“Which way?” Sock pressed.
“Back toward the city,” Mark said with more conviction than he felt. “We’ll be able to contact Tyr and get medical supplies for Kaplan.”
“I vote we head east,” Sock argued. “Zetas own that town, we head back there they’ll grab us again.”
“We won’t have to lay low for long,” Mark said. “Once we make contact, they can have us out in under three hours. There might be another unit here already.”
“Yeah? You sure the first door we knock on won’t be opened by el Jefe?” Sock turned to the others. “Outside, we got a shot. We can hunker down at a farm somewhere, get Tyr to send in a chopper. The city, we gotta deal with cops and other assholes who’re gonna wonder why our buddy has a hole in him.”
Decker and Flores looked uncertain. Mark considered for a minute. Sock was right—they might have a better shot surviving in the rural areas surrounding the city. Urban warfare was a bitch; he’d be the first to admit that. But if he ceded his authority now, he knew from experience there was no getting it back. And he didn’t like the thought of Sock as their de facto leader. Something about him was off, Mark could smell it. He wasn’t about to follow someone he didn’t trust with his life.
“We head west, back to the city,” he said firmly. “Move out.”
Sock appeared ready to argue, but Flores and Decker were already moving, Kaplan cradled between them. Sock eyed Mark for a second as if sizing him up for a fight. Mark watched his hand, saw the index finger move toward the trigger of the LMT by his side. After a beat, it relaxed back down.
“You’re the boss,” Sock said. “But if we get pinched again, I’m saying I told you so.”
“We get pinched again, we won’t live long enough to talk about it.” Mark reached for the LMT. Another pause, then Sock handed it over. Mark slung it over his shoulder and they headed across the field.
“All due respect, sir, I’m not buying it.” Linus Smiley listened to the voice on the other end of the receiver, mouth tightening. “If Cesar Calderon was such a friend to the Mexican people, I don’t understand why you’re refusing to assist in his release.”
Linus had spent the morning being rerouted to different people in the hierarchy of the Mexican government, each of whom eagerly pawned him off on someone else. He had no idea at this point if he’d managed to ascend the ladder to someone who could actually accomplish something, or if he was still dealing with a low-level bureaucrat annoyed by the interruption of his breakfast. “I understand that initially we refused outside assistance. But clearly that situation has changed. Now we have three dead employees, and another five who are presumed hostages. At what point do you folks actually get off your asses and do something about it?”
There was a long pause. Finally the man on the other end said in heavily accented English, “Mr. Smiley, in the past year more than two hundred of our citizens were kidnapped in Mexico City, and another eight hundred nationwide. And those were only the ones reported, the real number is likely two or three times that. We have had five hundred homicides, more than a hundred in Mexico City alone. Are you implying that the loss of Americans is more important?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Linus said. “We’re not talking about some guy running a taco stand, Mr.—” he glanced at his sheet of handwritten notes “—Ortiz. Cesar Calderon is a major player on the global scene. If anything happens to him—”
“I don’t believe I can assist you, Mr. Smiley,” Ortiz interrupted. “Allow me to transfer you to someone who can.”
Linus fumed as mariachi Muzak once again poured from the receiver. He slammed it down. Jesus, he hated Mexico. Bunch of incompetent bastards whose third world status was more than deserved. Russia and the former Soviet bloc nations had problems, but at least money talked over there. Pay off the right person, you could get nearly anything done. Had Calderon been snatched in Kiev, Linus would have had him home in less than a week.
He pressed the intercom button. “Get the team on the line.”
Linus paced while he waited for the connection to come through. He’d sent sixteen men down there, led by Ellis Brown. Cesar had personally lured Brown from his career as a Navy SEAL into K&R work, and Brown was his go-to guy for snatch-and-grab operations. He would have led the first team, had even called to volunteer, but Smiley wanted him to finish up another operation in Colombia. A mistake, maybe. One he was now able to rectify.
“Brown here.”
“Secured line?”
“Yessir.” Brown’s tone implied that the question itself was offensive.
“Progress?”
“Still no sign of the whale,” Brown said.
“Whale” was the code name for Calderon. “What about the rest of them?”
“We think we found a safe house where they were kept, but there’s no movement. Probably gone already.” There was a pause. “One of our contacts said we’re not the only ones looking for them. You send in another unit?”
“You’re the only ones down there.” Linus’s brow furrowed.
“That’s what I thought, sir.”
“Americans?”
“Definitely. Asking a lot of questions about the minnows.”
The minnows were the missing unit. That was odd. Linus slumped back into his chair. What the hell was going on down there?
It was already beyond strange that someone had snatched a hostage of Calderon’s caliber without providing proof of life, or contacting either Tyr or his family with a ransom demand. What could they be after? Had they simply killed him as a warning to K&R companies working in the region? If so, his body should have turned up by now. When a local police chief crossed Los Zetas, his head was found in a cooler outside his precinct. Los Zetas weren’t shy about sending messages. And why seize the rest of the unit alive, then not attempt to ransom them out, too? Fucking Mexico, Linus thought. He’d never understand it.
“New orders, sir?”
“No, stay the course. The whale is your primary objective, minnows are a bonus.”
“What about the other team?”
“You run across them, find out what the hell they’re doing down there.”
“Any limits?” Brown asked.
Linus pondered for a moment. “None,” he finally said. “They’ve got no business interfering. Do what you have to.”
He hung up the phone and glanced at the clock. It was an hour earlier in Mexico City, just before 10:00 a.m. Linus wasn’t accomplishing anything by phone. The board meeting was less than a week away. By then, he’d have to have Calderon back, dead or alive, and news on the missing unit. He buzzed the intercom again. “Book me a flight to Mexico City.”
Kelly tensed on the edge of the backseat as Syd and Kane approached the bodega. Syd’s contact claimed the owner was Zeta-friendly. Apparently he and his wife
