leaned away from Olivar in alarm. “What did you freaks do to him?”
Lyons read Manzo like a book. This was not Oaken normal and the Guillotine was genuinely freaked out by what he saw. The Able Team leader decided to work with Manzo’s shaken state. “So what’s with you and suicide bombing? Is Mr. Most Muscular here one of your strap-on psychos?”
Manzo gaped. Not like a man caught with his pants down, but like a man who was nonplussed. Lyons might as well have asked him the circumference of a moose. “What?”
Lyons pressed Guillotino anyway to gauge his reactions. “The bombs, asshole. The shit going on in this town, that has it on lockdown. Why are you pulling security detail for terrorists?”
Manzo’s jaw dropped. “Why would I do that? No one needs that shit!”
Lyons loomed. Manzo cringed. Lyons thundered. “Why are you batting cleanup for terrorists?”
“¡Madre de Dios! The terrorists are you! You CIA pricks! We were told to capture or kill any of you yanqui assholes who came trying to clean up your mess! Messing with La Raza? Starting your fake terrorist shit war on the border? Furthering your norteamericano conquistador agenda?” Manzo managed some spine. “Screw you and your black ops shit!”
“I believe you.” Lyons smiled a winning smile. “Now who gave you these reconquista bullshit manifesto talking points?”
Enrico “the Oak” Olivar snapped his handcuffs and shot to his feet. He immediately tripped over the leg irons fastening him to the chair. He fell on Manzo and toppled him over. His jaw distended like a snake trying to eat prey bigger than its head.
Lyons snarled. “Not today, Sparky!” Lyons lunged and vised Olivar’s ear between his thumb and forefinger and yanked back. Olivar reared and snapped his head to the side. Lyons stood by his nickname and neither moved nor let go. The Oak’s ear tore off in Lyons’s hand.
Olivar snapped his head down and sank his teeth into Manzo’s neck. Manzo keened like an animal. Uribe screamed in captive horror. Schwarz and Blancanales charged. Lyons took his TEK-12 in an ice-pick grip, jammed the electrodes between Olivar’s shoulder blades and hit the red button. Lyons felt the jitters from their body contact and smelled ozone as volts with six zeros behind them were delivered. Lyons’s eyes flared as Olivar rose up like a cobra and seized Lyons’s throat with spastic strength. The Oak’s lips skinned back from bloody teeth. On a good day Olivar could bench-press five hundred pounds. Now that steroid-built gym-strength was wedded to insanity. Lyons was borne over against his will.
The Able Team leader shot one hand into Olivar’s throat and squeezed off his trachea. The Oak didn’t seem to care. He grabbed Lyons’s hair and pulled himself down toward Lyons’s face, baring his teeth and drooling like a rabid dog. Lyons pulled a sacrifice and let Olivar pull him in with both hands.
He shoved his stun gun between Olivar’s teeth and hit the button.
Any electrician would tell you that electricity was a wily and uncertain thing. In Lyons’s own experience some people, dependent on drugs or willpower, could shrug off a stun gun’s effects. The TEK-12 didn’t have to meet the resistance of clothing or human skin. Olivar’s mouth was an optimal cavern of wet conductive-pathway mucous membranes. Tongue and gums burned. Mucous membranes led down his throat to his stomach and bowels, branched out into his lungs and spread up through the sinus cavities into the optic nerves and brain.
Enrico “the Oak” Olivar lit up internally like the Fourth of July.
Lyons shuddered as he took the secondary conduction but he held the button down. Olivar collapsed like 220 pounds of dressed beef, and Lyons let go of the shock switch. Olivar threw up all over Lyons’s chest. “Son of a bitch...”
Blancanales packed a field dressing against Manzo’s ripped right carotid. “He needs a hospital.”
Lyons shoved his CEW into Roble’s emasculated ear hole in case he turned froggy again. El Roble softly shuddered and drooled bile and blood on Lyons’s collarbone. Lyons kept his thumb on the red button and stared at the cellar ceiling. “I need a vacation...”
Safe House, El Paso, United States of America
LYONS GLARED INTO the middle distance. They had gotten out of Mexico but the whole situation was FUBAR. Aaron “the Bear” Kurtzman, the Stony Man computer genius, shook his head in the window on Lyons’s laptop. “Things go bad. We’ve been here before.”
Lyons wished he had a churro and a café con leche. Old Mexico always managed to convert him to her ways for a few days after he’d visited. He horked down a Krispy Kreme maple-iced glazed and Starbucks Americano. “We’re going back in. We start from scratch.”
Kurtzman didn’t like it. “Bowling Ball is useless. I say let him go and see where he runs.”
“I agree.”
“Guillotine had part of his voice box bitten out. It will be days before we can get him to tap out anything on a tablet. Assuming he doesn’t clam up and demand a lawyer.”
Lyons considered his muscle-bound opponent. “How’s the Oak?”
“The Oak is currently dying of internal electrical injuries, with his voice box burned out, by the way. We have no leads.”
Lyons went detective. “We go to back to square one. We do interviews.”
Kurtzman sighed. “I don’t see how that would help. The surviving bombing victims and witnesses have been interviewed by the Mexican authorities, the FBI and Interpol extensively.”
“No, I’m talking about the perpetrators’ families.”
The Stony Man cybernetics whiz tried to fathom where Lyons was going with this. “Carl, same deal. No one could find any terrorist ties in any of their backgrounds. The families and friends of the homicide bombers were horrified. They’re destroyed. No one doubts their stories.”
“I know. But Able showed up in Ciudad Juárez and suddenly everything went all Armageddon. I wonder if the same thing will happen if we go in again.”
Kurtzman hated every aspect of it. “You know you may be putting those families at risk.”
Lyons hated it as well, but he’d always been a let-the-truth-be-told-though-the-heavens-fall kind of guy. “At this point I can’t see them not being involved somehow, willingly or unwillingly,” Lyons kept his poker face as he threw out the bone and desperately hoped for a response. “You got anything better, Bear? I’ll go with it.”
“I got nothing more than you, and it sounds like you have more than me.”
Lyons resigned himself to his last, least-worst option. “Then I’m going with the Villa family.”
“Carl?” Kurtzman’s voice hardened. “They’ve suffered enough.”
“Which means they’re the most anomalous. You tell me what makes a nice Mexican girl go that way and I’ll believe you.”
Kurtzman looked away. “I got nothing.”
“Give me and Able a decent cover. Pol takes lead. I want Gadgets on our six in the
