“I, like, vote no, dudes,” Ziggy said as Nancy squirmed in his arms, trying to bite his face.
“This is a military operation,” the General said. “Hippy votes don’t count.”
“Like, bummer, man.” Ziggy kissed Nancy.
“Anyone who wants in, say aye.” The General looked at his men.
“Aye!” said Private Foxtrot. No one else said a word. “Come on, guys,” the private pleaded. “Think of all the sweet stuff we can buy with the money. ATVs, grenade launchers, bass boats with machine guns…”
“I’m in,” said Fire Team Leader Charlie. He kicked at Private Zulu.
“Me, too,” said Zulu reluctantly.
“I’ll go,” said Fire Team Leader Alpha. “Someone has to keep an eye on Private Foxtrot.” The private gave his Team Leader a high five.
“Well,” the General said. “That means it’s up to Fire Team Bravo. What’ll it be?”
“Why not?” said Fire Team Leader Bravo. “How hard could it be?”
“Sure,” added Private Tango. “You guys need me.” The General beamed as he looked around the room at his men.
“This is going to be epic, men,” General X-Ray said proudly. “Why, if we pull this off, I’m pretty sure National Geographic will want to make a documentary about it. It’ll be bigger than when they raised the Titanic.”
“When should we head out, General?” Private Zulu asked.
“Immediately. We’ll use the cover of darkness to our advantage.”
“You sure that’s a good idea?” Fire Team Leader Alpha asked. “I mean, what if we run into those dogs again?”
“Don’t worry, Team Leader — I’m pretty sure those things don’t see well at night.”
• • •
Barquero made his way down several flights of stairs, stopping occasionally to listen for sounds. He swapped out his pistol’s magazine. One flight of stairs below him, a metal deck opened up. Fluorescent light came from below. The sound of men working came from below the platform. Barquero silently made his way down. Below him was a sprawling space filled with machinery and chemical containers. At the far end of the cavernous room, men wearing chemical suits worked to move materials from a freight elevator into the laboratory. Mixed with the slight buzzing of the light panels in the ceiling was the faint sound of the massive system venting air to the outside. Barquero used stacks of crates that were being stored on the platform to move unseen to a position overlooking the middle of the room. Peering down, he could see the Padre. He was talking to a man wearing a dark tracksuit, open at the neck. A thick metal chain hung from the neck of the stocky man. A large bodyguard stood behind him. A pistol hung from a shoulder harness the guard wore over his shirt. He wasn’t trying to conceal the weapon in any way.
“It wasn’t just the drugs that didn’t arrive,” the man with a heavy Eastern European accent said to the Padre. “I want my cars.”
“Yuri, calm down,” the Padre said. “I know you’re upset. I am, too. The incident at the harbor was only a minor inconvenience. I’ll replace the merchandise. You’re not the only one who lost something. I lost an entire container ship. They’re not easy to replace.”
“If we were in the Ukraine right now, you’d be a dead man.”
“Yuri.” The Padre’s demeanor suddenly became ice cold. “Don’t threaten me.” Two of the Padre’s men with AK-47s took a step forward and stood by the Padre. “You’ll get your product and your goddamn cars. But don’t you ever threaten me.” The Padre stared straight into the gangster’s eyes. “Ever.” Yuri looked around the facility as rest of the Padre’s men quit what they were doing and watched the two notorious drug moguls face off. “Back to work!” the Padre yelled. His men immediately complied. “Like I said, I don’t go back on a deal with a partner. And I promise you want to be a partner with me on this one.” The Padre motioned to the massive meth lab being assembled around them. “Once this is complete, I’ll make you the largest methamphetamine dealer in Europe. If you want a Lamborghini, you’ll be able to buy the company.”
“When do you start production?” Yuri rubbed his double chin.
“The lab will be complete in a few more days, but it will take several weeks to have the precursor materials delivered from overseas.”
“This site is remote, but not that remote. How will you keep it hidden?”
“I’ve had some of the best technicians in the world working on the filtration systems, and with the lab this deep underground, it can’t be spotted from the air.”
“What if someone talks? You’ve, how do you say? Put many of your eggs in a basket.”
“I’m only using my most trusted men in the facility. They are men with families. They know what I’ll do if I have to. Everything is going to be fine. Now, come with me. I want to show you how the process works.” The two men walked toward the freight elevator at the end of the production floor. Above them, Barquero crept farther down the platform.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Going in Hot
The school bus crept along the bank of a small stream as the members of STRAC-BOM used the vehicle’s headlights to illuminate the surrounding area of desert. They all were on the lookout for coyotes. Coming to a bend in the shallow riverbed, the bus slid to a halt. Inside the bus, Private Foxtrot cinched up his armor. The metal chest plate made of sheet steel, arm and leg greaves, and helmet with a pronounced crest on top had all come from the Padre’s collection. Hundreds of years old, it was now about to meet the Mexican desert again.
“I’m going in,” Private Foxtrot said as he adjusted his conquistador’s helmet. “Cover me, you bitches.” He stood at the bottom of the stairwell. Taking a piece of chewing gum out of his mouth, he stuck it on the window. “Don’t anyone touch that,” he said before clanking his way out of the bus with the metal detector. Flashlights duct-taped to the barrels of rusty shotguns and old deer rifles poked out from the windows.
“Clear right,” Fire Team Leader Charlie said.
“All good left,” added Team Leader Alpha.
“Bravo?” asked the General.
“Uh, yeah. Nothing in back,” Fire Team Leader Bravo replied. “Nothing but tumbleweeds.”
“Commence searching, Private Foxtrot,” the General ordered. Private Foxtrot began to scan back and forth over the area with his device. “It’s right around here, I think…pretty sure, anyways.”
“Hurry up, Private,” the General implored. Private Foxtrot tried his best to remember exactly where the spot was. In the dark, with flashlight beams dancing back and forth, it was difficult for him to remember. The Private stopped scanning and looked up. He thought he’d seen something move just beyond the reach of the flashlights’ range.
“What’s the matter, Private?” asked the General.
“Thought I saw something over there.”
“Anyone see anything?” the General asked his men.
“Nope,” Private Zulu responded.
“Negative! The correct reply is negative!” the General shouted as his face turned red. “How many times do I have to tell you, Private?”
“Sir, sorry, sir!” Private Zulu called out. “Negative!”
“That’s better. Now, Foxtrot, get back to swinging that damn detector. I want to see you busier than a one-armed monkey with two peckers.”
“Yes, sir.” Private Foxtrot resumed panning back and forth with his device. Every once in a while, he thought he saw something creeping in the distance, but he didn’t dare stop his searching. For fifteen minutes, he plodded along through the desert. The bus followed close behind him. The Private stopped in his tracks and took a whiff of the night air. “Damnation,” he said as he pinched his nose.