Fast Vengeance Page 9

  Chapter Eight

  Clipboard in hand, Brock went around the room cataloguing the remaining number of rounds as the team stacked the unused ammo from the range that morning and cleaned their weapons. Not exactly the most exciting way to spend an afternoon, but it was downtime for them and a necessary part of the job to make sure they had what they needed if they got called out on a mission.

  “What’s on the agenda for this afternoon, Cap?” Maka asked as he took his M4 apart.

  “Haven’t decided yet.”

  “Well if there’s nothing going on, maybe we could do some more PT and throw a little wrestling in there for fun.”

  Brock laughed at him. “You just want a rematch because you’re a sore loser.”

  Maka looked up, annoyance stamped all over his bronze face. “Sore loser? That’s my belt in your office. You didn’t win it or earn it, you ganged up on me and forcibly took it from me. Big difference.”

  “Can we do a lip sync battle instead?” Granger asked, busy stripping his Glock. “I don’t think Taggart would be too impressed if we started breaking tables here.”

  “He’s got a point,” Prentiss said, reassembling his rifle. Then to Maka, “You sure you want more of that punishment and humiliation?”

  Maka turned an incredulous look on his teammate. “I had like, six of you on top of me and you put me through a freaking table.”

  “A flimsy collapsing table. Come on.”

  “Whatever. I held my head as high as my neck would allow afterward.”

  Lockhart was as quiet as always, methodically taking apart his sniper rifle. “What about you?” Brock asked him. “Any suggestions for how we should spend this afternoon?” He wasn’t really asking, since he already had things to review with the team per Taggart’s request, but it was fun to get the banter rolling.

  “We should rent an actual wrestling ring at a gym,” Lockhart said without looking up from cleaning his scope. “Make it real.”

  “Hell yeah, we should,” Maka piped up, looking excited by the prospect.

  “Only if we dress up in costume for the matches,” Granger said.

  “In leotards,” Khan put in with a smirk. “I’d pay money to see that.”

  Brock burst out laughing at the mental image.

  “They wear bodysuits, dumbass, not leotards,” Granger said to Khan. “Deadpool is badass in his. And what are you laughing at, Cap?”

  “Oh, nothing,” Brock said. “Just picturing a human tank like Maka wearing a leotard—if we could find one to fit him.”

  Now Maka looked offended. “I would so rock a leotard.”

  “We need to make this happen,” Colebrook said, all enthusiasm.

  The guys all started jawing at each other, trash talking and making bets about who would have the best shot against Maka in the ring one on one. Brock took advantage of the opportunity to squat next to Lockhart, who had now bowed out of the conversation.

  “Hey, you heard anything about Oceane? About whether they’re going to keep her here for a while longer?” His teammate checked in with her pretty regularly.

  “Last I talked to her, that was the plan. What about Victoria?”

  He kept his expression impassive even though the mere mention of her name stirred up all kinds of emotions. “She’ll be leaving early next week, unless something else comes up in the meantime.” It was driving him nuts to stay away from her, but with his schedule it couldn’t be helped.

  Three days had passed since that not-so-perfect ending at his place. He’d talked to her on the phone each night to catch up on each other’s day, mostly just to hear her voice. Damn, he hated how things had gone the other day. And with the deadline of her impending departure speeding toward them, tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.

  Hoping to shake things up and make her more relaxed, he’d arranged for them to meet at a fancy hotel downtown. He’d gone to the Marshals Service about it and they’d agreed because of her situation, and because they were familiar with the security protocols of the hotel since it was frequently used by political figures.

  “She know where she’s going?” Lockhart asked.

  “Not yet.” A heaviness settled in his chest. She hadn’t even left the city yet and he already missed her. She was so deep under his skin at this point, the idea of never seeing her again was hard to deal with. But he wanted her safe, and he wanted her happy. So if he had to let her go, then he would find a way to live with it.

  A musical ring tone cut through the banter and trash talk going on in the room. Brock glanced at Rodriguez as he leaned over to grab his phone, looked at it and answered. A second later he shot to his feet, his expression taut as he put one finger in his ear to block out the noise. “What?”

  The room went silent, all eyes on him.

  Rodriguez was intent on whatever the caller was saying, his eyebrows drawn together in a deep frown. “God.”

  From his reaction, Brock knew exactly what the call was about. Rodriguez’s mother.

  Fuck. Brock pushed to his feet, stood watching Rodriguez as his teammate dragged a hand through his hair in agitation and took in a shaky breath, his jaw tight, a haunted look on his face.

  “When?” Rodriguez said quietly, the word brittle. Then he closed his eyes and exhaled a hard breath. “Okay, I… Dammit.” His voice shredded. Colebrook popped up beside him, laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Look, I’ll call you back,” Rodriguez said hoarsely, and ended the call.

  Colebrook threw Brock a questioning look. Brock hustled over and together they walked Rodriguez out into the hall to Brock’s office for some privacy. He shut the door as Colebrook steered the other man toward a chair.

  Rodriguez dropped into it and dragged a hand down his face, looking shell-shocked. “My mom died an hour ago. Everything was fine. Well, as fine as it has been for the last few months. My dad went down to get something from the cafeteria. She went into cardiac arrest while he was down there. They called him right away but by the time he got back, she was gone.”

  Brock sat on the corner of his desk and leaned his elbows on his thighs. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I was flying out in the morning to see her,” he said in a wooden tone, staring at the carpet. “Christ, if I’d known I would have taken the red eye last night.” He raised haunted golden brown eyes to Brock. “I should have been there. God dammit, I should have fucking been there.”

  “I’ll call Charlie,” Colebrook murmured from beside him, pulling out his phone to dial his sister, who was Rodriguez’s fiancée.

  Rodriguez didn’t argue, just put his head in his hands and pulled in an unsteady breath. His mom had been battling MS for a long time now, and the whole family had been on an emotional roller coaster for more than a year. But it was such a cruel twist of fate to take her while she was alone, a day before her son could be with her. With FAST Bravo’s last deployment, Rodriguez had gone more than four months without seeing her except on Skype.

  “Want me to change your flight?” Brock offered. “I can get you on the first one available this afternoon.”

  “No. Thanks. I’ll figure it out.” He sat up and slumped back in the chair. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. Funeral arrangements were all decided by her months ago, but it’ll still take a few days to get everything organized. Not sure when the service will be.”

  “Don’t worry about any of that. You just take care of your family. That’s all that’s important right now.”

  Rodriguez nodded once, swallowed. “I can’t believe she’s gone,” he croaked out.

  Colebrook lowered his phone. “Charlie’s on the way. She’ll be here to pick you up in fifteen.”

  Another nod as Rodriguez buried his head back in his hands and made a valiant effort to fight the tears in his eyes.

  “Be right back,” Brock murmured, and left to inform Taggart what had happened. They would have to find a temporary replacement for Rodriguez while he was away, in case FAST Bravo was called out for something. When he was d
one and stepped out into the hall, Charlie Colebrook swept into the building. Her dark brown gaze locked on Brock in concern.

  “Hey. He’s in my office,” he told her before she could say anything, gesturing down the hall.

  “How is he?” she asked worriedly, hurrying toward him.

  “Not good.”

  She made an empathetic sound and walked to the office with him. Brock opened the door for her and stood back. Colebrook stepped outside with him to give the couple privacy.

  Rodriguez stood and turned toward the door. The instant he saw Charlie his face crumpled. She went straight to him without a word. Rodriguez wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her neck, a sob ripping out of him as Brock swung the door shut.

  Out in the hallway with him, Colebrook let out a harsh sigh. “I feel so fucking bad for him.”

  He nodded. “The timing’s just plain mean.”

  “Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck, shook his head, visibly upset. “We were a lot younger than him when we lost our mom. But I think it always hurts the same, no matter how old we are.”

  “Yeah.” Damn, Brock was calling his mom the first chance he got. He hadn’t seen his family since last fall and needed to plan a trip home to Illinois soon.

  “Just another reminder about how short life really is. None of us know how long we have left on this earth,” Colebrook murmured, his gaze on his sister and best friend as they held each other on the other side of the glass.

  Yeah, it goddamn was short.

  Brock’s jaw tightened, a rush of desperation flashing through him. Tomorrow was likely the last time he would ever get to see Tori. He was going to take full advantage of the little time he had left with her.

  As he headed out the door, he dialed his mom’s number.

  “Well hello, stranger,” she answered good-naturedly with her typical wry humor.

  Brock deserved the slight dig under it. He hadn’t spoken to her in over two weeks, though he’d texted the night they arrived home from Afghanistan so she would stop worrying. “Hey.”

  “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “I was just thinking about you, wanted to call and hear your voice.”

  ****

  Life was so precious and fragile.

  Fernando Diaz swallowed twice to get the bite of pineapple past the invisible restriction in his throat as he watched his young children playing on the living room rug after their lunch. He would do literally anything to protect them and the rest of his family. And could partly understand why Nieto had gone to such lengths to keep his daughter ignorant of his activities, even as an adult. Fernando was guilty of being overprotective too.

  Given the recent turn of events and the splintering of two rival factions of the cartel, he had to do more than ever to protect his family.

  “You know what this castle needs?” His mother, Maria, leaned forward on her hands and knees to choose another handful of Lego bricks, his children busy adding their architectural efforts to the lopsided plastic castle they were working on together.

  “A library,” his five-year-old daughter said in her sweet little voice. “A big one, with a ladder in it. Like the one Beast gives Belle.”

  “An excellent idea,” his mother said. “But what about a secret escape route?”

  “Like a tunnel?” his seven-year-old son asked, intrigued.

  “Exactly.” His mother beamed in approval and leaned down to point inside the castle. “See right there? What if we pretend to build a secret staircase from the library that goes beneath the castle?”

  “Oh! From a secret door! You have to pull on a certain book on the shelf to get the door to open. So only we would know how to get inside,” his daughter said excitedly.

  “You are so clever, mi corazón,” she praised. “And where should we have this tunnel lead to? Say, if we wanted to escape an attacking army.”

  “Of pirates?” his son piped up.

  “Pirates, or maybe soldiers. Where would be a good place for this tunnel to go?”

  Pedro thought about it a moment. “The water?”

  His mother smiled. “I think that’s a very smart choice. Then we could get away by boat if we need to.”

  “Like Papá’s yacht,” Isa said.

  “Perhaps. But maybe something even faster, in case we needed to get away in a hurry.”

  “One of his helicopters, then. Or his speed boat,” Pedro said.

  “Yes.” She wrapped an arm around each of the children and pulled them close for a kiss on the end of their noses. “My smart little angels.”

  Pedro and Isa beamed up at her, and Fernando couldn’t help but smile. His mother truly was amazing. Just as she had with him, she educated the children about necessary survival skills in such a subtle, fun way that they had no idea that they were in fact being indoctrinated into the ways of protecting themselves in the vicious cartel world they unwittingly lived in.

  On the heels of that thought, guilt settled in the middle of his chest. “Papá has an important call to make,” he announced, getting up from the couch. He’d put this off as long as possible, but there was no more time to waste with the added dangers they faced now. His wife was in the bedroom busy packing the last of their necessary items right now. “Keep building. I’d like to hear more about the tunnel when I get back.”

  “We won’t be long,” his mother said, and kissed his children on the top of their heads before rising and following him down the hall.

  Fernando pressed his hand to the biometric scanner beside the door, then bent to activate the retinal scanner. His mother stepped in after him and shut the door. Steel bars slid home across it, sealing them in and keeping everyone else out.

  The secure landline sat on the antique oak desk in the corner, brought over from Spain by one of his ancestors two centuries ago. Without looking at his mother he picked up the phone and called the number of the government official best positioned to help with this situation.

  When the woman on the other end answered, Fernando spoke the words he had prepared ahead of time. The phone would automatically turn his voice into a digital one that no computer system could identify.

  “I have a tip on the whereabouts of Manuel Nieto. He’s currently in Chihuahua, near this location.” He gave the coordinates of a remote cabin where Nieto had last been sighted by a villager eager to accept the reward money for information that might lead to Nieto’s capture. “He is armed and has his bodyguard with him.” He glanced over at his mother, who nodded in approval. Then he ended the call.

  “Well,” he said to her, settling the receiver back into its cradle. “I guess that’s it. Time to go.”

  “I’ll get the children. You check on Sophia.”

  He found his wife in their bedroom, standing at the window that overlooked the back of the house, gazing out at the pool and the immaculate grounds surrounding it. Wrapping an arm around her waist from behind, he kissed her temple. “It’s time. Ready?”

  She nodded and pressed her lips together, her eyes shimmering with tears.

  He hugged her tighter. “I’m sorry, mi amor,” he murmured. “You know we don’t have a choice.” Authorities were getting too close for comfort, both Mexican and American.

  Taking her hand, he led her downstairs to where his mother was helping the children put their backpacks on. Everything had been prepared long ago, every detail well rehearsed. Including the game they had devised for the children. As far as they were concerned that was all this would be: a wonderful game.

  Life was all about games, after all. Except in this case, only the winners survived.

  “Abuela has a surprise for you,” his mother told them, and Fernando’s heart ached at the excitement on those precious little faces as they gazed so trustingly up at her. “Remember the tunnel we talked about? Well, we’re going on an adventure down a secret one right here in our house.”

  Isa’s dark eyes widened. “We have a secret tunnel?”

  “Oh, yes. It’s very sp
ecial.” She held out a hand to each of them, gave a confident smile. Maria Diaz never showed fear or any other weakness, no matter what was happening. Not even when her husband had been murdered in front of her more than two decades ago. She was the strongest person Fernando had ever known, and his role model throughout his life. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes!” they both squealed, reaching for her hands.

  Together as a family they headed down to the safe room in the basement, their head of security following discreetly behind them. Others were already stationed at the tunnel exit, ensuring the area was secure.

  The safe room was state of the art, no expense spared. In the luxuriously appointed bathroom in the downstairs suite, he opened up the shower door.

  “Watch this,” he said to the children, and pressed what looked like a button for the steam shower on the wall. The tile floor slid open, revealing a tunnel lit with lanterns set into the ceiling.

  Isa’s eyes went wide and Pedro gasped. “Wow!”

  Fernando smiled and turned to his wife. “After you.”

  Sophia put on a brave face. As his wife she had known this day might come. Sad as she was to leave this house they loved, their fortress was no longer safe. “Come on, let’s go,” she said, even managing to put some enthusiasm into her voice. She took the children’s hands and started down the concrete steps. His mother went next.

  Before following them, Fernando looked back over his shoulder to his head of security. “Destroy the entrance when I signal you.”

  “Of course.”

  Taking the heavy duffel bag from him, packed with supplies and cash, Fernando followed his family into the staircase. Leaving now would buy them some time and relieve the pressure. Authorities would launch a manhunt for Nieto soon. He would take care of Montoya later, once he and his family were settled.

  One problem at a time, one step at a time, he told himself as the trap door slid shut above him. Locking them in this subterranean labyrinth that led to the waiting boat. They had planned for this. Thought of everything.