approach the house, one from the front and one from the back to make sure no one escaped. Everyone on the team had gas masks. Benitez had wanted to use concussion grenades for the breach, but Morgan was afraid of damaging the Killswitch, so she insisted on tear-gas grenades instead, telling him that the explosives might be detonated by the concussive blast.
Three men would cover the garage door in case the targets attempted to escape in the van. The rest of them would go through the front door, prepared to shoot anyone who resisted.
Once they found the Killswitch, Benitez would provide escort back to the American border, where they would secure the weapon until the Air Force could arrange for protective transport back to Wright-Patterson.
Grant squeezed into his ballistic vest and put his helmet on over his mask. Morgan did the same.
“You don’t have to go in with us,” she said, her voice muffled.
“You think I’m going to wait in the truck?” Grant said.
“I dragged you along on this. It’s not your job.”
“Morgan, I’ve done this kind of raid dozens of times in Iraq and Afghanistan. If there’s a better way to get the adrenaline pumping, I don’t know what it is.”
“You enjoy this?”
“You don’t?”
“Flying does it for me.”
“Taking down bad guys does it for me.”
“If that’s true, why aren’t you still in the Army?”
“Because I hate sleeping in barracks and eating MREs.” There was a lot more to it than that, but Grant wasn’t going to go into the details now.
Benitez’s voice came through the radio. “We’re set to move in, Agent Bell.”
“Ready here,” she said.
“Do not get out of the truck until my unit is deployed.”
“Understood.”
Grant positioned himself at the food truck’s rear door, his M4 assault rifle at the ready. Morgan checked her own weapon twice. Her breathing quickened to the point that she sounded like Darth Vader hyperventilating.
“Have you ever done this before?” Grant asked.
She hesitated for a moment, then shook her head. “Only in simulations.”
Grant fell back on his days as a sergeant leading soldiers fresh out of boot camp into battle.
“Remember to verify your targets before firing. This probably won’t take more than thirty seconds, but if it does, things will get confusing fast. Stay with me and you’ll be okay.”
She gave him a thumbs-up with a rock-steady hand, and her breathing slowed.
The tactical team’s truck sped past them, its tires squealing as it came to a stop in front of the house. Men in full assault gear spilled from the rear.
“That’s our cue,” Grant said, and threw open the back door.
He ran at top speed around the corner until he was in the shelter of the massive black truck, Morgan on his heels the whole way. He took up a position next to Captain Benitez, who gave a command in Spanish.
A policeman took aim with the grenade launcher. With a thud, the tear-gas grenade shot across the fence and through the front window with a perfect bulls-eye.
That’s when all hell broke loose.
As smoke billowed from the target house, a hail of gunfire rained down from the homes to the left and right of it, taking out two of the policemen in the first few seconds.
The police opened up, and the neighborhood was instantly transformed into a war zone.
Grant saw a face appear in the window to his left. He took aim and fired. For a soldier trained to hit targets at over two hundred yards without a scope, the distance to the neighboring house across the street was practically point-blank range. The man’s head disappeared in a red mist.
Morgan fired her own weapon, but Grant didn’t take the time to see if she hit anything.
Bullets from high-powered rifles continued to slam into the tactical vehicle. The armor would protect them, but Grant knew that some of these drug cartels carried heavy weaponry like rocket-propelled grenades. If they used one of those, the situation would deteriorate quickly.
More gunfire erupted from the back of the three houses. Benitez yelled at his men in Spanish. Grant hoped he was telling them to fire gas at the other houses because if they stayed out here much longer, they’d be cut to ribbons.